|
Post by America on Feb 2, 2013 20:39:03 GMT -5
It was a little bit difficult to find what they needed now. The store had already been ransacked, possibly a few times before from the looks of it, and big chunks of the medicines were just gone. Sure, much of the "gone" medication was spilled all over the floor, covering the tiles in sticky goo (which America had to step around to ensure the soles of his shoes stayed clean). Luckily, there was still medicine left on the counters. Not the best sorts of medicine, and probably not all the sorts the medics would need, but it would have to do.
He grabbed the two remaining bottles of Aspirin, shaking them before dumping them in the shopping bag he had grabbed from the front of the store. It wouldn't do for him to bring empty bottles back to the base. Not that he truly believed any sane person would take the medicine ad leave the bottle behind, but he couldn't be too sure anymore.
He moved on down the aisle, keeping an eye out for the more important medicines. That didn't stop him from dumping the less-important ones into his bag, of course. Who knew, it could prove to be useful sometime down the future (even though he wasn't sure if anyone would ever appreciate the eye drops- but he had been wrong before, so he'd take it).
He sighed as he came across the empty slot of what seemed to have been fever reducers. So much for that. Restocking expeditions really weren't that exciting when he couldn't even get what he wanted to get.
"Hey, England?" he asked, keeping his voice down as he bent down to pick up a stray bottle of liquid. He hoped his expedition partner was still in the same aisle, otherwise he would just be talking to himself. "If they've got any food here, can we also grab some of that?"
[[hooray for sucky titles and "wtf is going on" first posts!]]
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 2, 2013 22:34:26 GMT -5
((All first posts are like that, no worries.))
England's pack was still worryingly light. They were supposed to raid the pharmacy for medical supplies that were running low in the warehouse, just the usual over-the-counter drugs, but even those seemed to have been cleaned out. He should have known. With a sign on the front display that said "Take what you need and god bless", there was bound to be pretty much nothing left on the inside. Some things were still left, though, and they all went into his pack, no matter how useless they may be (diarrhea medicine? Sure, who knows when it'd be useful). It made him feel like he was at least getting somewhere.
After getting a couple of aisles done, and having gotten nothing substantial except a few packs of ACE bandages, which they could potentially use for sprains though their bodies took care of minor sprains really easily, he started heading back towards America. He was hyperaware of the weight of the gun bumping against his stomach as he walked, ears out for sounds and eyes darting side to side at every moment to be able to catch the faintest movement. The shadows in the unlit store were unnerving, and at the sound of his own steps, even, England's heart skipped a beat.
Once he made it back to his lover, he stepped into his line of sight very clearly so that no surprise was given, and got closer.
"The food is up in the front, right by the display windows. Even though there are rain clouds blocking the sun today, I'm afraid that going so close to the glass is just begging for zombies to turn their attention to the food; and I don't mean the granola bars in the front," he mumbled just as low, motioning for America to squat down for a moment so that they could discuss without fear or being spotted. "Do you have anything substantial? The most pressing need is painkillers and bandages. Antibiotics, why not. We definitely need more disinfectant, or at least rubbing alcohol, too. Plasters, pads, any kind of bandage should be picked up, too. Vitamins as well, if there are any left. And hygiene. Soap, shampoo, tampons for all our lovely ladies... Basically anything the nations could benefit from." The weight of the box of a dozen innocent-looking latex objects at the very bottom of his bag was so much more noticeable now. England was glad that the obscurity hid his blush.
"Once we're done, we should keep moving. Clean out the aisles here. I'll attempt to get closer to the front and see if there's any way I could grab some food without being noticed by our lovely friends prowling on the streets."
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 2, 2013 22:58:41 GMT -5
America crouched closer to the ground, getting level with England and very thankful for the fact that he wasn't exactly in plain view anymore. He was just waiting for a zombie to hear them and come barging in. He wasn't exactly loaded with ammo, and while he was okay with close-combat and stabbing and all that, he never did look forward to it. A gun in his hands was always so much more comfortable. On instinct, he set his hand on his own, though he kept his eyes on England and listened seriously to all that he had to say.
