-| OUTBREAK: A Survival RP | OUTBREAK (2017) | OUTBREAK (2018) |-
• Banner by Hastur •
T H E M E
•|[ Map of Chicago ]|•
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Samantha Tallow
Liz's Pet Store, Chicago, Illinois
The teenager had spent the night sleeping in a dog's kennel. Admittedly, it was quite comfortable, padded by the pet bedding and blankets that had been scavenged from inside the now abandoned store, and while not for the claustrophobic the plastic box did give a much needed sense of safety when outside there was none to be found. The electricity was still operational and so, too, was the plumbing in the small employee's restroom. Had there been food the girl could maybe justify staying a tad bit longer, but, no matter how comfortable she was, or thought she was, there were more pressing concerns that had to be addressed before the coming day was out.
Chiefly, finding her missing father.
Her father was the CFO for the European branch of a multinational corporation and had been in the United States on business. Samantha, his only daughter, had accompanied him as she had many times before when not in school. They had been on their way to the airport to leave for London when the attack happened, but it wasn't until much later that the girl was privileged to the knowledge of just how bad the situation had become. By then the quarantine had already failed. Her father, however, was optimistic even as the world imploded to pieces around them, but if he truly was hopeful or else lying for the sake of his beloved daughter Samantha would never know. He'd never tell. As for where he was now, the night before yesterday they had been separated by those things while attempting to find safe passage out of the city. They had a plan, a place to meet-up should something like this occur, but given the state of the city it had been a slow and difficult journey for the girl, especially so as her disability forced her to be more considerate of her surroundings. To approach every storefront or street with overwhelming caution. Still, she couldn't be too far now, and no doubt her father was already there awaiting her. Maybe his optimism had worked in the end.
Samantha crawled out from the kennel and stretched, feeling a bit exposed in the darkened store but otherwise having no cause for immediate alarm. Around her, the pet store was in abject disarray, having been looted during the riots two weeks prior or sometime after. A window had been smashed and the registers broken into; several shelves were overturned or otherwise emptied of product. The store looked to have been ransacked if only to make a mess, as if swarmed by hooligans, and the only discernible item missing was the cat and dog food. No animals were sold here so Samantha had been free to explore without the distressing sight of kittens and puppies and hamsters and whatever else dead in their cages. (A few unfortunate goldfish were floating bellies-up in clouded water but that was the worse of it.) A thorough search or the building the previous evening had turned up nothing of use or importance save for a simple multi-tool, and after doing her best to lock the door to the manager's office she had fashioned herself a bed for the night. Now it was simply a matter of making certain she had everything before leaving. She wouldn't be coming back.
Her backpack was sitting atop the kennel where she had left it. It hadn't been touched — a paranoid thought to be sure but one couldn't be too careful nowadays in light of all that had happened. Inside it were two granola bars, a handheld radio (useless to the deaf girl), a flashlight with spare batteries, her sketchbook, and some spare clothing stuffed haphazardly atop everything else. Samantha considered changing into something more fresh. Her T-shirt and leggings were soiled, and she'd gone far longer than she'd like without changing underwear. More than that she was desperately in need of a shower and overall felt grimy to an uncomfortable degree.
Throwing a blanket inside with the multi-tool that she'd found, Samantha zipped up and slid the backpack over her shoulders before grabbing her cellphone and charger. The battery was at 100%. She tried to send a text, first to her father and then to her mother overseas, but the message failed to send. Next she tried the internet but that, too, was unavailable. Her service was unstable and holding the device above her head failed to find any meaningful improvement. With an annoyed huff she pocketed the cellphone, grabbed her father's suitcase, and then cautiously made her way out from the small office. The empty store greeted her. She made a quick round through the aisles, mindful of the glass, before detouring to the restroom once certain she was still alone. Samantha washed up as best she could with the available soap and paper towels. Done, she stared at her reflection for a moment. Blue-green eyes stared back. Her hair was tangled, limp, and somehow less blond than it had been a few days ago. Her smile was crooked and in need of a toothbrush.
CVS. There was a pharmacy nearby, attached to the pet store but on the opposite side of the block.
Samantha nodded to herself, finding no harm in the diversion to snag some personal necessities before setting off for downtown. A toothbrush and deodorant and a few other toiletries. She hurried for the exit, eager to be on with her day and to reunite with her father. She paused only to consider a can of dog food that had been left behind, eyeing it hungrily for a long moment as her stomach growled in support. Could people eat pet food? Obviously, but would it make her sick? She was uncertain, so passed, promising herself that the pharmacy would have snacks.
Just a little while longer.
Dead Air Radio - 107.1 FM
"Good morning Chicagoland!
This is Quarantine Jack, and for those of you just now tuning in this is 107.1 FM, Dead Air Radio, bringing you the latest news and music because, and lets be frank, the apocalypse sucks. Yeah, I get it, the mailman ate grandma, but take away the looming extinction of our civilization and what are we left with? Nothing, and that's a total drag with a capital "D," so allow me the privilege, no, the honor of being your number one host at the end of the world.
