Welcome to Gaia! ::

Paul leaned back on his haunches and allowed the adjustable crescent wrench to slip from his sweaty grasp, which caused a piercing clanging sound to ring out within the hollow room. The echo reached his ears a moment later and caused the man to jump at the reverberations of his own actions, like the butterfly effect. Each action had dire consequences elsewhere. But this was a breakthrough for the man who had been diligently working for the better part of several days to make this space habitable for those who had followed him in searching for sanctuary. Using a rudimentary knowledge of electrical properties and a grand understanding of machinery, Paul had cobbled together the Alternator of a car which he had found in disrepair with a large spindle made of blue plastic tarps which, perpetually, sent the alternator to spin and produce an electrical charge which was then wired through a transformer to boost the current and feed into a capacitor made of several car batteries which stores the charge for later use. This system which, theoretically, gave them an infinite source of energy as long as the parts were well maintained and the wind was blowing, was wired into a power strip which offered the small group five separate outlets of standard grade electricity. It was used for the various tools and objects around the warehouse which the group may deem necessary to use at some point or another. A heater for the cold Annapolis nights, a series of lighting so the group didn’t have to fumble about in the darkness, a cell phone since a teenager in the group was having difficulty leaving behind the semblance of society that she so needed and missed, a radio to scan for emergency information, a drill, a razor for the metrosexual survivor who still believed his appearance was more important than survival, etc….

Paul felt lucky for having found the group since the old adage “Strength in Numbers” was one used to full effect by the droves of their enemy, which shambled around mindlessly until they picked up a scent of a living creature. Then the terrifying swarm happened, The Corpses with their gaping maws and gnashing teeth which devoured anything they came in contact with. Like the fabled and deadly Army Ants of the Jungle, multiplied by a million and exemplifying instinct and survival in every one of their jerky movements. Paul often found himself watching them from the small porthole of a window, something that made the rest of the group fidget nervously as to what he may be thinking. What if Paul thought their way was easier than our way and gave in to the urges and release of death? He could wipe out the whole little colony with a swipe of his hand, one turn of his wrist and jerk of his powerful frame would cause the room to become flooded with the living dead… But why would he want to do that? Death seemed lonely and here, at least, he had allies even if he hadn’t known them before he offered them sanctuary under the security and leisure that he was able to afford him with his mechanical talents. Paul sighed as his light hazel eyes sought the objects of his undoing, dragging forth a few sullen words from his lips.

”To be so free…”

But the soliloquy was short lived as a young female stepped up to him, proffering a saw blade which was heaped with several pieces of bread. This constituted dinner around these parts, and Paul graciously accepted it with a smile and a word of thanks. The child smiled in return, before scampering back to her mother who was divvying out the small stores of food amongst the other survivors of the group.

Paul cast an eye around the room, sighed and then moved to a side room which the group used a store room for their various resources. Most notably, he was interested in their surplus of food which had recently taken a hit as a group of Baltimore Marauders that swept through their complex a few days previously. They were dangerously low on sustenance, especially considering the size of the group that lived off of that food. Again, he sighed. It seemed like he did that more often than not now a days, everything was an unconquerable task, everything was desperate. Everything seemed hopeless. Paul leaned over and picked up a half empty bottle of water. Why half empty? It’s hard to not be pessimistic in a world like this.
”Maggie!” He called to the common room where most of the people congregated. A wizened voice reached back to him. ”Yes, Paul?” Paul cast an eye to the door before calling out his next question in the booming voice of authority. ”Have you all eaten today?” When planning for the survival of your “family”, you needed to know these things. ”No, Paul.” She answered, causing Paul to sigh once more, like the theme music of his own life. Given the fact that the group still needed to eat today, they had stores for everyone to eat for three days on the slightest of rations and that’s with Paul forgoing his own dinners which he’d have to do, again. ”I’m going hunting.” He said to Maggie after exiting the storeroom and while he collected his ragged skateboard which served as his usual mode of transportation. After stepping upon the pedestrian transport, he pushed once across the smooth concrete floor and rolled to a far wall where he gathered his heavy revolver and gun belt, which soon adorned his waist, and then collected his pry bar which had become his preferred mode of defense now a days. After idly spinning and twirling the heavy weapon during his short moments of down time, Paul had become a veritable master in corpse extermination at such a close range. One by one they’d fall under the heavy impact of the bar, yet groups still proved difficult for the middle aged man.
Soon, Paul had exited the complex and was rolling down West Street on his board, his light hazel eyes drifting amongst the scattered trees and short buildings which lined the once busy thoroughfare. Memories of a life before this one filtered through his instinct to survive. A kiss on the dock, shopping at Capital Comics on Main Street, The Hard Bean and the best Grill Cheese and Roast Beef sandwich that Paul had ever had the pleasure of eating. It took that moment of recollection for Paul to find himself plummeting towards the asphalt, his skateboard hit a body which writhed in the street and send Paul in a headlong fall which he caught himself in time to roll over his left shoulder and come to a rest on his hands and knees. A large abrasion ripped his sleeve and flesh, his palms burned from the street, the smell of blood wafted in the air which drew the corpse to its feet. Paul was instantly alert as he heard the tell-tale sounds of the shambling rustle of the Dead walking and Paul was upon his feet with his steel bar in his right hand like a short sword. But the Corpse wasn’t paying attention and placed its foot upon the skateboard as it attempted to take its first step. The unsteady board rocketed forward, causing the Corpse to fall back to the ground and Paul to stop the board with the bottom of his right foot with an inaudible laugh. Slowly, methodically, Paul approached the creature. The pry bar being taken up in two calloused hands as he stalked his prey. When he reached the creature, he stopped above it. It shrieked. Paul plunged the pry bar down with its sharp point leading the precession into the Corpse’s forehead. The shriek died. Paul sighed.
It wasn’t long before Paul was back upon the skateboard and heading up the onramp to get to Route 50 in a thought that the line of gas stations on the way towards the Bay Bridge may have been fruitful enough to still have some useable items left within them. If not, there was always over the bay bridge which was replete with shopping centers which attracted the many tourists to stop in Queen Anne’s county and spend their money on the way to the beach at the edge of the state. But something caught his attention as he rounded the incline to place himself onto Route 50 properly. As he cast his eyes southward on Route 50, he saw someone approaching on (what appeared to be) a bicycle. Immediately Paul hopped off of his skateboard, slipping his pry bar back into the loop which he used as a sheath, and drew his large caliber revolver. Having armed himself accordingly, Paul pressed his side to an abandoned car and cocked the deadly implement in his grasp. Now, he listened to the bicycle, waiting for it to approach close enough that a good shot could be taken… if need be.