October 16, 2014
O'Brian's Pub (Chicago, Illinois), 5:30 PM

It's the end of the world as we know it...
"...and it is... GOOOONNNNEEEE! The Cubs have clinched the pennant! The Cubs have clinched the pennant! Cubs three, Giants two, on a walkoff home run by Joey Franklin!" The entire bar was engufled in a roar of joy as Len Kasper's exultant voice belted from the various television sets within O'Brian's. "One hundred and six years of frustration is finally over - the Cubs are headed to the World Series after winning the NLCS, four games to two!"

Drinks flowed freely as the patrons of O'Brian's celebrated this truly historic day for the city of Chicago. Grown men wept at the chance to finally see their beloved Cubs return to the fall classic. For a few brief, shining moments, all was right in the world.


*******************************


October 16, 2014
O'Brian's Pub, 6:15 PM

"For God's sake," Patrick O'Brian spat from behind the bar, "you'd think we were naught better than Sox fans."

The television broadcasts of cheering fans and spraying champagne had been replaced by more somber fare - rioting had broken out downtown at first, then spread across the city. Worse still, it appeared that the rioting was far more involved than broken windows, stolen televisions, and the odd overturned car - the news vans and helicopters were relaying disturbing images of people brutally attacking one another in the street. "Death toll in the dozens," came the anchor's voice.

"Turn that crap off, Patty! We're tryin' to be happy here," came a request from one of the patrons.

Good advice, O'Brian mused to himself as he changed the channel.



*******************************

October 16, 2014
O'Brian's Pub, 7:05 PM

"Everybody okay?" the voice came from a uniformed police officer who had stuck his head in the door. "Folks, I want you to listen carefully. The riots are getting worse, and are getting close to this area. I need to ask you to remain calm, and to stay inside here until we get the situation contained. Patty, I'd appreciate it if you'd lock and bar the door - there's been a lot of people hurt, and if it ends up here like it's been elsewhere... well, it could take awhile for us to answer any specific calls. Looks like our hands are gonna be pretty full."

The owner of the bar nodded his head. "Aye, James, I'll do just that. Thanks for the heads up."

Moments after the police officer left the bar, an explosion from somewhere not terribly distant shook the entire room. Wordlessly, Patrick locked and bolted the door.



*******************************

October 16, 2014
O'Brian's Pub, 9:45 PM

...something wicked this way comes.
It had come first as a scratching sound at the door. Soon after, there came a pounding like someone attempting to break in to the bar.

Next came the screams - voices wailing in unspeakable agony, cries of pain and terror. Pops, like those of firecrackers - only everyone inside knew that this was no merriment, but the discharge of small arms fire.

More screams.

A pounding again at the door, this time accompanied by the voice of a woman pleading in terror. "Help! Please help me! Let me in, please, oh God!" A scream of agony, cut short as the door was opened to let her in... too late.

Those that would survive the coming days might all have different tales to tell, but for everyone present that night in Patrick O'Brian's bar, this shared moment would be forever seared into their memories. A bloody, nigh-beheaded corpse lying on the ground at the doorway, while one of them stood over her remains.

Oh, it looked human enough - save the bloodshot eyes with pupils that nearly eclispsed every trace of the white sclera. A huge, bloody wound, as if from an axe, openly wept from the figure's side, though he seemed to give it little notice. Speaking of blood, the mouth, face, and neck were covered in the stuff - and from the looks of it, it belonged to the dead woman on the ground.

It screamed in fury and rushed into the bar, but Patrick's shotgun roared and blew the man back out into the street. Someone screamed, someone else demanded that the police be called, but any fool cold see and hear that the police would not come... not tonight.

Maybe not ever again.

More otherworldly screams filled the streets, and the door was quickly locked and bolted again as the place of drinking and festivities became an impromptu place of prayer.

