Apocalypse Clearance [Open]

[Damien Church]

After everything that had happened; most of the world dying and then the dead rising up and eating people, it was nice to know that some things had not changed. The south still was a completely indecisive mess when it came to temperature and weather. Winter was quickly approaching and though the day before it had been rather chilly out today Damien found it was a typical southern scorcher.

Though it was particularly warm today Damien knew that he could not afford to skimp on his usual supplies. He kept on the dark jacket he wore whenever going out (it worked well as camo in case of raiders) and the makeshift armor underneath that consisted of bits of cardboard and duct tape. The armor wasn't going to stop any bullets or knives or anything of that sort, but it proved tough for zombies to scratch through; he hoped the same held true for biting, though he had no intent on testing that out any time soon.

Damien moved quickly yet quietly as he crouched down and rolled under the steel door that was meant to board up Pecanland Mall. Within the first few hours of the apocalypse hitting the mall was ravaged and after about a week it was picked nearly clean, however there were few scraps to be gained from the place. Damien walked with hatchet in hand, the foul smell of death clinging to the air as he navigated through the poorly lit mall; the only available light was sunshine that penetrated the glass ceiling and the few bullet holes spread throughout the walls.

Every step he took needed to be a planned and calculated one, each turn he took could easily place him in the range of flesh eating monsters and Damien never took on hordes. He hugged the walls as he crept along, his eyes scanning everything from the ceiling to the walls to the floor, to the smallest of crevices. Crouched near the food court he sat silently and waited, watching for anything that moved abnormally.

Patience was never a strong point of Damien's but ever since the zombie apocalypse had hit he found himself forcing patience more and more. The watch on his wrist no longer worked so he didn't even bother checking, instead he kept count of the passing minutes in his head. After a full 15 Damien broke out across the food court and hoped the counter of a Subway. He prayed that the freezer hadn't been completely ransacked as he raced toward the back, hatchet ready just in case any ghouls popped up in his path.

[Otis Pearson]

The zombie apocalypse was pretty much what Otis had imagined it would be. Well, not exactly, but it was pretty close. He had never really been much into the whole "When the apocalypse happens, I'm going to do this, kill that, etc." No, for him, the whole idea of zombies wasn't really something to romanticize about. Of course, he doubted many people shared much of a different opinion now. Now that they were all living the horror of the walking dead. In truth, it could have been worse. He could have been in the mountains somewhere in east Asia when the epidemic struck and came back exhausted to be met with flesh-hungry crazed undead. That hadn't happened, so it was one thing to add to his growing list of reasons why he was better off than the majority of the world. Clothes, toothbrush and paste, flashlight... Well, and the fact he hadn't been infected in the first wave of heat ravaging death. Those were all good things he had. One good thing he didn't have, however, was a food supply. He had been wandering fairly aimlessly since everything had just fallen to chaos. Sometimes he would walk, sometimes drive if he could find a car with gas and the keys nearby. Driving was risky at best, but as long as the engine was running and the wheels were turning, most of the rotting corpses kind of just broke apart when he hit them.

It had been quite a few days since he'd left California. He wasn't really sure where he was supposed to go or if there was anywhere to go. California was bust. Or at least, San Diego was. He'd spent... Maybe a week? Looking for survivors. It was too much to revisit all the old places he'd enjoyed frequenting and finding nothing but mindless creatures roaming the streets. It wasn't just that. The smell in the city was horrendous. So many people just rotting under the sun... It was a hellhole for certain. So, Otis had decided he needed to get out of there. East just seemed like the logical way to go. In movies and television shows, the East was where most people headed. It probably had something to do with something important about America, D.C. maybe? It didn't really matter. Otis couldn't really think of any other place to go other than the generic direction of east, so he went. The majority of the way he took a jeep he found somewhere downtown. There had been two full jugs of gas in the back, so it had gotten him pretty far. The noise of the stupid thing was a little much, but he managed to get out of the city with little to no problem. The zombies weren't the fastest things he'd ever seen, though it appeared certain ones had a better capacity for sprinting. Those ones were a little freaky.

