[oliversouthby]

dov-hevelsohn‌:

He watches the man and listens, carefully, some people spoke very quickly and it took Dov time to adjust to their different rhythms. For a Deputy, he is very calm about the thought of drinking whilst there is danger right outside their front door. Despite this, he takes out two shot glasses.

Dov knows one shot will be fine, for him. It would be the polite thing to do, in the end, and Dov knows that one drink won’t kill him but being disrespectful to someone possibly in charge just might.

“No, we have not. I only found your town today,” he watches him. Deputy Oliver Southby. It feels like a very American name to Dov, but then he thinks that about most people.

“My name is Dov,” he says with a nod, maybe once Southby has a drink he can ask about the state of the town and their lack of a Sheriff but an abundance of deputies.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,“ Southby mused but caught himself. “Not that you’re here, but rather because of the condition of the town. ‘Spose it could be worse.“ He rattled the words off. “Dov.“ He gives the name a try. “That short for something? -- You ain’t gotta say either way.“ Southby waves off the notion having noticed that what once passed as casual conversation has taken on more sinister connotations for some folks. He pours two healthy shots, already seeking out an excuse to talk less if even for a moment. He has the bad habit of speaking a thousand words a minute when he’s anxious.

[oliversouthby]

pascal-deschamps‌:

Pascal cocked an eyebrow, but went for the bottle nonetheless. He had always been a huge fan of alcohol, it made his belly feel warm and his brain light. He filled up the glass, and took a small sip, savoring the moment. It was a good moment. Despite being in company of the Deputy, one of them at least. “Recently or originally?” Pascal asked, getting a little annoyed by the question, or at least how it was asked. “I got here on the train from St. Clemens, I got there traveling all the way from France.” And he pronounced France as French as possible just to make that clear. 

Southby considered the question with an audible ‘hmm’. “Either or,” He shrugged, either ignoring the man’s annoyed tone or not noticing it. At the younger man’s answer, Southby’s eyes widened. “France? Damn. Can’t rightly say I’ve ever traveled that far even if I went back & forth ten times the way I came. Guess we ain’t makin’ a very good impression on this side of the world, huh?”

[oliversouthby]

pascal-deschamps‌:

Pascal watched the Deputy with some interest, part of him wanted to join, an other to take the bottle away and remind him they were all trying to do their duty, and drinking certainly wasn’t going to help their chances of survival. But alas, he gave him. “I gather you found your drink, and it would be very impolite not to share it with those eyeballing you,” he suggested, taking a seat, back straight, eyes sometimes fluttering to the door that lead out of the place. He slurred the word ‘eyeballing’ because while he could understand what it meant, he had never before tasted it on his tongue, it sounded… dull. He figured that with kid the Deputy meant the one boy in their company that wasn’t one of Miss Thomas’ student. 

“I’m actually happy as a clam to share.“ Southby said, gesturing the bottle in the man’s direction. “Where you from anyway?” The deputy asked, looking the man over though not with any malice. The end of the world had appeared to bring out a more tolerable side of Oliver Southby. Though, his content, could also be attributed to the whiskey he had finally broken & procured. 

[oliversouthby]

gxnsmith‌:

❝ i kinda got the impression that ‘times were tough’ when half the people in town tried to eat the other half. ❞

he’s ‘cleaner’ than he has been in a while.  fresh clothes taken from the smithy, now that he had access to it.  the long stench of sweat and death no longer clinging to his skin.  it’s possible to imagine that in shedding those stains that he’s just woken from some macabre fever dream.  but - nope… reality is as it was before.  a fucking shitstorm.

it was rarely a good idea for the two to be in close proximity for any amount of time… at least, for everyone else.  poor choices tended to amplify exponentially.  