October 26, 2014
Basement of O'Brian's Pub - 11:30 AM

Ten horrifying days had passed since the first riots began. At first, the news reports called them just that - riots. Soon, however, an explosion of homemade videos (shot mostly on camcorders and cell phones) were posted on the internet, revealing the truth - something was truly wrong with people. Videos depicted inhuman, savage attackes on one another, often using nothing but hands and teeth. More disturbing still, some scenes appeared to reveal clearly dead bodies rising up to join the violent hordes.

Experts sat in and theorized about the cause, and tried to decipher what the actual events meant. The Illinois governor called in the national guard and instituted martial law.

None of it mattered. Within twenty-four hours, none of the television stations were broadcasting. Cellular reception became spotty, then nonexistent. The police never returned.

Then, the hordes came in earnest, bashing against doors and windows, forcing the occupants of O'Brian's down into the basement below, where the door was barricaded against their violence and otherwordly screams. Patrick O'Brian himself was killed on the sixth day as he attempted to retrieve supplies from upstairs; his own screams echoed for a horribly long time.

The survivors have had access to plenty of alcohol to dull the events of the past ten days, but the food supply is now all but exhaused, and both the indoor plumbing and electicity have ceased to function. Without food and water, everyone will soon perish, regardless of the horror in the streets.

And so, the occupants of O'Brian's must execute some sort of plan if they are to survive the zombie apocalypse.

Tommy Murphy – known simply as “Murph” to most – leaned against the basement wall and intently eyed a needle of murky daylight that stabbed through the boards that had been nailed across the tiny window just a few feet away. He seemed almost entranced by the dust motes that danced along that sliver of light and, for almost as long as it took him to slowly drag the life out of a cigarette, all he did was stare and puff… and stare and puff… As the coals at the end of that smoke burned closer to his fingers, though, the diesel mechanic from Dawson’s Garage blinked away his trance, sighed in disappointment when he saw what was left of the Pall Mall, took a final drag and pinched out the coals between his fingers.

“All I wanted was a cold beer, some hot wings, and some highlights from the game,” Murph muttered, pocketing the butt as he blew his last drag into that pitiful ray of light. He ran one grease and oil stained had over the lengthening stubbles of hair that covered his scalp, shook his head, and either snorted or started to chuckle (it was hard to tell, even for Murph) before pushing away from the wall and turning his eyes on the others again. “Then I was gonna go home, watch the news, and probably pass out on the couch so I could get up and go finish that turbo the next day… I usually don’t even come in here on Thursdays,” he smirked as his eyes settled on O’Brian’s barmaid, Amber, “but it ain’t like the Cubbies take the pennant every season, right?”

He didn’t really know why he needed her to confirm either of those facts… maybe just because she could… she’d been working here long enough to greet him by name when he came in and bring him a Killian’s without him having to ask… long enough for Murph to know that Amber had a kid that stayed with her brother when she was working… When she came in onthat Thursday, it was probably because she knew it’d be a good tip night with the game on… probably worried sick about that kid, now…
A rather unhealthy sounding cough snapped him out of the blinking moment of silence, made him feel instantly guilty about having needed to smoke that cigarette, and drew his gaze toward where Emily was curled against the wall looking even paler than she had a few hours ago… Maybe she’ll luck out and die of whatever she’s got before we all starve to death, he couldn’t help but think as he glanced back towards the barricaded window, and maybe we’ll all get lucky enough to do that before those things get in. He scowled at the morbidity of the thought… and scowled deeper at the horrifying reality of it… and he couldn’t look at Emily any more right now.