The jeep ran out of gas in Louisiana. Or at least, it was probably Louisiana. He'd passed a "Welcome to Louisiana" sign on the way in, but those things weren't always the most accurate landmarks. With his automotive transport down, Otis had to hoof it for a while. It took a couple days of relative peace - Otis had opted to circumvent the larger looking cities - before he finally made it to a place called "Monroe". Otis had never really been big on geography, so the name of the city didn't mean much to him. The fact that there was a city with a potential for food was the main reason he decided to head in. He run out of provisions a day before making it to Monroe, so he was starting to feel the stinging pangs of hunger in his abdomen. There were plenty of the undead shifting around in the streets, so it took triple the amount of time it would have normally to check stores and shops he came across. Most of them were busts, a few had some bits of food trash here and there, but Otis couldn't quite bring himself to eat any of it.

He had been just about read to just give up when he saw the mall. Malls were like... Zombie Apocalypse heaven. If there wasn't food in there, at least there were clean clothes, maybe even a bed. Yeah, it probably wasn't the safest place to catch up on sleep, but Otis was bone-tired, hungry, and just wanted to lay down and process what was going on. He'd been putting it off for the sake of survival, but now that things were gradually settling down - more or less - he needed to come to terms with what was going on. Ignoring the whole thing was only going to work for so long.

Thankfully, the doors shutting the mall up weren't in great shape. It was a good thing because Otis didn't have to exert unnecessary energy to get in, but bad because neither did the zombies. Carefully sliding his body between the metal and the concrete, he picked himself up and surveyed the mall. As with most interiors of buildings, the place seemed empty and smelled like old blood and rot. There were the occasional sounds of movement that alerted Otis to the fact he wasn't alone, though they were the common bumps and shuffles the monsters made as they stumbled about aimlessly. There didn't seem to be a whole lot of them, so Otis figured as long as he was careful and quiet he might even be able to catch a few winks of sleep here. First, however, food.

Otis made his way around the fallen debris and various other things that littered the floor, being extremely careful not to cause any loud noises. Any kind of crash or bang and every single shambler in the mall would be on him in a matter of minutes. He'd learned that the first time he'd gone on a food run in San Diego. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life, and he at little wish to repeat it. It took time and a couple prolonged moments of hiding so a creature could pass by before he made it to the Subway. It was the first shop in a the food court area, so Otis figured why not just give it a try. Realistically, they probably had, if anything, stale bread and processed cheese. At this point, it was better than garbage, so he hoped there was something there. Otis slid over the counter, silently landing on the other side and headed for the back of the room where the food storage was. On his way, he quietly picked up a door that had fallen off one of the little fridges. If the zombies were anywhere, they were probably back there, and he didn't want to be caught without something to defend himself.

Reaching the back of the store, Otis was relieved to find a lack of the undead. There were two bodies lying on top of each other like there had been a fight. Bullet holes were in the wall and had pierced one of the freezers. Otis headed to the freezer with holes in it first, hoping the food inside was still good. No luck. The bullets had fried the thing that made the cold go, so all the food was looking pretty... nasty. The second freezer however... Otis reached over to lift open the lid when he heard the sound of boots on tile. He froze, kind of like a possum, afraid that he had just imagined the noise. A few seconds later, the sound of boots continued, though muffled as if whoever the sound was coming from didn't want to be detected. Otis couldn't blame the person.

He turned around just as the other man rounded the corner. The feeling that shot through Otis' body was a combination of relief, joy, and fear. The latter was caused mainly because of the wicked looking axe the man was holding. Out of pure reflex, Otis shot his hands up in the air as if the man was pointing a gun at him. Once he'd done that, he very slowly backed away towards where he had left the mini-fridge door. He desperately didn't want to fight the other man, but just in case... "H-hey." It was all he could manage in a quiet whisper. It'd been a long time since he'd spoken to someone that wasn't himself.

[Damien Church]

The world and life as Damien had previously known it was truly gone. Living in post-humanity life was all about running, survival, scavenging, and just barely managing to exist. Most days things were fast paced, a hurried lifestyle that you either adapted to or you were left straggling and thusly gobbled up by hungry undead ghouls. The ratrace of life had gotten a make over and it was no longer about getting ahead or conquering the American dream; life had been busted down to his bare primitive qualities and became very little more than living to see the next day. It was so easy to just be caught up in the mentality that came with this new standard of living but there were times when things slowed down, when the cold nights came and because of the absence of safety to move around at night all that was left to do was sit and think.

