Who: Bishop and Jace
What: A confrontational run in of sorts...
Where: Warehouse on the Outskirts
When: Thursday night
Rating: PG-13/R (just to be safe)
Status: Pending
Gravel popped beneath her tires as she slowed her bike to a crawl. The buildings around her looked dark, long deserted. That didn't come as much of a surprise. She was still outside the town's city limits. Any survivors would be packed in there, where resources were more available. If there were still people here, that is. The town was good sized, but that didn't mean much. Those that the virus had spared might still have fled, especially if they'd run out of supplies. Pulling the bow away from it's harness on her back, she notched an arrow. Even if this place were dead, it was better to be safe than sorry. Bishop had rolled in with a heavy load. There were plenty out there that would take as soon as trade. Hadn't she seen that first hand? The world had turned into a pack of starving dogs, attacking those who had the biggest bones. Plus, a hungry beastie was just as bad as an angry human.
Propping her bike against the side of the sagging brick building, she peered around the corner. Freeing one hand, she gave a nearby lightswitch a test flick. Nothing. It was worth trying, anyway, and a hard habit to break. Some places still had juice pumping into them from somewhere, especially if the area was still occupied. Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, she scanned the open room. There was some trash against the walls, proof that, at some point, people had been here. Against the back wall, metal grating formed stairs and a narrow catwalk. It was the perfect place to set up camp. Easy to defend, and high enough that no one could hide from her if they did manage to sneak in. It wouldn't be very comfortable to sleep on, but other things took priority. She might wake up with a stiff back, but it was better than a slit throat. As paranoid as that might be, it was one of the things she had to think of daily.
Stepping back outside, she slipped the arrow back into the quiver she had attached to the side of her trailer. Throwing her bow onto the rest of the load, she wheeled it all inside. It didn't take long to haul her goods up onto the catwalk, leaving her bike as a makeshift gate at the bottom of the stairs. Her goods were separated into two categories: use and trade. Most of the trade was stuff she'd taken from her own armory. It was surprising what one hand gun and a box of ammo could buy you these days. Once she'd gotten all unpacked, she decided a bit of exploration was in order. Strapping on her bow once more, and fastening the quiver across her back, she headed outside once more.
The evening breeze was cool, without the biting promise of freezing to come. Winter would be setting in soon, which would defiantly slow down travel this far north. She'd have to find somewhere to set up camp, at the very least for the coldest months. It wouldn't be so bad here, as long as the locals were friendly, and not crazy cannibals. One town of that was plenty. A sharp sound to her right caused her to turn, dropping quickly into a crouch. Bishop pulled the bow string back to her ear, her eyes darting to take in the shadows. The murky outline of a human figure showed against the shadows of the building, hidden by the falling darkness. Keeping a close eye, she called out in as calm and friendly a voice as she could muster. Her cop voice, even if no officer of the law had even muttered those words. "Why don't you come out nice and slow, and keep your hands where I can see them. You do anything funny, and I'll put this arrow through your chest."
Well, maybe she didn't sound to friendly, but she definately sounded like she meant business.