Felicity pulled her clothes back on quicker then she had ran, covering up her skin and rubbing her arms though the jacket. She was surprised by his change in attitude and carefully edged around the conversation. “Felicity.” She said, cracking open the bottle and taking a few sips. “Thanks.” She said before walking to the sink and pouring a few drops onto her hands. She ran her fingers over each, scrubbing into the crease, counting slowly to herself as the male checked outside.
“Okay, sounds like a good plan.” She muttered walking back over to her back pack and pulling out her note book and pen. There were pages and pages of scribbles about the movement patterns of hoards, the varying speeds of sprinters based on their infection stage, the different howls of howlers… She finally found a blank page and started to sketch the lay out of the room, shifting chairs and tables with her pen until she had the best lay out of defense and easy escape if needed. Her eyes glanced up toward Gyles. “Thank you… for saving me, back there. You didn’t have to, considering you knew I’d be a burden…” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small torch, handing it to him. “I haven’t narrowed down the type yet but some of the infected are stunned by light in the eyes. So… just incase. Be careful out there.”
“Well, Felicity, you’re lucky I was around.” Gyles said and then sighed, before making sure his boots were tied properly and that his weapons were ready for use. He wouldn’t use his gun, unless he absolutely had to. Mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do, he straightened. “Alright,” he said, taking the torch and smiling slightly, “thanks. I’ll be back as soon as possible. The second you hear me whistle, you get that bloody door open.” He said.
When Felicity nodded, he headed to the door. “Feel free to organize things, but be quiet. Don’t make any loud noises and do not leave.” He grabbed the scrapper from the wall and then opened the door. Making sure everything was clear, he headed out, walking carefully down the street.
Travelling down a ways, he didn’t see all too many Infected - he prefered that to ‘Undead’ - as he walked. He killed them all as silently as possible, and then he saw her. Crouching, he examined the scene. A girl, stranded on top of a shipping truck, with at least five Walkers around her. Swearing under his breath, Gyles looked around. There was a car far enough away, that he could hit it. Luckily, he wasn’t close enough to the breakroom for it to matter. Pulling out his gun, Gyles took the shot, shooting the car and setting off it’s alarm. The gun shot was ignored for the sound and the Walkers quickly wandered off.
Gyles made his way to the truck and waved the girl down. “Let’s go!” He demanded and then motioned for her to follow.
Luce kept her belly flat on top of the FedEx truck, just enough to survey to the sides and in front. She’d planned to switch it up, re-position to the back of the large trailer before nightfall in case any Walkers had finally wandered off, and take refuge somewhere proper.
Her stomach hadn’t settled in days from lack of sustenance other than the cereal bars and fruit she’d packed what seemed a millennium ago for a lecture from Professor Marie Cassidy - one of THE leading forensic pathology biologists of her time - until the warm grips of hell broke loose on Allentown. It had been a nightmare…but the numbness toward it was nearly immediate, like an instinctual ice pack on her heart as well as her mind.
Shoving aside the horrors, the death, witnessing change, she wanted to survive. So she took explicit short-hand notes on the Infected as if she were still sat midst Professor Cassidy’s lecture, but applying it to the current situation now as best as it could adapt. Some time later, three unsuccessful partners now dead/changed, she was still alive in testament to this - though fatigued to near-exhaustion from not allowing herself proper sleep. She couldn’t dwell on the departed, or panicked thoughts of her family back up north; if Canada had been hit as hard - the world even. Especially now, she couldn’t afford to sleep now…
Luce’s head shot up at the command of something that was - human? Words, real words came from her left, head whipping toward the source, those two short barks belonging to a young man (or he seemed to be), Caucasian, had to be at least 6 foot tall - it’s a habit to profile, to run a diagnostic of any one she encounters but breaks it off mid-catalog when he strategically shoots a car to set it off and she grasps the opening, tired or not, vaulting off the trailer as fast as her lithe legs can carry.