Damien found himself reminiscing and missing old friends and his family whenever he had that painful time to just sit and think. He remembered what the world used to be like, the life that pumped from everyone he knew and even himself before he hit his depression. The zombie apocalypse really helped to put things in perspective for Damien and now he regretted taking things he'd taken for granted months prior to having the world end. How stupid it was of him to think that his world had ended because of losing his job and hitting a slow spell in finding another. He still had his friends and he still had his family who tried non-stop to pull him out of his rut; now he had none of that. Now the world truly was over.

He had witnessed his father die. He raced to the hospital to find his mother and leave with her in a desperate attempt to make things up to her and whisk her away to safety; but she too was claimed by the zombie apocalypse. Damien felt utterly alone, much more alone than he thought he was before when he controlled the fact that his friends could not see him. But after days and days of searching for familiar faces and coming up short, he realized how selfish and idiotic he had previously been, and he had no way of making it all right. Those moments were the worst. They were haunting, taunting, and painfully true realizations that he had been an idiot. Damien didn't like those quiet moments where all he had to pass the time were thoughts. It was why he tried to keep busy, he kept out on runs making sure he had supplies and food and anything else he could convince himself he needed.

The world he used to know was over and he could not afford to keep the memories in his head; though he wanted them to remember what had been taken from him Damien just could not deal with the guilt. Keeping busy was better than torturing himself; those memories were even worse than the bitters that stalked the streets after death. But as much as he wanted to be disconnected to that past life Damien just could not make the separation happen, perhaps one day he would stumble across those he had lost. When he had checked his home after it all first happened his sister was nowhere to be found. Damien feared the worst for her but he hope, and hoped strongly, that she was still alive some place. Maybe if he stuck around he would find her and they could be reunited. Damien was set on not straying away from Louisiana, not if he could help it.

Damien pushed thoughts like that away, they served only to distract him and get him too emotional. In the blight of this world they now lived in her knew that emotions were to be down played as much as possible, he only had time for planning and rational thought. Every move he made needed to be calculated and paired with a backup plan and a contingency for the backup. These zombies were smart in any stretch of the word but they had numbers on their side, and while none of them were trackstars they did have a little speed with them and could overpower you if you were cornered. So Damien needed to always know how he'd handle a given situation and a given set number of zombies. Plans for a single monster, plans for a group, plans for if he noticed them too late, and so on.

More often than not Damien's plans were built around speed, quick bursts of speed to get him in and out of locations before any of the undead could notice and go after him. And so he struck at the Subway as quickly as his feet would carry him. His eyes zeroed in on the counter but also paid close attention to his peripherals. With his free hand planted ontop the serving counter Damien vaulted over and landed on the other side with a soft thud. He checked the floor quickly to be sure no draggers were there to surprise him. Clear.

Keeping his grip tight on his hatchet Damien slowly moved toward the back of the small space, smelling the spoiled food as he drew nearer. You never knew what awaited you at the turn of a corner these days and while Damien's heart pounded in his chest on the outer surface he held a placid and tamed face as he was ready for anything. Upon turning that corner the first thing Damien saw was a body; just a body. His mind didn't register it male or female, friend or foe, all Damien knew was that he was not alone. Instinct kicked in and his hatchet raised swiftly, ready to be brought down with strong force into the waiting cranium. However, luckily for both parties involved, Damien's mind kicked in and registered the boy he saw was not the undead.

"Christ!" One of Damien's closest calls in a long time. It was because of things like this, such as adrenaline and first glances, that Damien used a hatchet. Had he been shopping for food with a gun then this person standing before him most likely would have been chewing on a bullet at the moment. Damien was relieved to not have killed a living person but that didn't mean he was about to put all faith and trust into this person. Zombie or human, they were both dangerous. He approached slowly, his hatchet lowered yet not foolishly so, eying the other man closely before taking a glance at the damaged fridge. "What do you want?" There was only one good freezer, it could be stocked or it could be empty, but right now these two needed to hash things out. Damien wasn't looking to make a friend but he wasn't so cold as to take all for himself and leave this poor guy to starve a little longer. That also didn't mean he was going to let all or most of the food be taken away from him.

