Capt. Timothy McGregor
3 Str | 3 Int | 2 Ag | 2 Char
Status: Battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed.
Inventory:
McGregor awoke with sore bruises and stiff back, but he was feeling quite revitalised considering his situation. He'd stayed up later than a lot of the other survivors, being well and truly awake when Kin had deposited the unconscious woman, but had remained unnoticed. He'd continued observing for a while longer, had made an effort to sharpen his stick and had then fallen asleep against the wall as he assessed Kin's behaviour towards the woman and determined she had been found elsewhere and brought it, he had thought he heard a crash earlier.
McGregor then listened to Kin's instructions and volunteered himself to obtain supplies from the
Home Fixin' store, stating that he felt his expertise would be a lot more useful there than at a supermarket or a corner store. He disliked that someone had been chosen to lead the group simply because they volunteered first, but at least it was one of the men McGregor considered a possible ally. He didn't argue against the appointment though, McGregor respected chains of command and it as clear that only the soldier was ranked higher than Kin in the shelter's hierarchy.
"Get in and get the supplies. Don't linger and don't get caught. Those two had knives and the best I've got is a stick, so be careful."
McGregor, clutching his own, only barely sharpened, stick agreed with the leader's assessment. He decided that he had good common sense, but didn't feel he had a background like his own. Considering that, McGregor ran forward in half crouch, he was slower than others but he was second into the building since he reacted quicker to Mark's sudden break from cover. He'd experienced similar runs in Angola.
McGregor carefully stepped through the glass door, he would have stopped to grab a shard as a weapon but he didn't have the chance as others were coming through. Instead, McGregor crept through the isles, slipping passed the same looter as mark before moving down a different path. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that the place to go was the loading dock and storage in the back of the building. The outbreak had occurred very suddenly, so it was highly likely that any recent deliveries would still be back there in boxes.
McGregor, always in his half-crouch – his knees starting to ache more noticeably as a result – moved slowly towards the back of the store. A looter walked straight passed the police officer and down the next isle but he didn't notice him. Carefully a quietly McGregor moved onwards, slipping through an open door and into the back of the store. He crept down a dingy hall towards another open door. Voices could be heard loud and clear
"Marko was right" a man with a surprising Texan accent said "we was right to check these boxes back here. Look at all this stuff, exactly what we need."
McGregor pressed himself against the wall and peered around the corner before quickly moving out of view again. Three men were standing around a bunch of boxes and crates, several of which were open. A fourth was struggling to force open a large roller door, it seemed that something had caused it to become jammed shut.
"Will you assholes help me out here!" a voice that sounded a lot younger than the Texan yelled "We have to get this open for when Louie gets here with the truck." That was the fourth; McGregor guessed that he was in his early twenties at his youngest. What sounded like a slap to a face echoed through the room.
"You'd wanna treat us with some respect boy. Or else we'll throw you back to them zombies that were chowin' down on your daddy"
McGregor slipped into the room using the confusion as his chance. He ducked behind a large forklift that was sitting not too far from the crates and looters. He clutched his stick tighter.
Four targets, no firearms. I'll surprise them easily enough, but I'm going to be at a huge disadvantage. I need to get rid of them. McGregor looked at the door, a second door was closed and bolted next to where it was open, both had long rectangular bars for handles. That meant he could slide something through them. Like a plank of wood.
That could work
McGregor didn't like what he was going to have to do, but he seemed to really only have the one choice. Whilst the four had their backs turned, the police captain hurled his stick through the open door as hard as he could. It made a loud enough noise to grab the attention of the four looters.
"What was that?" a gravelly voice said
"I dunno, but I think I saw something moving out there" the Texan said "Jim, Boy, you two stay here and guard the loot. Dave and I are going to go and see if anyone managed to slip by the others."
McGregor edged back around to the corner of the forklift so the two men wouldn't see him as they left. Then, once he was sure they were gone he sprung into action. He ran forwards suddenly, reaching the younger man first. He didn't have any time to react before McGregor punched him in his stomach. When his young victim doubled over, winded and gasping he kicked him in the head causing him to drop to the floor.