Murph sighed again, unceremoniously plopping himself down on an upturned whiskey crate and cradling his head in his hands for a minute as he stared at the spot between his feet. “Jesus,” he breathed, letting his hands drag across his face and rub at the stubble on his face that had grown almost as long as the hair on his head in the last few days, as he forced himself to look at the small group of people in the basement… his bloodshot hazel eyes fixed first, this time, on Alaster (that was the kid’s name, wasn’t it?), the carpenter kid who was keeping himself numb by taking regular slugs from a bottle of Jack… Yep… Amber’s gonna worry to death over her kid, Emily’s gonna wheeze out from whatever she’s got, and, if that one don’t drink himself to death, he’ll sure be numb enough not to feel whatever one of those freaks eats him…
The mechanic shoved himself to his feet again, snatching the bottle from the kid’s hand and taking a good long pull from it before handing it back and, seriously this time, letting his eyes take in the face of each person in this dismal sanctuary. He winced a bit as the burn of the whiskey surged down his throat and into his near empty stomach, then, looking from the last face to the door that no one had dared to open since Patty hadn’t come back, he set his jaw and nodded once. “All right. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he said flatly...

((OOC: Just a little something to get us going, I guess… immediate actions for Murph are going to include looking for a weapon of some sort that’s better than the gerber folding knife in his pocket (is there a pipe, crowbar, board with a nail in it anywhere in the basement?), then check the door (i.e. listen for any signs of life or undeath beyond) before even sticking his little toe out… Backposts and edits as necessary to address conversations, whatever… Let’s mash!!!))

Two things had Amber’s attention.

One was the slightly chipped nail of her right index finger, the red paint had begun to peel back from the break until it hit the small white rhinestone she had affixed there in another life. The rhinestone was currently keeping the fracture of the paint from moving any further along the surface of her nail, but she could tell it would give way soon. Already the clear coat holding the rhinestone down was giving away at the round edges and soon the stone would pop off and the rest of the polish would follow suit not long after. It would end up on the floor with the rest of the debris that spoke of their ordeal.

The other was the long dead cell phone she held in her hand. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the dark touch screen, that had until a few days ago displayed the smiling face of a dark haired toddler, and the chip in her nail. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she tried to stop them by taking another long drag from the cigarette she held in her other hand.

She had stopped smoking when she had gotten pregnant, but when the cell phone service went out completely she had broken into the cigarette machine upstairs and pulled out a few cartons. Now she pulled on one of these while she went over the memory of the last time the phone had linked her to that smiling toddler.

Her nails showed no signs of wear then, the red paint with the carefully placed blue and white rhinestones in honor of the home team were still fresh. She had temporarily holed up in a stall in the women’s restroom, trying to avoid the screams still ringing outside as much as she was avoiding those left in the bar. Those pristine nails had glided over the touch screen and with the two wavering signal bars had tried dialing her brother’s house once more. Her heart raced with every ring, but finally Phillip had answered and through a field of static she begged him to put her son on. Josh’s tiny sleepy voice barely made it through the static, he was crying and asking when she was going to come and get him. Soon… very soon my little jungle man, hang in there and listen to Uncle Phil… I love you babe… soon… she tried to soothe over the invisible wires of modern technology. How much he got of the message she didn’t know, the connection had been severed somewhere in the middle of it, and it hadn’t come back since.

Something in the corner of her eye moved then, wrenching her out of her memories. It was Murph, who had risen and was grumbling something to himself.

“…I was gonna go home, watch the news, and probably pass out on the couch so I could get up and go finish that turbo the next day… I usually don’t even come in here on Thursdays,” he smirked and his eyes darted over to her, “but it ain’t like the Cubbies take the pennant every season, right?”

The cell phone moved out of her field of vision and into her lap as he spoke to her. “**** your Cubbies and their ****ed pennant…” she grumbled back darkly, finishing off her cigarette in the next moment with a long drag.

He had moved his gaze on though, taking each of the remaining survivors of O’Brian’s under his scrutiny while she stamped out the remaining stub of her cigarette.

She wasn’t expecting what he said next, standing at the base of the stairs leading upstairs
(to death)
he suddenly blurted out “All right. We’re gettin’ outta here.”

Amber blinked, letting her long dark lashes cover her even darker (although bloodshot) eyes momentarily. That was all the time it took for what he said to sink into her synapses. Quickly she stood up, her cell phone bouncing off her lap and crashing to the cement floor. The bright purple corner hit hard and a crack hurried across the dark expanse of the touch screen. Without further thought she bent over, picked it up
(It’s all cracking… chipping… breaking… falling apart at the seams…)
In one hand while her other picked up the pool stick she had brought down with her for defense. Rising back up she began to storm toward Murph.