[Otis Pearson]

It had been far too long since Otis had last interacted with anything that actually spoke back to him. Well, anything that spoke back to him that wasn't... himself. Being so out of practice, Otis found words coming very quickly to mind that served little purpose in the realm of communication. His first instinct was to respond with "Food. What else.", but he found that answer to be a bit lacking in the department of respect and heavy on the sarcasm. Otis wasn't necessarily the most sarcastic human being on the face of the planet- or at least, he wasn't until now, perhaps. He would partake of it at times, but most often he found it a bit inappropriate. Rarely did he ever find it rude, just not fitting for whatever conversation he was having. Now, however, it was most certainly rude. The very last thing Otis wanted was to come off snappish and prickly. Human interaction was one of the many - albeit, much more likely - things he had been craving for the last few weeks of solitude, and he wasn't planning on ruining his chances of being able to have a chat with someone now.

The other man didn't seem particularly friendly, though Otis supposed it was difficult to judge people's character's so soon after a zombie apocalypse. In fact, he probably didn't look all that welcoming either. He was dirty, tired, and probably had the same distrustful look of appraisal found in the other man's eyes. Life was different now, Otis just had a hard time figuring out how to deal with it. He chewed his lip, mulling over his options. The question had been asked a few seconds ago, but it felt like ages. He didn't want to respond incorrectly, but he was nearing the limit of "response" and nearing the dangerous waters of "lie". He decided it was best just to politely let the man know what he had come for, seeing as it was probably something they had in common. "Sorry if I startled you... I just wanted something to eat." The words were much more sure of themselves now. His old calm and soft tone seemed to easily return to him now that he was able to share them with someone.

Otis slowly let his arms fall back at his sides. He made sure to keep his hands away from his pockets, just in case the other man might think there was something dangerous in one of them and attack. At that moment, Otis quickly glanced at the floor and held back a smile. A month ago he would have considered this sort of exchange insane. Here they were, two grown men in the back of a deserted Subway in the mall surrounded by the undead talking like they were in some sort of action movie. To be fair, they sort of were in an action movie, just one were they weren't entirely sure if they were the leads or the extras. It wasn't so much the situation was funny, but just that he would never in one hundred years guessed he'd find himself in this sort of situation. Otis shook his head, shaking off the little grin that had spread over his face. "It's just weird, isn't it? I've been looking for someone... Well, anyone really." He gave the man a sad look. "But when I finally do, I can't think of anything to say."

His hand made a limp wave in the direction of the freezer, "If there's anything in there, I'd appreciate some of it, but seeing as you're the man with the weapon-" Here another weak wave was made towards the now lowered and slightly less menacing axe, "You're free to take whatever suits you." His tone was cool and easy, lacking the fear that words could have implied. Otis doubted the other man had any intention of killing him. If he had, Otis would have been a bloody mess on the ground by now. It wasn't that the other man's eyes were kind or concerned, but rather the fact that killing Otis would have been far too noisy. It was much too risky to kill another human without incurring the notice of one hundred reanimated ears. That was what Otis was banking on at any rate. Still, there was the chance the other man would indeed use the weapon. Thus, Otis wanted to make it perfectly clear he had no intention of fighting for anything. He would take what the man left. It was a sort of unspoken hierarchical understanding most humans had. If something was bigger and stronger - or in this case armed - it was logical to submit oneself to that larger power.

[Damien Church]

"You surprised me," Damien corrected. It wasn't so much the fact that he'd been startled and for a second was in fear of his life, really it was the opposite. Damien was worried that he'd almost taken a possibly innocent life. Now he didn't know this person and he had no clue if the guy was innocent or not, for all he knew the guy was a raving lunatic and hacked up living bodies just for the hell of it, but Damien couldn't be sure of anything in these times. He couldn't assume that this guy was a saint or even that he wasn't dangerous, but he couldn't get so caught up in this world that he immediately viewed others as enemies either. It was a thin line to walk in the zombie apocalypse; if you wanted to keep your humanity about you that is, if not then you could screw over everyone you came into contact with if you so saw fit - and if you could sleep at night knowing you'd done so. Damien wasn't that type of person, he may have liked keeping distance and staying to himself but he wasn't completely devoid of humanity.

This guy he stood with in the back of a deserted Subway was hurting just as much as everyone else in the world now; unclean, hungry, tired, and probably right at that brink of sanity. Damien watched him closely, studying the man as if trying to find out every single thing he could without either of them speaking a word, but he did want his question answered. Being the reasonable person he was Damien had asked what the guy wanted because if he had specifics maybe he could work out a way to give the guy what he wanted without giving too much. He hated to be selfish but this was about persevering and living, Damien knew he had to come first. "What's your name?" He asked after letting the other man speak for some time. Damien was also beginning to realize how dry his mouth and throat was. Hunger was one thing but he absolutely could not deal with thirst.

