( It’s that familiar beeping alert from his cuffs, the timefall warning, and Sam curses under his breath. He’d seen the haphazard report from the weather station, had watched the prediction for the prevailing winds— and he thought he could make it to the next distribution center in time before the storm hit, but apparently not.
He pushes down harder on the accelerator, and the trike kicks up into a higher gear while he hunches over the handlebars, cap low over his forehead and hood tucked in at the edges. Jumpsuit zipped up, gloves on tight, every inch of skin covered from the corrosive rain. The only silver lining is that when timefall hits, the t-Virus dead take refuge, their rotting bodies even more susceptible, but the outside world was still a minefield of lethal threats.
Pick between the zombies or the ghosts? Every option’s shit.
The trike roars down the road with a growing hum, weaving around potholes on the road — the repairs haven’t made it this far out — and Sam’s squinting through the darkening skies, searching for cover. He knows the map, and there aren’t any official Bridges shelters out here yet, but—
There. A gas station, a remnant of the before times. He pulls up to it as if he’s here to refuel, despite the fact that his vehicle runs on solar energy; he sets the trike beneath the outcrop for some feeble shelter; and then heads indoors. Shoves through the doors into the dim interior and scavenged shelves, an instinctive hand already on his rifle, his peripheral vision ruined from the hood.
He doesn’t even see the station’s occupant until it’s too late. )
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— timeline.
— scene ideas.
— world notes.
wanna live like an animal, by the skin of your teeth.
He pushes down harder on the accelerator, and the trike kicks up into a higher gear while he hunches over the handlebars, cap low over his forehead and hood tucked in at the edges. Jumpsuit zipped up, gloves on tight, every inch of skin covered from the corrosive rain. The only silver lining is that when timefall hits, the t-Virus dead take refuge, their rotting bodies even more susceptible, but the outside world was still a minefield of lethal threats.
Pick between the zombies or the ghosts? Every option’s shit.
The trike roars down the road with a growing hum, weaving around potholes on the road — the repairs haven’t made it this far out — and Sam’s squinting through the darkening skies, searching for cover. He knows the map, and there aren’t any official Bridges shelters out here yet, but—
There. A gas station, a remnant of the before times. He pulls up to it as if he’s here to refuel, despite the fact that his vehicle runs on solar energy; he sets the trike beneath the outcrop for some feeble shelter; and then heads indoors. Shoves through the doors into the dim interior and scavenged shelves, an instinctive hand already on his rifle, his peripheral vision ruined from the hood.
He doesn’t even see the station’s occupant until it’s too late. )
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