She was still dressed in her work outfit, the black patent leather ballet flats, short black skirt and the Cub’s t-shirt she had bought a size too small to show off her curves and hopefully garner a few extra tips. Her strong legs brought her to him quickly and she hurled what remained of her cell phone at him.

“Out!?” The shrill voice of a woman on the verge of completely loosing it rang out in the confinement of the basement.

“Out!? Do you think that if there was ANY way I could have gotten out of here that I would still be in this hell hole!? Do you? Do you honestly think I want to be here, this dark beer smelling pit with the three of you and lord only knows what crawling over our heads… not to mention the rats! Haven’t you heard them Murph… crawling in the corners, eating whatever we didn’t! I haven’t heard from my son in NINE days! Nine! But…”

Her eyes pulled from his for a moment and traced the line his gaze had taken earlier, the way Patty had screamed ringing in her ears. The shrillness left her voice, replaced by a tremble that threatened to break into a torrential flood at any moment.

“… but there is nothing up there but death… nothing… but… death…****!” She began to sob as she felt her legs start to give out under her.

Murph postponed his inspection of the door when he heard the shoosh and slap of Amber’s shoes coming across the floor at him and turned just in time to get thumped square in the chest by what was left of her cell phone. He watched the thing bounce off of the grime-streaked ‘Dawson’s Garage’ patch and clatter to the floor again before he looked her in the eye and silently endured the brunt of her tirade as if he’d been expecting it…

“Out!?” She screeched. “Out?!? Do you think that if there was ANY way I could have gotten out of here that I would still be in this hell hole!? Do you? Do you honestly think I want to be here, this dark beer smelling pit with the three of you and lord only knows what crawling over our heads… not to mention the rats! Haven’t you heard them Murph… crawling in the corners, eating whatever we didn’t! I haven’t heard from my son in NINE days! Nine! But…”

Yeah, I know, Murph thought, just then, Amber’s words bringing thoughts of his own kid to the forefront of his mind, and I haven’t seen mine since he was probably six months old and Uncle Sam sent me off to play in the sandbox… Wasn’t there even a year when I got the ‘Dear John’ from Jenny, either… Christ! What’s that make Mickey, now? Four? Five? He blinked and shook the thought away. He couldn’t afford to think about them, right now… maybe once they were out and safe… but not now.

The venom and indignant disbelief had evaporated from Amber’s voice and had been replaced by the tremulous strain of grief and hopelessness. “…there is nothing up there but death,” she shuddered as the tears welled in her eyes, “nothing… but… death…****!”

The woman broke down into a sobbing mess, then, and her knees buckled, but Murph kept her from crumpling to the floor by grabbing hold of her shoulders and pulling her to him. For a moment, he just held her, letting her sob and sniffle into his shirt as he closed his eyes and let her last words overlay the thoughts he’d had earlier about them all lucking out and dying of starvation before they ever saw the outside of this basement. “What do you think is down here that’s any better, Amber,” he asked, trying to keep his tone of voice soft and understanding as he finally opened his eyes, “We’ve got no clean water, no food to speak of, and damn little else outside of hoping for a rescue.” Murph peeled Amber away from his chest, then, but kept a firm grip on her shoulders just in case her knees were still Jell-O. “Look around,” he suggested, his eyes ticking pointedly towards the sickly Emily and the half-sauced Alaster, “We’ve been stuck here for ten days and there ain’t been any indication that a rescue’s coming (let alone that there’s anybody left to even come and try to help). Maybe there isn’t anything but death up there, Amber, but if we stay, there won’t anything but death down here, either.

