Post by Deleted on May 16, 2016 22:04:27 GMT -5
Jay had come out of the lot. There had been lots of commotion going on in town. People at the junkyard. But stayed quiet, stayed out of sight. It had been seven months. Seven months since Owen had attacked him, he knew he was dangerous, out of his mind. Owen killed them, the other Sheriffs, the people he was watching over. Those bikers just rolled up. Killed them. Then Owen burnt the place down, bringing the police station to blackenEd ruins. Only a few of the walls stood, those that were cement and brick.
Jay was in the main store. He sat on the first check out counter, the bird he shot down roasting over a makeshift fire. It was sunset, and calm. He was alone, Dishevled. His hair had grown out, as had what ever haird he had on his face. He was dirty, grimey, and alone.
He had been like this for a while. Alone. He had heard a car earlier today, but he wasn't sure if he was just hearing things or not. It was heading to the school. He knew it was just his mind. He was loosing it, slowly.
The bird was already de-feathered. It was roasting. He pulled it off and took a bite. His squad car was out front, the radio the only thing of value inside. Jay was sitting there, his back at his feet, enjoying what may just be his last meal.
He had to find Owen, he had to kill him. Jay was hell bent on revenge at this point. What Owen did to him, blind in one eye. The burn marks over his body. He tried to cover it, the plaid shirt not hiding much. He still had the badge, the outfit, just not on him, in his bag.
Jay looked up at the sound of something at the door. He had strung up empty cans at feet level, if anyone pushed it open, he would hear. Slowly he grabbed his pistol, raised it up as he moved toward the door. He kept it aimed, steady, ready.
His bresthing changed, lower, steadier. He moved forward, his boots scrapping on the ground. "Don't move, or I'll shoot," he called as he rounded the door, keeping his gun up. He came face to face with a walker. Jay wasted no time. He brought the butt of the gun agaisnt it's head.
The head broke open, upon the eight or seventh smash. He had to take it down. Slowly he stood up, looking at the blood drip off his hands, off the gun, onto the floor. A few blinks and it changed. It wasn't a walker,mitmwas a young man. Wearing leathers a biker.
Jay brought the palm of his hand agaisnt his head, smacked it a few times as he blinked, the appearance shifted agaisn, back to the Walker it had been. He stumbled back, toward the till he set up camp at. He had to sleep, had to rest. He was going crazy.
Jay was in the main store. He sat on the first check out counter, the bird he shot down roasting over a makeshift fire. It was sunset, and calm. He was alone, Dishevled. His hair had grown out, as had what ever haird he had on his face. He was dirty, grimey, and alone.
He had been like this for a while. Alone. He had heard a car earlier today, but he wasn't sure if he was just hearing things or not. It was heading to the school. He knew it was just his mind. He was loosing it, slowly.
The bird was already de-feathered. It was roasting. He pulled it off and took a bite. His squad car was out front, the radio the only thing of value inside. Jay was sitting there, his back at his feet, enjoying what may just be his last meal.
He had to find Owen, he had to kill him. Jay was hell bent on revenge at this point. What Owen did to him, blind in one eye. The burn marks over his body. He tried to cover it, the plaid shirt not hiding much. He still had the badge, the outfit, just not on him, in his bag.
Jay looked up at the sound of something at the door. He had strung up empty cans at feet level, if anyone pushed it open, he would hear. Slowly he grabbed his pistol, raised it up as he moved toward the door. He kept it aimed, steady, ready.
His bresthing changed, lower, steadier. He moved forward, his boots scrapping on the ground. "Don't move, or I'll shoot," he called as he rounded the door, keeping his gun up. He came face to face with a walker. Jay wasted no time. He brought the butt of the gun agaisnt it's head.
The head broke open, upon the eight or seventh smash. He had to take it down. Slowly he stood up, looking at the blood drip off his hands, off the gun, onto the floor. A few blinks and it changed. It wasn't a walker,mitmwas a young man. Wearing leathers a biker.
Jay brought the palm of his hand agaisnt his head, smacked it a few times as he blinked, the appearance shifted agaisn, back to the Walker it had been. He stumbled back, toward the till he set up camp at. He had to sleep, had to rest. He was going crazy.