❝ …and it’d probably knock him on his ass.  but if you’re indulgin’, then try not to sink yourself too deep.  last thing i’m gonna do is carry your sorry ass outta here. ❞

“That much is a given.“ Southby’s frown deepened. At least now it could be said without the knife in his gut being twisted. Humor, albeit a small amount, could now be found in the mere allusion to the catastrophe that had befallen them. Pouring a generous shot into the glass before him, Southby considered the smith’s words. He tilted his head & nodded, lower lip pouting out. “Probably right,” Southby sounded slightly dejected by this but made no moves to consult the boy on the potential outcomes. “Now, now,” Southby picked up the glass. “Nobody said nothing about drinking themselves into a stupor.” His pinky bounced against the glass. “I will now entertain the idea though,” Southby said, punctuating the precariousness by downing his shot. He was joking, of course, but it didn’t stop him from procuring another glass & tempting his company as he poured himself a second shot.

[oliversouthby]

minniexlouxreeves‌:

“I’d say so.” Was her simple response, watching the whiskey she had had her eye on slide down the man’s gullet. “I’m no kid but if you’re feeling generous you can give me a swig instead.” She leaned against the nearest wall, “Sacrifice the whole bottle and I’ll trade ya for it.” like a little dragon Minnie hoarded things she thought might be useful, hiding them away for safe keeping. If her uncle taught her anything it was how to barter. “You want it I probably got it.” 

Southby swallowed hard. She drove a hard argument. & by hard argument, she had insinuated that she’d have some. Not a complete glutton himself, Southby. “By all means,” Southby said, pulling his sleeve across his mouth. He’d begun to hand her the bottle, but paused upon hearing her bargain. His head ran a million miles a minute. Cigarettes, a good game of faro, his goddamn horse, the list went on but came back to the bottle in his hand. The deputy smiled. “Share it with me for now & you can give me credit for something if you’re feeling generous.” Good-naturedly, he stretched his arm the rest of the way across the table to hand her the bottle.

[oliversouthby]

risa-shoji‌:

“Well, that would just be a plain waste,” Risa muttered as she came to a slow stop and cast an idle glance towards the kid Southby gestured to. The kid was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even realized that someone was talking about him. Too damn busy at his own feet. “But if you’re offerin’ I’ll take the kid’s share.” 

Southby gave a gentle shrug. She probably wasn’t wrong. Looking after the boy, Southby visibly perked at the idea of sharing. At last, someone who hadn’t become a sober Christian seemingly over-night. “It’s all yours.” Southby assured her, pulling the cork out of the bottle with a triumphant little pop. “Ladies first,” He insisted, handing the bottle her way. “You know, I’ve got to say, I’m right glad you accepted. Feels silly to say, but I had a feeling it was going to be a bit lonely if I had to stand over here out of sight smuggling down a few sips of whiskey on my own.”

[oliversouthby]

dov-hevelsohn‌:

Dov watched the man, apparently another Deputy of this town. He had not yet heard mention of any Sheriff and he had to assume this meant he was one of this group’s dead. He frowns as he silently watches the man walk about the building, swiping a drink from the shelf. Dov knows the circumstances are difficult, and very different, but it still feels like stealing to grab a bottle like that. And, it most certainly is not a good time to be drinking. He is one of those people ‘eyeballing’ the man, but he thinks he is in the right.

“I think people only ‘eyeball’ because they worry,” he pipes up from his seat where he had been silently watching the others, trying to take stock of the people he had stumbled across,“Whiskey slows mind and loosens tongue too much.” He knows it will sound like he’s being a ‘bore’, Levi would react angrily, but Dov sticks by his words despite knowing better.

“Lot more to worry about than this,” Southby assured the other man, giving the bottle a little tilt of indication. He guffawed at the insinuation that he’d be slowed down or turn into a waterfall of gossip. “If ya drank the whole damn thing - it’d probably make you a slow trigger with a shot ten feet off, but loosen tongues? There’s something else we don’t need to worry about. Nobody’s got time to gossip - if they did, I might be slightly more hesitant to take a drink.” Only Southby was hesitant. He held the bottle, but he’d yet to throw any back. A hair of caution stilled his hand. More so for his ability to remain alert, & therefore, alive rather than towards speaking out of turn but still. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” Southby turns the subject, though he reaches for two glasses & sets them both on the top of an over turned crate. “I’m Oliver Southby. Deputy but you can just call me Southby.”

