Who: Griff and OPEN (+19 Road Raiders) Where: Streets of Austin (now is not the time for a tourist map) What: And there he was, and in he walked. Griff blows into town. When: A stormy twilight on June 18.
Ya’ll know how this works. Free for all intro fight, happening on the streets. There are 19 killable NPC Raiders divided over four cars/trucks/utes whatever. If killing some of the Road Raiders in your post, please indicate the number killed in the subject line so we can keep track of what we’re doing and how many are left. No real posting order but try not to leave anyone behind (aka me, cause I’m on a freak time zone to everyone else!)
If life was a movie then Griff felt that this would be the end game. That final all in, nothing left to lose showdown right before the heart wrenching end. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ would be playing as the hero laughed in the face of danger and certain death. ‘Just a man and his will to survive…’
It would be beautiful. The crowd would mist up and then cheer; perhaps some would lament the loss of a well solidified villain.
Griff had none of that. Any desire to laugh was long gone, most likely lost in the steadily growing red that seeped from his left side and down onto the armoured Ford’s seat. His soundtrack was the churn of the oil deprived engine; the grind of balding tyres against pothole ridden asphalt and not for the first time Griff decided that reality blew.
Dropping his right hand, red with blood from his side, he slipped his fingers over the gearstick and pushed the dying van up a notch. He was too cautious to glance in the rear view mirror. It was easier not actually knowing how much ground the Raiders were making on him.
“You know,” Griff muttered, his eyes flicking to Grimes instead. The dog looked back at him from the passenger seat with that sort of sardonic look which suggested he thought Griff should be keeping his eyes on the road. Griff gathered there was endless wisdom in that advice and diverted his attention. His hand slipped on the wheel, the smear of red steadily taking over the worn leather as he took a corner blind. Anything to try and shake his unwanted tail.
The fact that they’d made it this far spoke wonders about Griff’s sheer determination not to die. With the van in the state it was it seemed that his own desperation was the only thing keeping it running.
He’d – well, really ‘they’d’ because Grimes was just as much a part of this frantic struggle – had hit the Raiders just outside of Georgetown. Griff had been concerned the moment he’d seen the old servo, but they weren’t going anywhere with the needle on empty so he’d pushed his worries to the side. Grimes had jumped out the moment the door was open but instead of running off in hopes of a meal, he’d simply started pacing. Back and forth, his eyes on the darkened building as his sides repetitively brushed against Griff’s legs. It had only worried Griff further.
Petrol pump in the tank, Griff had jimmied the machine until it started filling. It was a slow trickle but it was better than nothing and surprising within itself. Normally it took time to find the one pump that still held gas. Maybe luck was on his side this time; maybe he was concerned for nothing.
The rest was a blur. Griff wasn’t sure if Grimes had barked first, if the gun had gone off or if Griff had heard the roar of another engine. Everything happened at once and yet seemed so slowed down and segregated that it could have been an hour between the blast of the gun and the pain in his side. Somehow it only took seconds for him to be back in the cab, Grimes leaping over the top of him, a snarl marring his already tough looking features.
Shocked and shaken, Griff had slammed the door shut and twisted the key. Yet his hand seemed to also be pressing in at his side. Time blurred and warped and for a moment all he knew was pain and the sound of human whooping and the dull thud of bullets ricocheting off the armoured van. He fucking hated Raiders. They were worse than the bloody zombies. Bloodthirsty, cut throat murderers, they attacked and hunted both the infected and the living just for the sport of it.
Dazed and deafened by Grimes’ barking, he’d put the pedal to the metal and tore up the highway, his mind full of border spotlights and covering machine gun fire. Just get to Austin. A welcome party. A wall. A barricade. Something. Was this not the rumoured promise land of survivors? Surely they’d found the time to dig themselves in and fortify their borders.
Once again reality took a harsh turn and Griff had breezed on in through the outskirts without any resistant. Or back up. Now there was a whole different fear taking hold. He’d never been to Austin before and now was hardly the time to be pulling out a tourist map, but his sense of cities indicated that he was getting close to the main centre and, desperate as he was, he still wasn’t overly comfortable leading a pack of skinners right into the middle of hidden civilians.
“This would be a whole lot easier,” he grit out between his teeth. That’s right. He’d been talking, verbalizing his frustrations to Grimes. Making a point. In front of him the lines of the road blurred and Griff blinked his eyes fast. Better; clearer and for a moment it no longer felt like the edges of his vision was coming in to drive him blind. He knew he was bleeding bad; the bullet wound to his left side no longer burnt. It simply tickled with that odd sensation of cold skin and pained numbness.
“…If you could drive.” Perhaps it was Griff’s imagination but he was sure that Grimes made the dog version of a scoff. The sound was lost as Griff’s foot pounded on the clutch and his hand ripped back on the hand break. Cash in Transit vans sure as hell weren’t meant to drift but right now Griff was willing to try anything and if he left it too many more corners than he’d be rolling straight into downtown Austin. Yanking the wheel, blood and all, into the tight corner, Griff blew up rubber smoke even as he felt the vehicle shudder. Gears groaned. The engine hissed. Pumping the accelerator provided no relief and a quick glance in the review view told him that the Raiders were doubling back. Keeping pace like the blood hounds they were.
As the trusty Ford E350 heaved the product of its dying rev, Griff had to be content that at least he was heading away from what he assumed was a populated place. If this was in fact the final showdown of his life then he wouldn’t go dragging anyone else down with him. Glancing at Grimes, Griff nodded as if there had been a silent conversation between them.
Here and now. It all ended here and with a shaking hand Griff reached for his sword holster and groaned at he slipped it over his shoulder. His guns and knives were already in place; he went nowhere without them. Reaching over he gave Grimes one last pat – a final goodbye perhaps – before sucking in a deep breath and closing his hand around the door handle.
And then he slipped a gun from his holster, kicked open the door and opened fire on the incoming wheels in one fluid movement.