CLARE BARLOW doesn't have a custom title currently.
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OOC Name: Day
Character Age: 17
Time Zone: -6 GMT (Central)
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Hometown: Kremlin, Montana
AR-15 Hunting Rifle
Extra ammo in backpack
Swiss Army knife
Homemade med kit
History: Clare is an army brat and a tomboy, raised by her career military father. A combination of wounds and his wife (Clare's mother) running off caused him to leave the service and settle in Montana. Her father was a good one in most things though perhaps a bit obsessed with survivalist life style but in the end that came in handy for Clare. They lived in a simple house just outside the rural community of Kremlin, Montana, population 126 the last census.
Once he retired, he homeschooled the girl. Net effect is Clare knows all about guns, is a fine shot, good tracker, hunter who dress a kill and fix it up for supper no problem. Her regular school subjects suffered though, some of the local kids called her a 'hillbilly' or even a 'moron'. She's neither, she actually is quite intelligent just not that worldly or competent when it comes to modern tech and current culture. Then the world fell apart and all that didn't matter anymore. In fact the two of them might have gotten along fairly well without modern society except for one thing. Her dad did not have AB blood and he soon died.
Clare was devastated of course and fell into a deep dark place, even contemplating ending it all. But her father had also taught her to be tough, hang in there, never give up, and keep going no matter what. She idolized him and believed in everything he'd said. So she recovered but she couldn't stay in their place anymore, she would see his grave in the backyard everyday and she just couldn't take that. It was time to move on.
Soon she heard about this town up in Canada that was supposed to be a safe haven. Hell.....why not?
Skills/Flaws: Good with guns (father taught her well)
Hunting, dressing out an animal, cooking
Mature for her age, very independent
Athletic, tougher than she looks first glance
Stubborn, easy to anger, bitter, not the most social until she knows you, believes violence does solve things
Risk and Reward Number: 002
Joined: 12-December 14
Last Seen: May 23 2016, 10:00 PM
Local Time: Aug 15 2018, 09:03 AM
268 posts (0.2 per day)
( 5.34% of total forum posts )
Oct 21 2015, 10:55 PM
The group halted their march upon reaching a small cabin in the forest, which had only been occupied during the seasonal deer hunting season. But those days were gone and now it served as a stopover for the raiders. Whatever food supplies had once might have been stored there were long ago looted but it did provide a roof over one's head. And a rendezvous spot as planned by the group's leader, Stanton.
So they waited then for one of their own to rejoin them, Josh, who had been left behind to ambush and kill whoever was attempting to follow them. Only now it had been at least two hours and nothing. They were restless, it had all gone so easily when they had hit the farm but now this.
"The prisoners want to go to the bathroom," the teenage girl, Veronica, approached Stanton.
He looked up from his can of peaches that he was wolfing down. Damn prisoners, he was tempted to just have them killed right now and move on all the faster. But no...that would look to the rest of his bunch like he was worried and he couldn't ever show weakness with some of these assholes.
"Let'em go in their pants for all I care," he grumped.
"Yuck, not that I give a damn about their comfort but they're gonna smell and it's hardly gonna make them more appealing to the men," Veronica shrugged as she put one hand on her military holster belt around her waist.
"And you care about what the men think, huh?" Stanton seemed bemused but then changed his mind, "Fine, have 'em go down by the creek then. And watch'em the whole way. Don't let 'em try a damn thing."
"Well, yeah, I can handle it, no sweat," Veronica bristled. She felt she was as tough, as capable as any of the others.
"Right....take Vic along," he ordered.
"I don't need Vic," she didn't like that.
"It's not up for debate, bitch. Shut the hell up and take Vic...now," Stanton ran a tight ship and in the end they all knew it and gave in. This was his gang and he liked it that way.
Veronica and a tall bulky but not all that bright looking man approached Lizzie and Mrs.Ahern then, they were sitting up against a wide tree trunk.
"Alright, I asked and he said you can do it...there's a creek just right over there," she pointed with her free hand, a drawn pistol was in the other. The big man was grinning as he held an AK-47.
She pointed off toward the trees of course, everywhere there were trees. They were in the middle of a damn forest, but in the direction she pointed the ground dropped off and, though it was out of sight at that moment, the creek was at the bottom of that gradual rise, maybe fifty yards from where they were.
Oct 9 2015, 10:20 AM
Apartment of Justus, Clare
The woman pounded furiously on the door, probably harder than she even realized she was doing but emotion and adrenalin had taken hold of her. She was determined to keep her promise to that girl. As she impatiently waited for someone, someone hopefully named Justus, to answer, she closed her eyes and sighed. Eyes open or closed, her mind still saw it all very clearly. That farm and all those dead people sprawled out in contorted positions, even some of the farm animals gunned down. It all made no sense, what had been the point of that? And how could anyone do that to fellow human beings?
For all her horror and indeed righteous anger, she could not force herself to go after the killers. Of all the militia, only that foolish girl had stubbornly taken it upon herself to go in pursuit. They had tried to tell her, she was going to fail and going to die against those odds. Hadn't it been the girl herself, using those binoculars of hers, who had counted nine, ten of the killers....with two captives it seemed also.
Just then the door opened......
"Sorry to bother you but are you Justus?"
Justus would see before him a woman in Canadian army fatigues but a civilian jacket over them, her brown hair up in a bun for convenience and shouldering an automatic rifle. A rifle she had fired only a couple of times in some rather haphazard marksmanship drills. More properly identifying her was a white armband with the letters MIL on it.