[oliversouthby]

“Y’know times is tough when you can’t find a drink, let alone drink it without someone eyeballing you.” Southby might as well have huffed. He’d swiped a bottle of whiskey from the back of Harry’s storehouse & it wasn’t even the good stuff, which probably accounted for some of his grumpiness but then again it was wet & that’s what counted. “I think we all deserve one after what we’ve been through. Hell, I’d even give that kid a swig if he walked by.“

[sloanmartin-blog1]

Denial — ;;

[oliversouthby]

sloanmartin‌:

“The town’s not got enough money to pay me back for the food, shelter, and everything else that’s bound to go missing when this is all over.” If it was all over. Even if the undead were cleared from the town, there would be no way to tuck their memory neatly away. Sloan expected she’d be dreaming about the stench and the sound for the rest of her life, and then… Well then, maybe she’d become one of those things. It wasn’t a pleasant thought to have while she rocked forward and backward on a banister, but it was one she allowed to come and go without consequence. The less she fought it, the easier it would be to eventually ignore. 

Southby could play dumb all he wanted, but Sloan pressed forward with a demand for answers. “You’ve not gotta be clever for your boss to talk to you. If anyone’s heard something, it’s you, and I need to know what it is.” Pleading for even just a morsel of good news was beneath her, but Sloan towed the line with an unfeeling, “Please,” tacked onto the back of a demand that hadn’t been issued with even the slightest hint of friendliness. 

All she really needed was a hint, and Southby provided it by beating around the bush about why they possibly hadn’t heard from St. Clemens. It was logical enough – - the town had it’s own problems, though they were probably more equipped to deal with monsters than Janestown was - – so Sloan found it in herself to visibly relax, turning his words over in her head until she deemed them satisfactory with nothing more than a single nod. “Alright.” What more was there to say? She’d never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure.” Except she wasn’t, and the only person in the world who would know that was standing beside her on the patio of Harry’s General Store. 

Oliver Southby was never one to bite his tongue. His thoughts so rarely made it through any sort of discretionary filter before his tongue was speaking them. This time however, Southby didn’t want a fight & if he spoke his mind that was exactly what it would lead to. Sloan was being selfish. If they didn’t eat or shelter themselves, there’d be no goddamn inventory to make up for. They’d be dead. It was plain & simple. He knew there wasn’t much but the plain fact of it was, they’d either survive & one day repay the debt to sloan or they’d rot into the earth.

Southby was suddenly aware of how hot it was outside. His shirt clung to his back. Sweat trickled down from his temple & down his body under the shirt. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, working to keep an annoyed expression from fixing itself upon his face.  

You’ve not gotta be clever for your boss to talk to you. 

The statement puzzled his for a moment. Then it clicked. Deputy Day. His stomach lurched at the reminder that the Sheriff had passed. Southby looked away as Sloan relaxed. The bleakness returned & his lips pursed a moment before he spit into the dirt off the porch. “It will be.” Southby said quietly. He heaved a long sigh of a breath. “Day doesn’t want to be Sheriff. Don’t much matter now though.” Southby started, wishing to make conversation but not quite able to change the conversation completely. “Wish the goddamn saloon wasn’t boarded up.” If he’d sound morose before, he managed to do nothing but tack on a bit of angsty pitifulness by citing how much he needed a drink.

[dxserter]

Last train out of hell

[oliversouthby]

dxserter‌:

Jack resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck. More intent on keeping an eye on the other man. It was hard to tell who to trust. Who was worth trusting anymore. Charles had gone and fucked up all of his convictions and gut instincts to where he wanted facts not anything else. 

