Post by JARED QUATES on Aug 13, 2012 8:18:19 GMT -5
Several days on his own had taught Jared a few things. One, it was harder to sleep at night with nobody watching his back. Two, it was a lot more calming to be able to move at his own pace for once. Three, it was impossible to track someone through the city these days. It didn't help that he had started by following a days old trail, by his calculations he had already lost a week. The trail was beyond cold.
Leaning against a wall, Jared looked out the window of his new safe house. The soft light of evening had fallen upon the city, giving everything a slight orange glow. Sliding down the wall to the floor, he looked over his supplies. He had enough food, and light hadn't been much of an issue in the first place. His water bottles had been filled as well. Jared turned his attention to his gun. He needed more ammunition.
Of course, that was one of the reasons Jared had chosen to keep this particular weapon when the outbreak started. It wasn't the flashiest gun he could have gone with, or even the most accurate. There wasn't any sentimental reason to the choice either. When it came down to it, Jared had chosen his weapon for the simplicity of ammunition concerns, for the fact that it used the same ammunition found in standard police firearms.
Glancing back out the window, he tried to judge how much longer there would be light on the streets. Jared hadn't been particularly fond of the house when he first saw it, he wouldn't have an exceptionally hard time leaving. The simple fact was that although he preferred not to use a firearm, if a situation would arise where he was forced to then he would enjoy having more than a half depleted magazine's worth of bullets to prove his point.
Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, Jared walked through the door out to the streets with his tire iron in hand. If his memory still served its primary function, then he had passed by a police department on his way here. Sure, there would have been others to have checked through the place. Of course the armory would either be emptied or locked down tighter than a minister's daughter's chastity belt. Perhaps even the locker room would be thoroughly ransacked. But nobody checks everywhere, and there were less obvious places in a police station to find a weapon.
It took forty five minutes to navigate his way through the side streets without attracting unwanted attention, but finally Jared stood in front of the doors to the police department. The doors themselves had been left wide open, which wasn't too surprising. Jared shook out his right arm, preparing to use the tire iron. There was a good chance it would be handy inside, and not only for bashing in heads. Taking one last look at the outside, Jared inhaled sharply and stepped forward in to the building.
Leaning against a wall, Jared looked out the window of his new safe house. The soft light of evening had fallen upon the city, giving everything a slight orange glow. Sliding down the wall to the floor, he looked over his supplies. He had enough food, and light hadn't been much of an issue in the first place. His water bottles had been filled as well. Jared turned his attention to his gun. He needed more ammunition.
Of course, that was one of the reasons Jared had chosen to keep this particular weapon when the outbreak started. It wasn't the flashiest gun he could have gone with, or even the most accurate. There wasn't any sentimental reason to the choice either. When it came down to it, Jared had chosen his weapon for the simplicity of ammunition concerns, for the fact that it used the same ammunition found in standard police firearms.
Glancing back out the window, he tried to judge how much longer there would be light on the streets. Jared hadn't been particularly fond of the house when he first saw it, he wouldn't have an exceptionally hard time leaving. The simple fact was that although he preferred not to use a firearm, if a situation would arise where he was forced to then he would enjoy having more than a half depleted magazine's worth of bullets to prove his point.
Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, Jared walked through the door out to the streets with his tire iron in hand. If his memory still served its primary function, then he had passed by a police department on his way here. Sure, there would have been others to have checked through the place. Of course the armory would either be emptied or locked down tighter than a minister's daughter's chastity belt. Perhaps even the locker room would be thoroughly ransacked. But nobody checks everywhere, and there were less obvious places in a police station to find a weapon.
It took forty five minutes to navigate his way through the side streets without attracting unwanted attention, but finally Jared stood in front of the doors to the police department. The doors themselves had been left wide open, which wasn't too surprising. Jared shook out his right arm, preparing to use the tire iron. There was a good chance it would be handy inside, and not only for bashing in heads. Taking one last look at the outside, Jared inhaled sharply and stepped forward in to the building.