"I mean, not much is left," he whispered, his irritation clearly shown with a pointed glance to the nearly-empty shelves. "I did get some Aspirin and some sort of eyedrops and these things you put on your muscles to stop them from aching so much." As he spoke, he began looking down into his bag, mentally assessing what all he had randomly grabbed from the shelves. "There was one pack of Band-aids left, but they're those real tiny ones. Doubt it'll get us anywhere, but I grabbed them anyway." He held up the bottle of liquid he had been holding and said, "Oh, and this is children's nasal spray." Raising his eyebrows, he placed it in the bag anyway, giving a small shrug as he did. "We'll never use it."
At least it was filling up his bag.
He smiled at England then, gesturing to the front of the store. "Check and see how many there are first. Don't put yourself in any danger, you hear? If there are too many, skip getting the food. And, while you do that, I'll look for some more hygiene supplies, 'kay?"
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 3, 2013 0:59:55 GMT -5
"Fuck, we're not getting anywhere," England groaned quietly, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "If this keeps up, we'll have to check another store. We really need those painkillers and bandages, and I'm especially rooting for vitamins. The supplies are not due for another few weeks, and I doubt we'll have enough to last us out." The situation back at the warehouse was getting more worrisome by the day, and England did not know how much more stress he could take.
Sighing softly, he pushed himself up after another quick glance at the display glass that was up front of the store. He could already see the vague shapes of the undead prowling the streets against the dirtied glass, and he bit his lip before nodding at America.
"Get going. The sooner we're out, the better. And always look out for the hidden ones," he warned in a whisper before swinging his bag back on his back and grasping his gun to give himself a sense of security. He ducked against the empty shelves, getting a quick once over of the middle isle before jogging up to the front. He stopped right before he got into view of the display glass and swore softly at the lack of opaque walls in this pharmacy. His eyes darted outside, where the zombies' forms were a bit clearer, and he watched them for a second as they ambled down the street with no purpose. Good. They had no idea that living beings were in the store. The glass doors weren't thick, and wouldn't hold back a mob for long, though thankfully, since the building's power was cut off, the sliding automatic doors didn't open for every zombie passing too close to the sensor.
His steps were careful and calculated, eyes trained at the outside world, as he stepped out into the open and grabbed some boxes of pre-packaged snacks off the shelf. He grabbed some soup mix packets and a box of energy bars before retreating back into the relative safety of the shelves, where he opened all the boxes and poured the individual packs and bars directly into his bag along with the soup mix. At least the move was saving space in his pack, just in case he came across something remotely useable. He doubted it, though, considering that the lack of electricity had ruined all the fresh and frozen products, and that the bread was probably mouldy by now. His saving grace, though, was on the other side of the store, where he could see the few remaining canned goods strewn on the tablets and on the ground. Swinging his gun on his back and sliding his bag on afterwards, England dropped to the floor and began army-crawling across the large stretch of wide open space that separated him from his goal. He was well aware of the fact that he was in blatant view of any zombie that mistakenly swerved its vision into the store, but the knowledge only kept him going faster.
He just hoped that the shadows both inside and outside the store would hide his figure as he practically screamed for zombies to look at him and evaluate how tasty he appeared to be.
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 3, 2013 14:47:46 GMT -5
America waited until England was moving before he turned away, hoping to find something that England mentioned. He knew how useful getting at least a small roll of bandages would be, but, unfortunately, the necessities were majorly cleaned out. He kept low as he moved along the aisles, his hand reaching out every so often to grab what he hoped would be needed. He did find a few children's vitamins, but the adult ones were cleaned out. Still, he figured they might be able to just take a double amount of children doses. He wasn't sure how medicine worked, but it was worth a shot.
He moved down a different aisle then, where the shelves were much better stocked. He passed over most of the bottles, but stopped when he found a few that might actually prove useful; witch hazel. And, right next to that, rubbing alcohol. His face brightened considerably. Sure, the alcohol was lacking in quantities, but at least there were other sorts of disinfectant surrounding them. Even if he couldn't find any bandages, this would have to make do, and the medics would probably be quite pleased.