“Yeah I’ve seen ‘em.” Less detail the better. Folks would find out where he’d come from, but if he did it right they never needed to know why he’d left. Or who he’d been before he had. “No bites or scratches.” The one bit of luck he’d managed to hold onto and who knew how long it’d last. “I’m looking for a place that’s not..” Alone. Out there. With the army and the freaks. “well, alone I guess. I appreciate the kindness, but I can also help out.” He raised an eyebrow and touched the pistol at his hip. “Decent shot if not a marksman exactly.” 

Southby didn’t bother pressing or giving the other man a second look over. He’d yet to come across one of those things that could form a sentence, so in his book he was golden. “Glad to hear it to be right honest,” Southby said, raising the brim of his hat. He’d said they weren’t being picky but having someone join them that already had a pistol & a decent shot was a definite advantage. “Mostof’em done run off. We still got a few hanging around but they’re basically confined. Though, I use that word in the loosest possible context.” He clarified. “You by yourself?”

[sloanmartin-blog1]

Denial — ;;

[oliversouthby]

sloanmartin‌:

“I do have to worry about the store,” she mimicked his tone, albeit far more nasally and obnoxious than the earnest offering he had given. “Nobody out here’s gonna be worried about what happens to the store when this blows over. But I will be.” Watching months of inventory being eaten up was a casualty of being a hub for food and drink, but there was still some small part of Sloan that wished the Saloon could be cleared out so pressure would be taken off Harry’s. The whole thing was a goddamn disaster, speaking strictly from a business standpoint. “We’ve not got a lot – - we never have - – and I think some of these folks think that it’s gonna last longer than it will. This isn’t some kind of fort. I guarantee there’s not enough to last the town more than a month.” 

Southby could claim he was fine all he wanted, but Sloan couldn’t have given half a shit. She rocked back and forth from her perch and eventually raked her hands through the unruly nest of blonde locks at the crown of her head, “You’re not clever.” And he wasn’t fine either, but neither was Sloan. She kicked her heels outward in one final push before she settled her head against the nearest wooden post. “What’d you hear about Saint Cemens, Southby? You’ve gotta know something.”

Sloan mocked him, a sure fire way for anyone else to rile him up, but he merely leant his shoulder against the shop. “I know, I know,” Southby insisted. He quite wished he hadn’t said she didn’t have to worry, but at the same time he was keen to shove the butt of his gun into the shoulder of anybody who thought they could go on stealing provisions. 

“The town’ll pay you back for everything you’re giving up. We’ll make sure of that.” Southby assured her. Anyway you sliced it, prospects were looking grim for the town, but squabbling over what little they did have wasn’t on the Deputy’s agenda. 

You’re not clever.

“I know that.” Southby said, spitting off the side of the porch. Did she think he woke up daft to everything that had come before today or the month before that? Regardless, Southby followed suit & leant his head against the building. Somehow the crooked view made the circumstances feel less foreign. “Why do I gotta know something?” Southby asked. “Thought I wasn’t clever anyway. Probably couldn’t trust a word I have to say.” He pursed his lips then shook his head. If it were anybody else he’d have told them he hadn’t gotten word from Saint Clemens. The chances of anybody being alive in the bigger city were slim to none but he wasn’t about to mouth that off. Not given the fact that that’s exactly where Sloan’s folks had hitched a wagon for. “We’re not sending any word. Doubt anybody else has the people to spare either. Better to stay centralized for now until things start looking better.” Southby raked a hand through his hair. “Nothin’s movin’ ‘cause everybody’s scared. Can’t blame the boys up in S.C. for not sending a horseman with a letter. Too dangerous.”

[oliversouthby]

clementinexday‌:

Clem could tell that he wasn’t curious about his own home. His expression flickered with concern for only a moment before he mentioned her weaponless state. It was true Caleb was overprotective and would more than likely force her to carry.

She had already given thought to asking her brother for a gun, although she was wearing the old sheriffs clothes, Clem had never held a gun in her entire life. So she’d probably end up hurting someone instead of the corpses walking around. “I don’t particularly care for them. They make quite a bit of noise-” Clem paused at the sight of her house seemingly undisturbed; although there was no telling how the inside looked, but the outside matched Janestown - cold and lifeless. 