"People call me Oz - or they did - and I'm not gonna hurt you or nothin' like that. I want food, you want food; doesn't mean we have to fight over it." By the way his pal there was talking Damien doubted he wanted a fight but he had to let the other man know that he wasn't looking to cause any bodily harm either. He only attacked if you threatened his life or his means of survival, so far it looked like this guy was doing neither. "I do intend to take what I need, but only what I need. The world's gone to shit but I'm not goin' with it, okay? I'm gonna load up an' take about half of what's good, you can have the rest. If there's even anything to take." Oz hoped that an understanding could be had but he hoped it'd be made quickly because the dead were always around - even when you didn't hear or see them - and it only took a split second for one of those hordes to rain down on you like an avalanche.

Oz stared at the other man for a moment then nodded to see if things were completely fine with the both of them. His eyes never left the other man for too long as he backed his way to the freezer (the one good one) and lifted its lid. He kept his hatchet ready and tight in hand, and then looked into the freezer. Inside were tomatoes, slices of pepperoni, grilled chicken, bacon, and more, all of it still frozen. Oz felt the corners of his lips twitch but he fought to keep the smile from appearing. He glanced back at the other man behind him as his bag slipped down from his shoulder and gently touched the dirty kitchen floor. Quickly Damien set to work unloading the freezer and loading his pack. "This isn't much for meals, but should be enough to keep the both of us going for another few days." Damien kept an eye on the other man through the corner of his eye, while also checking the door of the kitchen to be sure nothing dead happened to walk in.

After clearing about half of the freezer Damien stood straight, zipped up his pack, and slung it back over his shoulder. He could build a fire and cook himself a few little snacks with the meats he grabbed but in the meanwhile he would need to find a way to keep his find cold and frozen. Once out of the mall, if he could get out without falling prey to anything in the area, Damien knew he'd need to find bags and ice to pack onto the food to keep it chilled. Slowly he shifted in the small kitchen and allowed the other man access to the now half empty freezer. "Its all yours."

[Otis Pearson]

"Otis. My name is Otis." It wasn't so much he had forgotten to tell the other man his name as was proper etiquette prior to the apocalypse, rather names had become something personal, something that actually belonged to him. Sharing that sort of information was a statement of trust, in a way. But, Oz had shared his first, obviously not too hung up on the preoccupation names seemed to hold for Otis. It was nice the other man - Oz - shared the same opinions on how to handle their current situation. From a purely logical standpoint, fighting would have only served to further exhaust them, potentially wound the victor, and most likely attract a couple flesh-hungry monsters. This way, they both would be able to survive a bit longer. Though Otis wasn't entirely pleased he was second pick, it was much better than bleeding out on the floor. He gave the other man a polite but silent nod as Oz looked at him for confirmation. They had probably wasted a little bit more time than they should have, so Otis wanted to just get things over with. The less amount of time exposed to danger, the better.

When Oz opened the good freezer, Otis could tell it wasn't empty. A slight flash of relief washed over the other man's face for a moment, before he controlled it with a neutral look. Otis gave the man another nod as he informed him there was plenty of food for both of them. As Oz pulled things from the box, Otis examined what was in his hands. There seemed to be quite a bit of meats along with some other goodies. It had been awhile since Otis had had any kind of meat, and he had to admit he was a bit excited at the idea of a taste of some. Especially bacon. Once Oz had finished loading up his pack, the other man stepped back slightly to allow Otis to grab the rest. He quietly made his way to the freezer, carefully stepping over the dead body on the floor. "Thanks."

Though half of the food had been removed, there was still plenty of food still inside the freezer. Otis slid his backpack off and started stuffing food into it. The more processed meat like pepperoni and fruit first. Though Otis would have liked nothing more than to just stuff his face with the sliced turkey and ham, it wasn't logical to grab that first in case something happened. The fruit would keep longer than the meat, even if it wasn't as filling. Otis was silent as he moved the food from the freezer into the backpack, not wanting to attract any more attention that he was already being given. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to matter. Otis had moved about half of what was left when there was a large crash outside the Subway. It was probably a sign or something that had been knocked loose during the initial confusion of the end of the world. Not like that fact mattered much at this point. As soon as the crash occurred, Otis cinched his backpack shut, threw it over his back, and shot Oz a quick look of frustration and fear.