Look at her,” he nodded towards Emily, “How much longer do you think she’s gonna last if we don’t get her some help?” His gaze shifted to indicate the younger man, then, and, trying to affect as light-hearted a tone as possible, he said; “Alaster’s liable to drink himself into liver failure if we don’t find something better for him to do with the time… Then it’s just gonna be me and you and the rats waiting for us to end up on their buffet...”

Real convincing, Murph, he grumbled inwardly, go ahead and point out what a ‘strong chance’ you’ve got; that’ll get ‘em motivated…
The once-and-former mechanic sighed, then, and let go of the barmaid’s shoulders so that one hand could tip her face so her eyes met his and the other could wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I ain’t dying down here doing nothing, Amber. I ain’t gonna just lay down and give up. If I gotta die, I’d rather do it up there… trying to get a doctor to help Emily… and gettin’ you back to your son…”

He mustered a mirthless but determined smile as he let Amber go… let his gaze pan over the faces and forms of the others for a moment… and then, snatching up the crowbar that Patty kept down here to open crates, he turned towards the door again. “If you all are stayin’ here, make sure you board up behind me. Personally, I can’t stand the thoughts of trying to scrape whatever’s left of that cheese-crap out of that can with stale chips for dinner again… I’m gonna go see what’s what… I’ll bring back some help if I can…”

Jake sat just quietly in the corner farthest from the stairs. He tried to think of something to use as a weapon. He knew virtually anything would work but he didn't notice anything really effective at the time so he sat and just listened to the others bickering at eachother.

'NINE DAYS!' he repeated in his mind. He knew how she felt.
He missed his family too. He was worried. He just but his head in his arms and looked at the floor.

After a couple minuts,he just glanced around the room and saw Murph stand up. He saw a look in his eye. That look someone gets when they've got themselves detemined to do something. Something with a purpose.

Then he had an idea. They could make Moltovs. Sure they'd have to sacrifice some clothing and some drink but there was plenty of each.

Jake stood up and walked over to one of the opened crates and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He walked over to the rest of the group and asked, "Anyone have a lighter?".

He tore a peice of his jacket sleeve off and yanked the cork out of the bottle. He shoved the peice of jacket into the bottle of whiskey.

"Anyone?"

(OOC: I'm still new to this so my posts will be shorter than others until I get used to it. Is that ok?)

(All I wanted was a quick end and now im holed up here with nothing but some tools and alcohol to keep me sane enough.)

Thats what Alaster thought as he watched Emily throw her shoe At Murph. Murph was my kind of guy straight to the point and he seemed synical as hell but he sometimes was such a loud mouth and a "born to be leader" that he made me want to down a bottle of jack in seconds.

Here they are arguing about leaving when i boarded up the ******* windows so they could stay safe now my work is going to be destroyed.

"You guys wanna shut up for a moment and hear what everyone else has to say for a moment? I mean Murph what the hell plan do you have i have yet to sober up and we have a half dead girl over there. Not including the fact that Emily is about to go as insane as the ravenous freaks out there. Are you really suggesting you carry a six foot drunk a small ill girl while trying to keep a mother from going on a suicidal rampage. What exactly was ur plan go out and beat the zombies to death with your bare hands what do we use Murph?"

I sat there hoping that i got their atttention well enough as i pulled a ciggarrette from my pocket and lit it.

"And you Emily if we stay here we die get over the sad story about your child im probably the only one here who didn't lose someone he loved so grow up and tend to your own needs before you worry about your sons."

I sat back taking a long drag on the cigarette taking in the nicotine thinking about what to do.

Everyone seemed to just ignore Jake's question as usual. He looked around at everyone and saw Alister light a ciggarette and sit back.

"What the hell," he murmmured,"I just asked for a lighter."

Jake walked over to where Alaster was sitting.

"I just asked if anyone had a lighter, did you miss that?"

"Sorry man i couldny quite hear anything over these twos bickering and arguing. here you go."

Alaster hands the small green bic to jake and continues to take a drag on his cigarette.

"By the way what are you planning on doing with my fair little lighter man?"