Now for the weather. Looking outside I can see some clouds so expect a cloudy day. Slight chance of rain. Maybe. What do I know? The weatherman's dead out back so your guess is as good as mine. Now, for the daily news. Let's see here. Yeah, everything is still dead as fuck. What was that? I can't say that on-air? Well news flash! I can say whatever I want. Who's gonna stop me? The FCC? Hah! Those losers were brain-dead even before the infection. But in all seriousness, we've picked up a few tidbits on the withered grape vine that our wonderful listeners, that'll be you guys, might find interesting.
First off, I've been informed that anyone not in biting distance of the station is getting static, so if someone would like to turn off whatever it is that's jamming my tunes I'll be sure to give you a shout-out. Second, some fine folk at Saint Andrew's Church seem to be having some rough times. I'd say keep them in your prayers but prayers don't keep the zombies away. For that you're gonna need buckshot. Speaking of buckshot, anyone near the grocery store on North Broadway be on the lookout for a hobo with a shotgun. Sounds like a bad joke. Lastly, anyone been seeing those lights up in Sears Tower? Zombies were bad enough, we don't need some ghost to be making things worse.
[...static...]
Sorry folks, seems like we're having some technical difficulties on me end. So let's get on with the tunes. Alright, so, what do we have for your listening pleasure. Junk. Garbage. Oh, absolute garbage. Well shit. I apologize but my selection at the moment is slim to fuck-all. Hey, if you, yes you, my darling listeners, come across any spare CDs, cassettes, records, or even an 8-track feel free to bring 'em down to the station. We'll pay you for the trouble. Ah! A little old, but I feel that it suits our inaugural broadcast just nicely. Here's The End of the World by R.E.M. Enjoy."st just nicely. Here's The End of the World by R.E.M. Enjoy."
SURVIVORS
Loyola University, Chicago, Illinois
Those who could had gone home during the quarantine. They were local and so had that option. Others, those from out-of-state, or those who willingly stayed in the dormitories for whatever reason, had become trapped as the campus was overwhelmed by the sick and dying and undying. Those who hadn't left when they could were now trapped and taking refuge in the Cudahy Science Hall. Cole Bennett and Paul Reeves, two loners that had been roommates in the dormitories before the building had become too unsafe to hide inside. Lawrence Carpenter, a chemistry major that had simply hunkered down in his classroom. Morgan Kaur, Joyce Hamilton, and Lynn Nguyen were from the same sorority and had been chased by the things wandering outside. They were the last known survivors on campus. Everyone else was dead or gone.
Lynn had left two days ago to find help. Being the smallest and most nimble, she had the best chance of sneaking past the Infected and had volunteered to do so. She still hadn't returned or contacted them. Joyce and Morgan were busying themselves by scrounging for whatever food and water they could find from the break room refrigerator, teacher's officers, and the few vending machines that were actually stocked. Cole had gone off somewhere and so had Paul. Lawrence had sequestered himself away in a science lab to work on his "project" as he had called it.
The windows and doors had been barricaded as best they could, and while the Infected left them alone so long as they were quiet they would bang against the walls every so often, as if to remind the survivors inside that they were still outside waiting for them.
The students didn't have much in terms of supplies. They couldn't wait forever, and if help never came they'd need to escape somehow.
INFECTED
Chicago Police Department - District 7, Chicago, Illinois
The CPD had been overwhelmed in the first days of infection. After the riots, and after the declaration of martial law, the police were relegated to processing the mass influx of those displaced by the violence as the National Guard locked down Chicago. It didn't take long for law and order to break down. The infection spread rapidly, and with many officers dead or AWOL the precincts had been overrun.
The street outside District 7 was surprisingly devoid of traffic due to the nearby CPD roadblock. A police cruiser sat abandoned just outside the station, bumper crumpled against the orange barricades set up to protect the glass exterior, its driver's side door open and keys missing. A few more cruisers lay abandoned in the lot alongside a handful of personal vehicles. Shell casings glinted ominously in the sunlight. Infected milled about, at least two dozen strong but with more undoubtedly lingering just out of sight. Some walked aimlessly, others were lying motionless in the street but could spring up at any given provocation. The front doors to the precinct had been shattered and more Infected were inside the front atrium that had been absolutely destroyed in the chaos. One was on its hands and knees, feasting on the corpse of an officer, his torso torn open with his badge displaying the name OFFICER ALVAREZ. Inside the station proper another Infected was stuck inside the jail cell. A looter that had been arrested only to turn later after having been bitten during the riots. Lacking food and water for an extended period this particular Infected had grown weak but would lunge at the nearest survivor if given the chance.
The lower floor was only partly compromised. A few doors had been locked and the Infected were stuck in the "public" areas predominantly, with one being stuck in the garage. The upper floor was clear entirely.