Clem  followed silently behind their footsteps echoing off the polished wood of the floor. “Maybe everyone got out in time.” she whispered placing her shaking hand on the closest solid object to her. Maybe only the one got infected and left behind. “Surely we would have been attacked by now -” She straightened up hopeful that they could have been undisturbed. Maybe if anything it was clear, they could hold up here instead of the jailhouse. At least they could have some warm beds.

“That’s fair,“ Southby shrugged. “Definitely too much noise. -- Emergencies only.” Southby clarified, looking for danger in every direction. “I think you’re right,” Southby added after a moment. There didn’t appear to be any of the undead inside. Southby would’ve probably been embarrassed to know the layout of the place had he been with anybody else. “Do you need to get any of your things?” Southby asked, walking between tables towards the back of the bar. “We can get your things & check the rooms.” Southby offered, plucking a bottle of bourbon off the shelf behind the bar.

[sloanmartin-blog1]

Denial — ;;

[oliversouthby]

sloanmartin‌:

“It’s not predicting the future if it’s just common sense,” she hissed. Southby could poke and prod all he wanted, but Sloan stood steadfast in her belief that no supplies would be coming from any of the surrounding towns any time soon. More than that, no trains carrying civilians would be making the way to Janestown either. Which meant her family…

Was something best left to speculation. She perched herself atop a banister – - the very same one her mother had chided her for climbing in her youth - – and regarded Southby with a hard stare when he asked about her mental state. It wasn’t the kind of look one would give to a friend, especially considering that Southby was probably the best friend and ally she had in town. “What do you mean? I am fine.” Doubling down was easy if it meant leaning back precariously before lurching forward as if to prove that she wasn’t afraid of anything. “I’m just concerned about the store.” She was entirely transparent, but put on a tight-lipped grin for the sake of argument. At least arguing about menial bullshit felt natural, considering the circumstances. “Can’t really account for what you’d rather hear, unless you want to talk about your feelings. How are you?” Better to deflect than to confront an issue head on.

“Whatever you say.“ A bit of hope still glimmered deep beneath whatever river ran through Southby’s mind, though he didn’t feel it was worth expounding upon. The closer he kept it to his chest, the better chance it faired to not being spoiled or crushed. It was far-fetched, but a hint of anyone else being alive was a good thing. The alternative was no more people, no more food & eventually the same fate that everyone else had met. 

Under Sloan’s scrutiny, Soutbhy swallowed & looked at his boots. “You don’t have to worry about the store. Everybody knows we gotta ration what we have & if you catch anybody getting handsy with the food, all you gotta do is call me or Day.” He’d have been happy to correct the situation given the circumstances. “Well, since you asked, I’m fine too.” Southby looked up, answering with the same bullshit answer she’d given. “Now that we’re defining fine as some sort of grey area between shitty & fucking losing it. Doing just fine.”

[sloanmartin-blog1]

Denial — ;;

[oliversouthby]

sloanmartin‌:

Mind if I have a word with you about that supply line due tomorrow? 

And just like that, she remembered where she was. Pencil in hand, Sloan tap-tap-tapped the ledger in held close to her hip and roped herself back to reality. Feeling wholly the part of a chastised child, the shopkeeper slowly turned on the heels of her feet and angled her gaze in the direction of Oliver Southby.  “What about it?” There would be no supply line coming – - both of them certainly knew it - – but Sloan wasn’t quick enough to realize that she was being distracted until the offending party was halfway out the door. 

It took nothing for Sloan to be ushered out of the store. Just a gentle push was all she needed to embrace the outdoors, but the porch that once played host to locals and travelers felt too exposed. Too open. The threat of something emerging from some unseen corner made her hair stand on end and her skin prickle. Not that she would ever been foolish enough to let that much slip. No, that would be too weak – - too expected of a woman who had just been left to man a store by parents who were eager to make their way to a bigger city. 