The telltale sounds of zombies were already starting to head towards their location. The stupid things couldn't differentiate from a living sound source or an inanimate one. Most times, that helped in survival. This time? Not so much. There wasn't much point in being too quiet now, so Otis quickly moved from the back room to the front. As he went, he spoke quickly but still softly, less for the sake of being quiet and more to control the shaking in his voice. It didn't matter how brave Otis felt, he was still scared of dying. The zombies, however disgusting, were just a means to his end. He was sure Oz would be much calmer in this sort of situation. The man just seemed to have that sort of aura about him. Otis didn't want to other man to think he was incompetent because he was afraid, thus he did his best to sound calm and in control.

"Split up or run together?" If they split, each would have fewer undead to deal with, though if something happened to one the other wouldn't be able to help out. If they ran together, it was fairly easy for them to be overwhelmed. Either way was risky, but Otis didn't want to just run off into the zombie infested halls without consulting the only human face he'd seen in awhile. They were closing in fairly quickly. A decision needed to be made and quickly. In the back of Otis' head, he kicked himself for not grabbing the rest of the food. He had grabbed plenty, but it wasn't all of it... At least he had managed to snatch most of the food that would hold out the longest. And he'd gotten some bacon. If they managed to make it out of the mall alive, he was going to have a little food party to celebrate.

[Damien Church]

The shit was about to hit the fan. Oz flinched at the sound of the crash, something heavy had been knocked over or just finally gave way and fell onto the tile floor of the food court right outside of their Subway not-so-safe haven. In the privacy of his mind Damien exclaimed a curse; at himself for taking so long, at Otis for making him take so long, and most importantly at those damned zombies that were no doubt now headed there way. "Guess the zombies need to get their food too." He cringed at his own joke, but it was a coping mechanism; the only thing he could do in that moment to keep himself from going off the deep end. This was nothing new though, in a world that had suddenly become more populated by living corpses than humans this type of thing happened every day. Damien just happened to have been looking for a break. Quickly he pulled the straps on his sack to make sure it was fastened to him tightly, he didn't want to risk a bitter grabbing hold and ripping away the food he'd just collected.

As quietly as he could Oz followed Otis to the front of the sandwich shop. They were coming, not particularly fast but not so slow that Otis and himself had an abundance of time on their hands either. Being the loner that he was Damien was used to being quiet and sneaking around zombies that just wandered, his days of out running them weren't very numerous but prior to all this crap doing down he was a bit obsessed with the idea of a zombie apocalypse; he could run a great distance and for a long time. Hopefully Otis could say the same. Oz felt it would probably be better if they split up, cut the number of zombies in half and also not have to worry about another human being who could slow you down or trip you up. Damien frowned, as he already knew he was going to go with the opposite idea anyway.

"Let's get moving." The zombies were already nearly on them and there was no time to waste with any further discussing. Oz hopped the counter and waited about a millisecond for Otis to do the same before running off to the right (the zombies were coming from the direction he'd entered through). "You completely weaponless huh?!" He had to shout over the sound of moaning and groaning undead as he and Otis ran with their boots beating the stained tiles of the Pecanland Mall. The undead could be pretty damn fast when they wanted to be and either Otis or Oz were looking pretty tasty this afternoon because the snapping zombies were right on their heels.

As they ran through the mall Damien's eyes searched for anything that could be of help to them; exits and weapons the main things. The two men ran close together but as the zombies neared more Damien parted from Otis just slightly, so that he could grab an abandoned shopping cart and push it behind them to deter at least a few of the zombies. Catching back up to Otis he could hear cart and a few decaying bodies topple over, but he knew that it wasn't enough to catch and stumble all of them, some were probably even nimble enough to jump the basket. "Keep your eyes open for any hunting goods stores!" Any in the mall may have been cleared out by now but with a clan of undead monsters nipping at their necks Damien couldn't think all that clearly; if he could he may have been able to recall where the other exits to the building were.

[Otis Pearson]

Oz's joke was pretty terrible. It elicited a grimace similar to the one Otis often wore when he had to enter a particularly fetid enclosure. Whether the other man noticed the face or not mattered very little. On the other man's command, Otis bolted over the counter and after him. Running wasn't something particularly burdensome to him, though it wasn't the love of his life either. He ran when it was necessary and to maintain his current level of physical fitness, but it wasn't as if it was something he did for pleasure. In this particular case, running was probably as far from pleasure as it could be. Luckily for him, Otis was fast and had little trouble keeping up with Oz. The only dangers rose from the increasing horde close behind and the scattered debris that littered the floor in front and around them.