He opened his bag and reached out, grabbing one of the alcohols to start with. Those were the most important, so he figured he'd take the three or so bottles that were left before moving onto the others. However, just as his fingers gripped the plastic, he felt something suddenly grab his own hand, quickly tightening around his wrist. Cold, dry, and fleshy. His heart practically stopped as he realized just exactly what it was.
He tore his hand away and fell back, giving a cry of, "Holy shit!" before fumbling with his gun. The zombie started moving, and then America was able to see it better; it had been hidden on the other side, almost as if it was waiting for him to grab something. Of course, America knew better than that, since zombies weren't capable of rational thought, but the idea of that being the case frightened him. Without thinking, he clicked the safety off on his pistol and pulled the trigger, shooting the zombie through the head and breathing a sigh of relief as it fell, though his heart was still racing.
The calm that was gathering on his face easily turned into a look of horror when he realized just how loud he had been, and just how many zombies were prowling about a few feet away.
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 3, 2013 17:28:38 GMT -5
England was busy sandwiching the few remaining dented and battered cans of beans and corn between the chewy bars and snacks at the bottom of his bag. He felt a lot more useful like this, finally having filled his bag with supplie that would actually serve their purpose. His eyes constantly went to the glass, though, and he sighed in relief when he noted that the zombies could not see him.
The silence had its downside, though. England heard America loud and clear as he screeched in surprise, his ears ringing with the echo, and was forced to clamp his hands on his ears when the gunshot rang out to block out the ringing in his ears.
When the noise died down, England was painfully aware of the loud heartbeats hammering his chest and ringing in his ears.
"America!?" he called urgently, clicking the safety off his gun and holding it, ready to fire, and listening intently as he walked a bit towards the other side of the store. A loud smack against the sliding doors grabbed his attention again, and he swore as he spotted the zombie moaning and scratching at the glass, trying to get to him. It was unsurprising. With all the noise and the fact that he was in the open, he was sure to be spotted. "Damn it," he swore softly, looking at the undead, and its advancing companions, for a few more seconds before grabbing his bag and jogging towards America's general location.
His hands were tight on the gun as he skidded across the floor into America's aisle. He immediately spotted his lover standing back, hands on his gun and a zombie at his feet.
"Are you alright?" he inquired worriedly as he slid to his side, picking up the fallen bottles of disinfectant and shoving them in his bag. "We have to run. The zombies are at the door already. Let's take the back roads." His eyes raked over his form and he nodded to him encouragingly. "If you're not hurt, we should get going. Those doors won't hold for long."
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 3, 2013 20:31:57 GMT -5
America had been breathing deeply when England showed up. Then, of course, the guilt settled in, especially when he heard the rattling of glass as the zombies beat at the windows and door. He probably could have killed the creature in a quieter way, if he had stopped to think about it. As it was, though, he didn't have any time to dwell on the "could-haves." Rather, he had to listen to England and get out of that place before the zombies broke through. "I'm fine," he quickly assured, dumping a few of the peroxides in his bag before swinging it across his shoulder and nodding, glancing towards the back door. He was more than ready to get out of there before the zombies barged in.
Without waiting for a reply from England, he grabbed his lover's hand with his own free one (he wasn't about to let go of his gun, especially not when they were running outside) and jogged down the aisle they were in, refusing to let go for even a second.
He wanted to apologize for the commotion he had created, but he figured he could actually do that when they were safe. Not now, when they were just trying not to get caught by the zombies. However, he mentally cursed himself, wanting so much just to go back in time and catch himself from preforming that one stupid, stupid act. He shouldn't have panicked as he did. He should have backed away and used his knife, not his gun, to kill the zombie.
He had to focus, though. He couldn't allow his mistake to distract him.
"Through here?" he asked once they arrived at the back door. Of course, he didn't wait for any affirmation before quickly opening it and stepping out.
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 3, 2013 22:50:19 GMT -5
England stumbled as he was roughly jerked away by the hand, almost tripping over the dead body at his feet, but regained his balance and fell into step with America as they made their escape towards the back. A part of him regretted not having the time to stop and inspect the useful-looking packages on the shelves, but antibiotics wouldn't help them much when they were dead. So, leaving the stock behind, he silently followed America and nodded to him as he opened the door.