Nothing more than a scowl was offered in Southby’s direction, “We both know there’s not a supply line coming any time soon, so what d’you want?”

“You predicting the future now? Got a crystal ball hidden somewhere upstairs?“ Southby asked. He may have been antagonizing her, but a grin had worked its way over his expression halfway though. “There’s still a chance, plus...” Southby shrugged. “Just didn’t want to see that guy get his head bitten off. Feel like I’ve seen enough of that for a lifetime.” Southby shrugged, leaning against the store with his palm. It seemed beyond pointless to ask if she was alright. None of them were - all things considered. “How you doin’? All things permitted.” Southby asked. “& don’t go gabbin’ about how you’re fine because that’s exactly what I would say & I need to hear something other than fine or good.”

[sloanmartin-blog1]

Denial — ;;

[oliversouthby]

sloanmartin‌:

In some strange way, the undead bothered her less than the wholesale invasion of privacy that was keeping an entire town inside Harry’s General Store. The former was clearly more of a threat – - and Sloan would’ve been lying if she said that she’d not lost sleep over the stench that lingered in desolate corners - – but the latter impacted the proprietress on a more personal level. Call it selfish, but she didn’t like the thought of playing the part of an unwilling host. Undead be damned. 

Maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet – - the desecration of Saint Clemens, the death of the sheriff, the goddamn dead bodies shambling after an unfortunate herd of buffalo - – but Sloan wasn’t eager to examine her feelings on the state of the world. If she didn’t acknowledge the problem, then perhaps it would cease to exist or work itself out like so many skeletons collecting dust in her closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Unlike the townsfolk who occupied the basement, the bedrooms upstairs, the rows between shelves of dry goods that would only last so long if the supply line to Harry’s was cut off. 

Cold as she was, Sloan had anguished over her inventory in an attempt to figure up just how long a town could be fed from the supplies of one store. The results had unfortunately indicated that a significant portion of Janestown would be tightening their belts in the days to come. Even on her third turn about the store – - ledger in one hand, the nub of a broken pencil in another - – she could find nothing of significant comfort between cans of beans and torn sacks of flour.  What she did find, however, was another soul on what might’ve been the same mission. Taking inventory, poking around, looking for any sort of scrap that could get someone through the day. Whatever the motivation, there was still a twinge of anger that plucked at her heartstrings at the idea of anyone thinking they could walk into her store – - her home - – and touch or take whatever they wanted. So, of course, she had to say something, even if selfishness was a luxury one couldn’t afford when dead bodies were banging on the doors of the Saloon or eviscerating entire herds of beasts.

 “You just pilfer through things that don’t belong to you when you’re bored? Is that what this is?”

Southby had tried. He really had. He’d tried to come up with other viable locations to host the town, but given the sorry state of just about every other building, Harry’s had been chosen & he couldn’t fight it if it made sense.  He’d known Sloan would be put-out by the added burden, but it was what it was & the survivors had moved their camp from the cramped jailhouse to the general store.

The night they’d moved in was the best night’s sleep the man had gotten in two weeks. Granted, it had only been a few hours, but it hadn’t been plagued by ghoulish nightmares of the undead or random starts of his heart. When he’d woken, he & the watchmen he was replacing spoiled themselves with a cup of coffee each before Southby took over the patrol. Just like that, more time had slipped by & his shift was ending.

Just like with the Sheriff’s office, Southby didn’t get tired of being in Harry’s. Most folks felt cooped & sought out reasons to be outside, Southby on the other hand felt quite at home. That was probably why, his eyes had flicked up when he saw Sloan’s blonde head go by one of the shelves. He’d been leaning against the counter, his revolver broken down into four pieces as he cleaned it. His focus returned to his work, but it lasted only a number of seconds before he was glancing up again. He pieced the gun back together, watching as Sloan moved on the other person in the aisle. Mind your business, Southby reminded himself, jamming the cloth into his pocket. Something in the way Sloan moved though wouldn’t allow him to turn face. Instead, he holstered the gun & moseyed an aisle closer.  