"Don't like guns." Otis had to raise his voice much higher than usual, making the words sound alien to his ears. "I'm not much of a fighter." Otis left it at that, mostly because a conversation in the middle of fleeing for one's life was never really a wise decision. Well, unless it was a conversation regarding tactics or something of the sort. In a way, Otis supposed that's exactly what they had been doing. It'd been far too long since he'd been able to verbalize thoughts and opinions to something that could think and respond to them. It was a little strange after so much static feedback. Now, at least, Oz knew Otis wasn't the most reliable scrapper. While it was true he possessed plenty of strength and was a lithe, athletic individual, Otis had never had to settle disputes physically or had any sort of drive to learn how. He was fairly certain he could kill a zombie with a baseball bat or something similar, but guns were out of the question. He'd never liked the idea of something that made killing so simple. Even now, Otis wasn't the kind of person would just just objectify the living dead into objects that needed destroying. It wasn't that he thought of them as human, rather he considered them alive - though certainly not in the conventional use of the word.

Oz's shopping cart stunt was clever. It was definitely the kind of "fighting" Otis preferred. As he heard the sound of bodies hitting tile, he gave the other man a small grin. His eyes quickly scanned what was ahead of them. Not a whole lot of things they could use to impede the stampede of rotting flesh at their heals were around. There were a few more carts on the other side of the strip they were running through, but Otis figured reaching them was more trouble than it was worth. The weight of his backpack was starting to pull some of his focus now. It wasn't that it was incredibly heavy. The main problem was that the pack was just bulky and tended to be jostled around by physical exertions. That jostling made running a little frustrating, but nothing Otis could deal with. Just one more bother to add to his growing list.

As Oz rejoined him and called out another command, Otis nodded, scanning the signs of the shops they were passing. Most of the places were clothing stores. A few of them were those shops that had those weird little baubles. The kind of stores that people only went in to because they just seemed out of place. They were getting close to the end of the strip, and Otis was starting to get a little worried. The last thing either of them wanted to was to round a corner and be greeted with an opposing mass of the undead. Fortunately, their saving grace was across the way to their right. "Al's Shoot 'Em Dead". Distasteful didn't begin to describe the store's name, but at least it got the point across. In fact, it shot you dead with the terrible pun. Otis grimaced once more as that thought rolled through his mind.

"There." This time, his tone and volume were the usual soft and low, though the words were accompanied by a finger pointing towards the establishment. Otis was fairly certain Oz saw it around the same time he did. With that in mind, Otis quickly adjusted his trajectory, focusing on making it under the metal door that had been pried up by countless other survivors. The place might not have had anything useful in it, but they could at least regain their breath in there. Maybe. It was so frustrating not knowing if a seemingly deserted room was a safe haven or a death trap. At this point, however, it was their only option. If there were guns and other weapons others had passed over, they might be able to make it out alive. If not... Otis found he didn't much want to think of that particular possibility.

A few shopping carts were laying near the entrance, so Otis took the couple moments he had before Oz made it there to send the little wire baskets with wheels hurdling towards the brainless brain-eaters. The stunt had much the same effect as before, buying them both enough time to slip under the opening and frantically pull on it until it shut all the way. For a few moments, the sounds of the zombies smashing on the flexible metal made Otis shudder and stand back, but once the zombies decided their meals were out of reach, the banging subsided a bit. Otis let out a relieved sigh, leaning against one of the semi-empty shelves. In his lapse of maintaining his previously alert schema, a large, particularly disgusting hand reached out and latched itself around Otis' wrist.

He let out a yelp and scrambled for the nearest thing to smash on the arm connected to the unwanted digits clenched around his arm. A piece of pipe - probably from the plumbing in the ceiling - was the first thing to meet his frantic fingers. He slammed the metal down, smashing through decaying meat and bone. The hand, still attached, was no longer partner to the rest of the zombie's body. Otis quickly shifted his weight and slammed the pipe down a few more times in quick succession. The beating quickly made minced-meat from his attacker's once-skull. When the thing had finally slumped to the ground, Otis carefully pried the re-dead fingers from his arm, shaking slightly. "P-perimeter checks..." He gave Oz a sick smile, "Guess they are important after all..."