Jake sticks his arm out to grab the lighter and checks how much fluid is left in it.

"Thanks, and I was going to make moltovs out of them for weapons in case we go out there."

as long as you remember that zombies arent the only combustable thing out there i believe you will be fine. Just leave me a couple of bottles of Jack for the ro-"

Alaster was saying as he fell out of his bar stool onto the dirt ridden floor.

Jake backsteps in suprise.

"Are you ok?" Jake asked. Jake scanned the room and asked,"Is there a medic? I'm pretty sure he's ok but I want to know for sure. I think he's drunk but I'm not positive."

Alaster looks up at Jake in surprise with a **** eating grinn on his face and jumps up swaying slightly

"of course im fine" he said patting jake on the back quite hard "im the dang master of the universe dontcha know."

Alaster swayed for a minute looking at the bottle of jack in his hands and turned to face everyone else in a much more somber mood.

"I gotta lay off the booz im heading to bed let me know what you guys decided when i get up. And if anyone stealz my hammer there will be hell to pay and thats a promise"

Alaster turned to exit the room before saying "Umm i cant quite remember the way could one of you point me in the direction?"

Amber had expected to crumble to the floor when she felt her knees begin to give out under the weight of her emotions. Instead she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her and suddenly she was clasped firmly against Murph’s chest.

Thomas Murphy his credit card had read… Thomas Murphy
She could hear his heart beating through the dark blue material of his shirt. Closing her eyes she had given into the sobs that wracked her, taking comfort in the sound of his heart and the pungent masculine odor that wafted off of him.

We all smell like that now babe…nine days worth of body odor and stale beer…
When she began to breathe more than sob again she heard his voice above her and looked up as he spoke to her.

“What do you think is down here that’s any better, Amber,” he asked, trying to keep his tone of voice soft and understanding as he finally opened his eyes, “We’ve got no clean water, no food to speak of, and damn little else outside of hoping for a rescue.” Murph peeled Amber away from his chest, then, but kept a firm grip on her shoulders just in case her knees were still Jell-O. “Look around,” he suggested, his eyes ticking pointedly towards the sickly Emily and the half-sauced Alaster, “We’ve been stuck here for ten days and there ain’t been any indication that a rescue’s coming (let alone that there’s anybody left to even come and try to help). Maybe there isn’t anything but death up there, Amber, but if we stay, there won’t anything but death down here, either.

Look at her,” he nodded towards Emily, “How much longer do you think she’s gonna last if we don’t get her some help?” His gaze shifted to indicate the younger man, then, and, trying to affect as light-hearted a tone as possible, he said; “Alaster’s liable to drink himself into liver failure if we don’t find something better for him to do with the time… Then it’s just gonna be me and you and the rats waiting for us to end up on their buffet...”

The once-and-former mechanic sighed, then, and let go of the barmaid’s shoulders so that one hand could tip her face so her eyes met his and the other could wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I ain’t dying down here doing nothing, Amber. I ain’t gonna just lay down and give up. If I gotta die, I’d rather do it up there… trying to get a doctor to help Emily… and gettin’ you back to your son…”
He mustered a mirthless but determined smile as he let Amber go… let his gaze pan over the faces and forms of the others for a moment… and then, snatching up the crowbar that Patty kept down here to open crates, he turned towards the door again. “If you all are stayin’ here, make sure you board up behind me. Personally, I can’t stand the thoughts of trying to scrape whatever’s left of that cheese-crap out of that can with stale chips for dinner again… I’m gonna go see what’s what… I’ll bring back some help if I can…”
Amber swallowed hard, feeling a wave of emotions start to rock her again, but as she had looked up into his eyes and knew that he wasn’t lying to her. Their situation was bad, and he said he would try to help her find her son, and he meant it. Gathering up whatever shards of courage she had, the same ones that had brought her to her parents door steps with all her belongings in a bag and a belly full of baby, she began to nod a little bit in agreement with him and was about to tell him she would go with him when the others in the room made their presence’s known.