Sep 17 2015, 04:31 PM
Just Outside Town
It looked like a fairly typical if a bit old fashioned farm alright but the Newcombe place was now home to a social experiment, not necessarily an original one for this sort of thing had been tried many times in history.
A homemade sign now announced to any passing by that this was now the Newcombe Commune. They called themselves a family, those who lived there but they were not in the strict sense. Rather over a dozen people had come together, settled into the farmhouse and were determined to start new lives in the ruins of the old world. They were friendly enough but didn't mix much with the inhabitants of Crow Station. Their stated goal, which they informed any who would be curious, was to have a self-contained community. There were adults and children there of both genders naturally enough. They seemed to be decent people and happy enough in their endeavors.
But on this day, they had unwanted visitors and their dreams were ended abruptly in horrifying bloodshed.
Clare was patrolling Main Street with another militia member, like 90% of the time it was boring duty made more endurable by stopping to chat with various locals.The town was growing in population but by and large people were cooperative and friendly, united if in nothing else in wanting this place to be a success. It was unseasonably warm that day, a great day for being outside as they engaged in small talk.
"So, too bad about the end of civilization you know....I think Canada was about ready to get another baseball franchise for Major League Baseball," the man declared.
Clare had to chuckle, "You're kidding....of all that happened, that's what you are disappointed in?"
"Oh no, there's lot of other things but that ranks right up there," he smiled, "I did love baseball. It's a great game."
"I guess. You should try and start up a few teams this summer? They got few open fields in the park and.." Clare started but then both stopped.
Popping, sharp distinct popping in the distance, as in gun shots and not just a couple, quite a lot really. Clare recognized it as automatic fire.
"What the hell is that?" the man wondered aloud.
"Just what it sounds like...shooting. To the east, can't be certain how far away," Clare frowned.
"Can't be hunting," the man assumed.
"No, I doubt it. Get on the radio," Clare motioned for the man to radio in, all the patrols had old fashioned battery operated hand radios that had gone out of style with the dominance of cell phones. But with no world wide networks anymore, it was back to such things as did work in the past.
It didn't take very long and a pickup truck came barreling down the street, screeching to a halt long enough for both Clare and the other man to clamber onto the open back. Including the driver and another man in the passenger seat, they now had six militia to investigate the firing, which had by now already died down to nothing. The vehicle left the town taking a hard curve and heading for a smoke plume rising from one of the close by farms.
One militiaman just said it was a barn fire but Clare didn't like it, not at all. She pounded on the cab back window and urged the driver to stop before they got to the farm so they could get out and approach more carefully. She was ignored. Well, she wasn't about to jump off at this speed.
They all noted the sign - Newcombe Commune - it now had bullet holes stitched in it. Clare unslung her automatic rifle and switched off the safety. One man pointed into the pasture to their right. Dead cows, at least four of them, were collapsed onto the ground. At last the truck hit the brakes and everyone scrambled off and out of the truck. The barn was indeed on fire. They should call the volunteer fire department, they all knew that but something else grabbed their attention.
Bodies, several bodies scattered about - two dogs, a goat, a horse, and worst of all, human beings. It was nothing less than a massacre. Clare had seen dead people before, quite a few and many times during her long journey but the vast majority had died from the plague. Everyone here was shot mulitple times from the tall man in farmer's jeans still wearing a baseball cap (someone said that was Stewart Necombe)to a young boy in a shorts who couldn't be much older than seven or eight. The back door of the farmhouse was open because a collapsed body had fallen into the entryway, it was a woman.
"Oh my god, oh my god," one of the militia, a woman in her thirties Clare had figured, knelt down and began to sob.
Clare was as shocked as any of them but she tried to hold it together and went up to each of the bodies, in the vain hope one was still alive. No luck. In addition to being riddled each victim had been shot at very close range right in the head. Whoever did this wanted to make absolutely sure they weren't leaving any survivors behind. As she removed her fingers from another futile attempt at detecting a pulse, Clare noticed her hand was shaking.
The driver shook off his own nausea long enough to radio back to Headquarters. The Captain had to know.
(To be continued)
Aug 27 2015, 08:15 PM
It was all about timing really. Clare knew how to make a good steak and she certainly had secured one from that butcher dude but there still remained when exactly to make it. She wasn't about to begin frying it up before he made an appearance. Hell, she might burn it to a cinder before he ever showed or - even if she took it off the burner - then it would be cold if he didn't come back within a reasonable time. Ideally he wanted him smelling the meat when he entered the place then plating it right in front of him but that just wasn't going to work. It would have been a cool surprise but no.....
She positioned herself so she could watch out the apartment window down the street for him to come walking back. To keep herself occupied she broke down one of her pistols and then cleaned it and put it all back together again. She wasn't quite finished when she spotted him in the distance. Forgetting about the gun, that could wait for anytime, she jumped up and raced into the kitchen.
She turned on the burner then splashed a bit of cooking oil onto the frying pan, setting the fire to high. She already had the table set with a plate, a sharp knife and fork and a bottle of beer, another trade of hers. It was a twist off cap so Justus could open it when he pleased. Also on the burner was a saucepan with some Boston beans warming up, from a freshly opened can.
Clare had just put the slab of steak into the sizzling oil when she heard a light knock. Of course she had it locked, she'd told him she would. Better safe than sorry.
She then hustled out of the kitchen to the front door, checked the eyehole to verify it was him. Yep. Then she opened the door and let him in.
She had been working over all kinds of possible welcoming back lines to greet him, a couple sounded clever, a couple more way too long and thus discarded but in the end, with him standing there, she settled for...
"Hey!" she smiled a little.