The outside was grey and obscured by the rain clouds gathering above. The lack of visibility was not the most worrying factor, though, as England's eyes immediately went to the few zombies blocking their way out of the alley, into the streets. Had they been alone, they would have been no problem to handle, but as they proved when they moaned high and loud at the sight of fresh meat, they had an exceptional talent for social interaction.
"This way," England hissed, taking the lead and dragging America further into the alleyway, away from the undead that had spotted them and were now stumbling towards them. He stopped a bit further away, in front of the back door leading into the adjacent building, a small clinic, if he recalled correctly from earlier exploration, and used the butt of his gun to violently smash the rusty lock keeping the doors closed. It didn't take much effort before the lock clattered to the ground, and the loose doors swung open on their own. It felt like some kind of a bad omen, but England didn't have time to dwell on it longer. Grasping his gun tightly, he motioned America in after him.
"The undead around here probably heard the lock and the rusty doors, so there's no use running now. Club or stab any zombie that gets in your way. Shoot only when necessary. We're not here to kill, we're here to get up to the roof safely, where we can probably be safe until we reassess our situation." His eyes flashed as the first stumbling form detached itself from the shadows of the badly-lit building, coming for them. "There are definitely plenty of zombies here, on every level. It's a clinic, so most likely a huge amount of people ran here after the outbreak began. Good news is, most patients are probably just scratching at their room doors." As the first zombie got within his range, he turned his gun around and smashed the butt into its nose, breaking right through the rotted skull and splattering brains on the ground. "Stay vigilant, let's move fast." With that, he began lightly jogging further into the hallway with flickering neon lights, eyes out for the staircase and the undead.
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 4, 2013 7:42:45 GMT -5
America didn't know if he had been expecting an easy escape from the pharmacy. He should have realized by now that, in this zombie-infected world, nothing was ever going to go as he wanted it to. So when they came across the mob of undead creatures in the alleyway, America just wanted to groan with them, though his would be in exasperation. Of course it wasn't going to be simple, and of course they would run into more than just a few more zombies.
He ran after England (though it was pretty easy to keep up, what with the tight grip they had on each other), and waited until the door to the clinic swung open before also stepping inside. He listened to England's words, nodding quickly and changing the position of his gun so he could also club any of the creatures. It was a violent method - as shown by England's kill just seconds after he spoke - but if it would keep them alive, then so be it.
They began running once more (and America felt like all they ever did these days was run), and America kept alert, just waiting for any zombies to pop out at them again. He needed to be ready for anything. As expected, another one soon appeared and America didn't waste much time in hitting it harshly with the butt of his gun, thankful that the combination of his strength and the rotting of the zombie's brain was enough to send it falling to the ground, never to wake again.
He heard the moans before he saw the staircase, and was very much grateful for the latter - being stuck in a dark area of a clinic with a huge mass of these creatures didn't exactly fit his definition of fun. "There!" he exclaimed, tugging at England's sleeve and turning towards the stairs.
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 4, 2013 11:34:35 GMT -5
England smoothly followed the sudden change in their trajectory, and did not comment on the fact that he'd almost missed the staircase. Clubbing another zombie, he immediately followed America's lead and took the stairs two by two. Groans and moans were quickly reaching them from behind, and England hypothesized that the zombies in the alley had mingled with the ones scratching at the pharmacy glass and were now heading after their trail. But it didn't really matter, he decided as he spotted zombies ambling on the second floor as well, since they were all out to kill them anyway.
He couldn't stop to catch his breath very long as the second floor was even worse than the first. It seemed like the second floor was the actual "clinic" part of the establishment, so it really should have been no surprise when he ended up in a waiting room jam packed with people who had thought they'd be finding salvation in there. Like a morbid painting come to life, all stilled for a second, every corpse on every chair, strewn on every surface, and of every shape and size, before all started to move at once. The smell of fresh meat enticed the zombies to stand up and walk, moans and screeches deafening as they found their strength in numbers and advanced towards the nations.