It began with someone, whoever it was who had been silently holing up under the stairs, Amber could not recall his name right now, standing up and asking for a lighter, but before he could be answered Alaster cut his own thoughts into the situation.

"You guys wanna shut up for a moment and hear what everyone else has to say for a moment? I mean Murph what the hell plan do you have i have yet to sober up and we have a half dead girl over there. Not including the fact that Amber is about to go as insane as the ravenous freaks out there.”
Amber blinked and although Murph Thomas Murphy had pulled her back from him she took a slight instinctive step back towards his comforting embrace.

“Are you really suggesting you carry a six foot drunk a small ill girl while trying to keep a mother from going on a suicidal rampage.”
Her pert little mouth opened up to say something back to that, and whatever it was it was not going to be nice, when he simply moved on and left her standing there with her mouth open.
“What exactly was ur plan go out and beat the zombies to death with your bare hands what do we use Murph?"

He paused long enough to light a cigarette then burned into Amber again.

"And you Amber if we stay here we die get over the sad story about your child im probably the only one here who didn't lose someone he loved so grow up and tend to your own needs before you worry about your sons."

Immediately her bottom lip began to tremble again, the courage she had found only moments ago began to shatter and peel like the polish on her fingers. The logic didn’t even make sense… he hadn’t lost anyone so she was supposed to grow up and forget about the one thing in this world that meant more than anything to her… and what did he mean lost someone? Joshua wasn’t dead… he couldn’t be dead… Again her knees began to tremble and she closed the gap between her and Murph, putting a hand on his shoulder and instead of voicing the fears that went through her head or using the pool stick to open up Alaster’s she looked up at Murph.

“Take me with you Tom… I’ll go.” She muttered quietly.

But before he could make any real response the issue of the lighter came up once again. Behind her Jake and Alastar began discussing lighters and cocktails… but she was too busy trying to figure out where they should go. There was a drugstore not far from here, there was a pharmacy and they could get drugs for Emily… and then… and then… her son. She had to find Joshua, but every time she tried to figure out where her brother might have holed up she kept seeing Joshua’s delicate little face covered in blood and found she couldn’t focus beyond that.

A thud brought her back to the moment and turning slightly she noticed that Alastar had fallen off his stool. She offered a reproachful look and no further help, even with her history of a year and a half of nursing school… the drunk who had just told her to grow up and forget her son would be fine.

"of course im fine" he confirmed said patting jake on the back quite hard after getting up on his feet again "im the dang master of the universe dontcha know."

Alaster swayed for a minute looking at the bottle of jack in his hands and turned to face everyone else in a much more somber mood.

"I gotta lay off the booz im heading to bed let me know what you guys decided when i get up. And if anyone stealz my hammer there will be hell to pay and thats a promise"

Alaster turned to exit the room before saying "Umm i cant quite remember the way could one of you point me in the direction?"

To this she simply gave Alaster a slightly confused look, then bent down figuring a real response to this would only make things worse, picking up her cell phone and tucking it into the waist band of her tiny skirt and then the pool stick. Murph, Thomas Murphy, was ready to go now, and she did intend to go with him. She just wished that she had pants, and made a mental note that if they got out of this she would find a job that would actually let her wear pants from now on… and this almost brought on a case of the giggles.

“You guys wanna shut up for a moment and hear what everyone else has to say,” Alaster slurred…

Murph’s shoulders slumped a bit and his progress toward the door stopped (again) on the second tread of the stairway. His jaw clenched and his eyes closed as his grip flexed on the crowbar in his hands. Not really, no, he thought, drawing in a slow breath, I’m not convinced that I wanna do this, myself… I don’t need any help talking myself out of it. He opened his eyes, then, backed up a couple of steps and turned his head to regard Alaster where he wobbled on his perch.

