|Marga Hendry (shysniper) wrote in immune_ic,|
@ 2011-10-04 19:25:00
|Entry tags:||# 2011  october, rae|
WHO: Marga, Rae, and anyone else nearby who wants to join in!
WHEN: Thursday, October 4, 2018; afternoon
WHERE: Manhattan Mall (directions)
WHAT: Supply raid! And an encounter with a group of wakers and other misc zombies.
|It wasn't that she didn't like doing this type of thing for people who couldn't. Alright, yes it was, since her fear seemed to be in charge of her emotions right now. She didn't appreciate being sent on a mission like this. Not when her skills were of better use from afar. One of their number had been killed, however, which left Carnegie Hall one man (or woman, rather) short for this particular supply mission. And so Marga's name was plucked out of the lottery machine — or however the leader types selected Immunes — and tossed into the cooking pot that was this mission. A poor metaphor, to be sure, but that was how Marga saw it. A senseless mess that was not going to end smoothly.|
For the first time in a long time, the woman had her Bowie knife tucked into the little pocket sheath on her belt. Thus far she'd never been in a situation where she had to use it, but of course there was a first time for everything. Pretty much the only thing she knew about fighting with a knife was to stick the enemy with the pointy end. In addition to her lighter sniper rifle, someone had loaned her a sawed-off shotgun, which she held nervously in both hands. The loaner, a middle-aged man who scared her almost as much as the zombies, had shown her how to aim and fire the gun, and she went over his one and only lesson in her head on repeat.
At least there were a few friendly faces among those joining her on this raid. Rae was going, and that was some small relief. Marga liked the younger girl; she had a way of making people calm. Marga chewed her bottom lip. Rae would be hard-pressed to keep Marga calm throughout this trip. One small plus to all of this came with the realization that they didn't have to walk the whole way to the Manhattan Mall. Marga didn't know why she'd assumed they'd go on foot, but this news made her a little happier about going. Not much, but a little.
To Rae, she asked in a quiet voice, "How far exactly is this mall we're going to?" The only windows on the truck were the large windshield and two small rear windows at the back, neither of which Marga could see much from. As much as she was curious to see where they were going, she was glad she didn't have to look at the undead too much. The driver hit a bump in the road and Marga put out a hand to brace herself against the wall.