"Shit! We have to keep moving," England declared urgently, glancing down to the first floor to note that the zombies were beginning to pile up at the foot of the stairs, and that with so many trampling one another, it wouldn't be long before they piled up and reached the second floor. "Over here!" he quickly motioned, trusting America to follow as he turned around and ran towards the emergency exit stairs. The motion proved to be useless, as the move to open the door unleashed on them another wave of zombies that were waiting in the stairs.
"Alright, that didn't work out the way I planned it," he admitted a bit nervously as he backed up from the door, from which slowly emerged rotting arms. "Let's keep going, there has to be another set of stairs around here!" he crossed his fingers for that to be true and broke into a run again.
((be my guest and lead them up to the roof if you want))
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 4, 2013 13:24:36 GMT -5
It was a daunting sight, seeing all those zombies suddenly sit up from whatever positions they were originally in. If not for the zombies piling up on the stairs, America would have high-tailed it out of there. He didn't want to face so many zombies with no means of killing them save for clubbing them to death with his pistol. He was used to working with guns, killing zombies with guns, and he wasn't fond of beating them until their brains spilled out everywhere.
The smell of rotting corpses did nothing to quell the sickness rising in his stomach.
He jogged after England when they began moving once more. They had to find more stairs. America wasn't sure where it would lead them, but he was willing to take his chances with a flight of stairs. To the roof, to the ground floor, to another building- anywhere but in this clinic infested with undead creatures.
Luckily, America was quick to notice yet another set of stairs. "Found 'em!" he exclaimed, quickly turning and taking the stairs two at a time, knowing that England would be following him close behind. They couldn't afford to wait for even a few minutes to wonder what they would do upon reaching the top; the zombies were all around them, and there was nowhere else to run.
The staircase wasn't very well taken care of, at least not as nice as the rest of them. He supposed it was the top level, the one that led to the roof; not many people took care of the roof staircases, since not too many people ever went up to the top levels regularly.
There was a turn they had to take, and that was when America felt something slice through his thigh. Whatever it was had caught his skin and tore, until he finally gained enough common sense to pull away. He refused to glance down, knowing that they just had to hurry. He did hiss in pain, though, even while pushing the injury out of his mind and focusing more on getting the two of them to safety.
Luckily, the door was right there and after testing it, he found his best bet was to hit it. And that's what he did; he used his body to force the door open, then stepped out into a gust of breeze and gray rainclouds, glancing back at England and panting hard.
[[but i totally suck at taking the lead ha ha XD]]
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 4, 2013 15:18:00 GMT -5
England mentally praised America for the quick observation and was silently glad that he'd brought the younger nation with him. Even though it always seemed like they ended up in danger, he was morbidly glad that he was stuck with America. The other man was the only nation he would ever consider trusting with his life. By the looks of how comfortable he seemed, taking the lead like that, England was entirely alright with letting him go first and covering the back.
The staircase he'd found was completely unlit, narrow and made lots of creaks and clangs as they rushed up. England was slightly nervous that it would break as they thundered up, but at least it stood strong- just in time for the zombies at the bottom to trip at the first step and begin their death march to the top. He almost bumped into America when the former stopped by the corner they had to turn at the top, but his eyes were trained into the darkness below, so he did not know why he'd stopped. As quickly as it came, though, it was gone, and they'd both gone around the corner, and in front of the door.
America quickly took care of the door, too, dislodging it from theframe with a loud creak and bang as the door opened into the roof.
"Thanks. I'll scout the roof, keep the doorway clear," he breathed, immediately taking the lead and jumping onto the roof, gun safety off and ready to shoot anything that moved on sight. The skies were grey and didn't give him much visibility, but the roof was small, and he didn't need much exploration to determine that they were alone. With that in mind, he returned to America by the door and clicked the safety back on.
"Roof is clear. We're isolated from other buildings, about three stories up off the ground. Only way in and out is this staircase," he threw a glare at the doorway, and the darkness seemed to stare back at him. The moans from the bottom were faint. "We have to secure this door." England looked around him on the ground to find a way to block the door, and his heart soared as he spotted the lock and chain usually used to lock roof entrances. They both looked old, but they didn't have time to be picky. Looping the chain twice around the door handle and a thick pipe next to the door, England fumbled with the lock and snapped it shut through the rings. The click sounded like a sentence to death.