…“I mean, Murph, what the hell plan do you have,” the younger man demanded, “I have yet to sober up and we have a half dead girl over there. Not including the fact that Amber is about to go as insane as those ravenous freaks out there! Are you really suggesting you carry a six foot drunk and a small ill girl while trying to keep a mother from going on a suicidal rampage?! What exactly was your plan go out and beat the zombies to death with your bare hands?! What do we use, Murph?”

The kid paused to light up another cigarette and, after a long drag, continued on his tear, this time targeting Amber – whom Murph couldn’t help but noticed had drawn closer to him in the wake of Alaster’s drunken diatribe. “And you, Amber; if we stay here we die. Get over the sad story about your child. I’m probably the only one here who didn't lose someone he loved, so grow up and tend to your own needs before you worry about your son’s.”

Grow up?! Murph’s eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched as he glowered across the murk of the basement,This coming from the guy who’s drank half the barstock by himself in the last few days? You insensitive son of a… He twisted his grip on the crowbar as if he were thinking about taking it to the carpenter’s head as opposed to using it to defend himself from whatever might be outside the basement door, and, probably would have had it not been for Amber pressing back against him, just as wobbly and tearful as she had been before the kid decided to open his yap.

“Take me with you Tom… I’ll go.” She muttered quietly.

“Anyone have a lighter?” Murph’s eyes flicked to the guy he’d come to know as Jake, then... some kind of pro athlete or something, if I remember … and took in the improvised explosive the man was holding in his hand.

One hand let loose of the crowbar and slid reassuringly around the trembling barmaid’s shoulders. He looked down into her eyes, made note of the trembling lip and tear-damp cheeks as he nodded his silent reply. Tommy Murphy’s gaze traveled around the dank confines of the basement, then, as he considered the validity of some points that Alaster was making, and balancing them against some of the absurdities that had punctuated them. His eyes lingered for an instant on each face or form, then returned to the young carpenter, again…

“If this were another place and another time, boy,” Murph rumbled, “I’d hand you your a**, right now! The way it stands, though, is that, at this minute, all any of us have is right here in this basement and we’ve got bigger things to worry about than tearing each other down. If we are gonna get out of here and live through whatever friggin’ nightmare this is, we’re gonna need each other whether we like it or not!

You wanna stay down here and drink away the rest of your days, man, you go right ahead because you’re right… I got no intention of carrying a six foot drunk outta here! I’ll carry the girl if I’ve got to – but I’m betting that she ain’t as sick as you are drunk and is more than willing to at least try – and, yeah, Alaster, if it comes to it, I’ll beat one of those friggin’ things stupid with my bare hands! I sure to God ain’t stayin’ down here and rotting away without even tryin’ to do something!

So, my immediate plan, little man,” Murph growled, turning his back on Alaster before he worked himself into a real good frenzy and starting for the steps again, “is to go up top, see if I can find Patty’s shotgun and maybe some shells for the thing, and get us the hell out of this place…”
“Anyone?” Jake again…

What’s he so desperate for a light for? He ain’t planning on lighting that in here, I hope…
He gave Amber another comforting squeeze before letting his arm fall away from her shoulders again. “You okay,” he asked.

((OOC: Assuming a positive response of some sort))

“Good,” he nodded, “Do me a favor and see if you can’t get Emily rallied around and ready to go?”

((Again, assuming a nod of compliance at least…))

His gaze slid around the room again, coming to rest on the guy with the hastily made Molotov in his hand, this time, but before Murph could say anything, Alaster got distracted by the footballer and that pair got wrapped up in an almost surreal conversation, so the mechanic simply shook his head, flicked a glance at Amber, and bounded up the steps to start dismantling the barricade.

He heard the thud when Alaster hit the floor… heard him ask to be reminded of where the bedroom was… We’ve been living in a one room basement for almost two weeks, knucklehead… Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, I hope he sobers up quick!!!
“Almost there,” he called down the stairs a moment later, setting another piece of the barricade aside, "how're we coming down there?"

((OOC: Okay... "dressing down" completed for what it's worth ... Murph's opening the door... Here's hoping we're ready. ))