“You just pilfer through things that don’t belong to you when you’re bored? Is that what this is?”

The annoyance was clear in Sloan’s voice & Southby grimaced. The poor fool on the other side of it probably hadn’t meant any offense. People were on razors edge recently & the shopkeeper didn’t appear to be immune from being taunt as a bowstring. “Mind if I have a word with you about that supply line due in tomorrow?” Southby interrupted, walking between the shelves. He looked from Sloan to the accused. “Sorry for interrupting,” He added, before nodding his head towards the back for Sloan to follow, hopefully giving the guy enough time to scurry off somewhere else & avoid confrontation. 

[oliversouthby]

preacher-ainsley‌:

The idea that every town from there to New York being overrun with the sick was truly a disconcerting notion indeed. If that was the case, Ainsley wasn’t so sure this wasn’t the end of the world of which the good Book spoke. “If that’s the case,” David said quietly, “I’m thinkin’ hanging around these areas might not be such a smart idea. I mean, takin’ what I’m sayin’ with a grain of salt because I’ve never been further west then this here town, but wouldn’t we stand a better chance out in the wild on our own? Setting up our own settlement somewhere, away from the sick?” “We’ve got a couple farmers left, some farm folk, the law and a couple carpenters- I think if we wanted to, we could make it work. The winters would be tough, but if we got established before first snowfall, we just might stand a chance. What do you think, Deputy? People will be looking to you to lead.”

Southby breathed a heavy breathe. He’d had the same conversation with Deputy Day. “Sounds good in theory, but makin’it  to our promise land would make us sitting ducks.“ Thus far, he’d seen one horse & even if they hitched it to a wagon, the chances were slim that the animal could pull it all the way by itself without keeling over. 

So they’d go marching out on foot & presumably be obliterated by the horde of undead that had been stupid enough to leave. “Even if we made it to a safe plot - what do we have to do? Build shelter. Build a camp & eventually a town. That’s an awful lot of hammering, Preacher. The way them things tracked after them buffalo -“ Southby gave his head a mournful shake. “If they didn’t manage to track us down on the way, we’d be shooting ourselves in the foot by the time the first nail goes into a board.“

[dxserter]

Last train out of hell

[oliversouthby]

dxserter‌:

He’d sworn the town looked closer, but he’d trekked at least the better part of a mile before reaching the limits. Wherever the things that used to be people were, Jack hadn’t run across them. The merest whisper of good luck, though he wasn’t about to say as much out loud. Doing that would be as good as welcoming them in with open arms. 

Jack noticed the light before the man sitting next to it, sheathed in shadows. Signs of someone living in this town. Good call too since he wasn’t gonna be able to get much of anywhere else fast. If this place had been deserted (not out of the question all considered) he’d have been doomed. 

Luck had never been Jack’s strong suit though, and he knew it. 

Which is why when the figure bolted around behind a post, Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Well. In his tracks. Stopping dead might not be the kinda phrasing one used these days. 

“Not my intention. Didn’t quite see you until…” He gestured at the man running to take cover. “I came in on a train but it ran out of fuel some ways back. Seemed like this place was a better call than…out there.” 

Southby pulled his head from the beam & brushed off the shoulder he’d been leaning against it with. He looked the man over, looking for signs he’d been bitten or contracted the illness they were facing but saw none. “Definitely don’t want to be out there on your own.” Southby looked past the man, over his shoulder, in order to look for signs of another joining them; be it another survivor or one of the undead.  The night, however, appeared to be empty. 

“I take it you’ve seen those things?” Southby inquired, an eyebrow rising. “In any case, we ain’t discriminating on who we take in seeing as we’re sorely outnumbered. So long as you ain’t been bit or scratched by one of those things - & you ain’t here to cause trouble - we’re using the general store as a bit of a camp. You see, those things - they’ve already been here. We still got some holed up in odd places so don’t cause a racket & things’ll probably be just peachy. Given the circumstances.”