By this time the last man had realized what was happening
"What the hell! HEY!" he shouted, McGregor new that the other two would be back soon, maybe with reinforcements. The looter ran forwards but he didn't get to land a blow on the former soldier. Timothy picked up one of the wooden planks and smacked his attacker over the head with it, the looter falling instantly to the ground where he lay moaning. McGregor didn't stop to see whether he got up, he ran towards the door, footsteps thundering towards it. He got there only second before a group of looters and slammed it shut. He pushed his weight against it as someone tried to force it open and jammed his plank through the handles of the two doors, sealing them shut.
"Open this door you freakin' rat bastard!" someone yelled as loud thumps continued to sound. McGregor turned to the two men still in the room. The young man was just getting back to his feet, McGregor grabbed him by the hair and slammed him into the roller door with a loud bang before throwing him to the concrete ground. He tried to get back up only to be kicked in the side. As the kid – well he looked like a kid to McGregor – rose to all fours, gasping for breath, Timothy spoke to him
"Don't be an idiot and stay down. I know you lot just want to survive too so I don't want to kill anybody. If you keep resisting though I'm going to have to because nobody is stopping me from staying alive to find my girl. Got it?" The youth nodded and crawled into a corner where he pulled his knees to his chin but otherwise remained silent. The other man was still breathing, but looked to be unconscious on the ground.
McGregor begun searching for supplies, taking useful parts he found in crates like wood, tape and nails and also an old newspaper and a couple of rolls of toiler paper. The latter three items were more for thins to burn than anything. The bag he'd taken from the shelter starting to get heavy, McGregor decided it would be unwise to carry any more. It was time instead to get out… and unfortunately there was only one way to do that: the jammed roller door. A loud scream echoed and shout and yells began in a furious din
""Run, everyone! There's too many of them!" McGregor heard though the unintelligible noise.
"Shit! I don't have time to sit here struggling with a freaking roller door and a welcoming committee out through the hall."
Choked laughter filled McGregor's ears, the cop looking down to see the man he'd hit with the plank laughing at him from the floor.
"All your buddies are dead! We're gonna get them all and then we're gonna find this girl of yours and skin her alive!" McGregor's eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to horrible, cold tone
"Nobody will hurt my daughter. Nobody." The laughter intensified as did the shouts from back in the store
"Oh so it's a little one is it? That's okay, we can take goo care of her for you once you're dead. Real. Good. Care."
McGregor had heard enough, he kicked the downed man hard in the face knocking him unconscious once more, and in a frenzied and reckless mood he went over the forklift. He grinned wildly at the keys still being in it. Timothy climbed into the seat and turned the key, the engine spluttered but didn't start. Desperation gripping him, the unconscious looter's laughter ringing in his head McGregor tried over and over, before at last the engine spluttered to life. A few more minutes went by as he worked out how to drive the vehicle – time he knew he couldn't afford. Steeling himself McGregor sped the vehicle to its maximum speed and aimed right for the door. With a loud crash the forklift flew through the surprisingly flimsy door and crashed into the ground below on its side.
McGregor groaned as for a moment his vision flickered black, then as his sight returned he climbed out of the wrecked forklift and ran down the side of the store. Coming into the parking lot just in time to see Mark vanish passed the tree line. McGregor followed him, hoping he was the last one out and arrived in the grassy area beyond the trees to see Mark lying there. McGregor checked him over, noting his bleeding arm.
"Listen, it's going to be all right." McGregor said, just the same as he would to a victim or victim's family – his voice measured and (falsely) calm "Put some pressure on that wound. I'm going back in to help the others."
With that, McGregor turned and, after taking a deep breath to steady himself, ran back towards the building to help out any surviving members of their group.
Status Update: Minor head trauma and aching body from crash, still capable.
Inventory Update:
-1 Stick
+2 Parts (Weight 8/20)
+6 Nails (Weight 3/20)
+1 Old Newspaper (Weight 1/20)
+2 Toilet Paper (Weight 4/20)
New Total Weight = 17/20