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 4, 2013 17:45:00 GMT -5
England had begun to scout around once they reached the rooftop, and America kept his gun trained on the doorway, eyes narrowed at the affronting darkness right in front of him. He heard the barely-distant moaning, and realized that the zombies would be tripping over themselves to get up to such fresh meat. He winced, opening his mouth to ask England if they could close the door, but his lover came back just in time and closed it himself.
America was extra pleased England had found those chains and that lock, because that meant they didn't have as much to worry about. The zombies couldn't get through such strong fortifications, could they?
Once everything seemed rather situated (or as situated as it was going to get), America let out a loud sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. "Um, well..." He trailed off, sighing once more and clearing his throat. "That-that was, uh, that's my bad." He grimaced, free to berate himself now without worrying about any sort of crazy zombie chase. "I really shouldn't have freaked out like that. If I had just stayed cool, you know..." He shrugged. "Yeah, we'd- we just wouldn't be in this mess."
He glanced down at his leg, not really wanting to meet England's gaze, and chose instead to focus on his cut. The pants were torn where whatever-it-was had grabbed, and there was already a bit of blood soaking through, but America didn't think it was too bad. He healed quickly, after all, so he supposed he'd be able to handle a little cut.
|
|
|
Post by England on Feb 4, 2013 22:27:32 GMT -5
"Let's not play the blame game. It could go on forever. Hell, I could blame any of the nations back at the warehouse for this, and with the proper argumentation, I could make it believable. We are both at fault here, but what's done is done. Let's find a way to get off of this roof. We obviously can't go on, so we're better off returning to the others as soon as possible." His eyes went to the sky. "It's going to rain," he remarked coolly, as if it was the least of their worries, and then glanced over the edge of the building. Zombies from all around the block were crowding the building, obviously attracted by the mutual noise their huge assembly was making. He tch-ed and went back to America.
"Let's retreat to the farthest corner from the door. These bastards won't leave us alone for anything," he grumbled, patting America's shoulder. "We're surrounded for the moment, and our only way out is blocked. The closest roof is the pharmacy roof, but we wouldn't make it by jumping, and we don't have anything to help us cross. I think that the best thing to do would be to outwait them. Maybe hide so they can't see us. It'll rain tonight, so if we're here until then, the rain will erase our scent. Hopefully they'll lose interest. I'm not very optimistic with that issue, but... I guess we don't have much else to do right now," he sighed and headed towards a corner of the roof. The ruckus in the streets was deafening, and England's mind was on overdrive, trying to find an escape, a hole in their defenses somewhere.
Slumping down to the ground, he slid his pack off, dragged his knees to his chest and hugged his gun against him. Though it was no time to get glum, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd hit a wall this time.
"Come on over," he called, looking at America, and finally noticing that a patch on his pants was soaked through with blood. "Are you alright?" he perked up upon noticing the wound. "Did you get scratched by one of them?" he inquired worriedly.
|
|
|
Post by America on Feb 5, 2013 6:56:22 GMT -5
America didn't feel much better even after the island nation tried assuring him that it wasn't his fault. England could make an argument that the sky was grass-green and that pigs flew, and he could make that believable. It was just a matter of twisting words and trust the correct way. It didn't make it true, though, and America knew that it was his fault, not England's and not any other nation's.
However, England did make one point, and that was "what's done is done." America wasn't going to focus on something that happened in the past. He had messed up, they were stuck, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that. He just had to quit feeling sorry for himself, because that wouldn't help anything at all.
He followed England to the farthest corner, really not wanting to stay close by the zombies. He'd much rather wait it all out. He didn't address England's question until he sat down, though, and only then did he grin and shake his head. "Nah, like I said before, I'm too quick for those zombies!" Well, he hoped. He was 99.9% sure it wasn't a zombie. "I dunno what it was. We were turning that corner on the stairs and my leg caught onto something. Maybe, like, a piece of wood sticking out-" Except it didn't feel a thing like wood had cut through him. "-or maybe a nail or something. I honestly have no clue."
He glanced at England's worried face and smirked. "Chill out, though. I heal quickly!"
|
|