More and More

"RRHHHAAAGGGHH!" Echoed throughout the desolate mall store. A sudden thud, sharp cracking, and another grunt. "AAHHHHH!" CRR-SHHHH. The unique sound echoed again, as a very sharp axe began to hack into the thick plastic and glass mixture of duel-reinforced casing. The sore young man kept swinging the axe, spiltering and shattering the area between panes of bullet proof glass. The plastic molding would not prove strong enough to withstand the barrage.

Panting, setting his axe back over his shoulder opposite his trusted Wingmaster shotgun Chaz had noticed the intense looting spree many others were enjoying. Only most of them were not smart enough to bash into this stash. The display cases were trashed, the shelves barren and thrown about. He had mustered up enough gun oil, containers of chemicals to stain or seal more guns or other things, and a pocket full of superglue. Glue he used to seal off the cut on his forearm to prevent infections. The incident two days before had unnerved him greatly, sending him into mild panic and not so mild paranoia. Prying the glass open now, he helped himself to the only secure place.. behind the main counter. Complementing the dwindling dozen he already possessed in regards to keeping himself armed. Finding a lack of former variety of weaponry here, apparently at the disposal hof the former owners. Reloading his shotgun to keep it refreshed and capable.

Slug in the barrel, buckshot, slug, buckshot, slug.. filled the pump-action ready to unload well aimed shots for the neck or head. A surviving offender would find the slug hole not large enough, an array of pellets would cut off the rest of brain functions with all hopes high. With a black clove ciggerette hanging from his lips as he puffed away on the burning herbs. It soothed his riled up nerves, as he had no clue when one of the infected could bring the plague to the doorstep of any safe zone. He was tempted to return home soon, but something told him to hold out a bit longer.. the camoflague fanny-pack on his hip full of food and his other hip dangled a few canteens of water. It had been nearly a week since he had left his simple apartment to resupply on rental movies and powerade. A tenday since his last hunting excursion, and a mere two days since his last attempt at saving innocent life. Resulting in more undeath, and a two-for-one special on shotgun death for possible Zeds as he heard a few loud people arguing over.

Better off alone to survive this for the time being, he was still tempted to take a handgun, but perhaps later. Returning may prove difficult but not entirely impossible. Other concerns slowly roamed through his mind.. innocents may still be scared, hiding in the city and streets. The diabolical mechanisms of humanity were also at large. Setting down a small radio he held his shotgun in one hand, rubbing the well sized bladed cross on his neck with a dragon encompassing it. Pondering the uncertain future of himself, and humanity. How far should he go if he did go? Were the boundaries of safe and hazard fluxing as badly as they often could, and who could he come across to inform him of the reality of this grave situation? It mattered no more to him, his own sense of justice and right would soon burn brightly in his soul.

All else he seemed to own was a simple MP3 player currently off, a cargo pocket full of batteries, and a few words to himself.. the discomfort of sitting on his wallet constantly only a slight distraction. "What I'd do for some grenades and flashbangs right about now.. I wonder if flashbangs still work on those ghouls..." He finally spoke aloud to himself, a deep but kind voice. The hows and whys of the outbreak and much of the vital information were lost on this fellow. A little wishlist grew in the back of his mind, but searching the mall for some of these oddities would be difficult in the least. Perhaps he should try the military base.. with his camo jacket and pants he nearly fit the part to belong there. Never accepted into their ranks due to the intristic tattooes coiling around the back of his neck, darkening his pale skin.

Weighed down by his vital items and supplies, the average sized, slightly scrawny lad was well built and toned, not overly muscular. Never the fast runner, he had other plans in mind. A potent plan involving the grotesque baseball bat hanging at his feet, leaned on the counter, and array of nails put into the bat with a single hook, the flat nailheads sharpened. A cruel weapon of choice, for a kind hearted vigilante like Chazzy.. who kept his senses keen and his mind even sharper.

A very young, slimly built husky peeked around the corner of the doorway to the store. Affectionately looking to her owner, the mostly white dog's poofy tail wagged. Black down her back to the ears of the blue-eyed year old puppy that still stood knee high. Waving her over the dog stepped daintly through the massive mess of a store. He had nearly forgotten about his only companion! While rarely finding lone survivors he did often find his share of unharmed stray or abandonded dogs, and the occational cat. Giving them out to survivor groups and the occational trainer handling multiple animals they found.. something he did not wish to maintain. Not exactly a hunting dog, she was smart enough not to chew on any corpses, and timid enough to run from strangers. His intuition told him she was beaten once, likely by a large man. She saw the kindness in his eyes and understood some level of safety. He beckoned the puppy over with the guarantee of pets and the eternal prospect of food. Human food was just as likely to be stolen from his fingertips as fast as dog or cat food. Unzipping the inner pocket of his pack he tossed to her a small strip of jerky which she caught skillfully.

His next priority would have to be assembling what little else he needed before taking off to the apartment, or where ever else his journeys took him. Finding himself a pair of ammo belts and a few spare gunholders left laying in the piles and shelves he pondered over a selection he had never made before. Hardly even proficient with the selection, but he knew if his only gun jammed he may not want to rely solely on melee. This couldn't save someone from a distance should he have to, nor kill himself if need be. Chaz slung the gun holder through his chain belt, one on each hip with another by an armpit. A 17 round clip Taurus PT92.. simply a Beretta clone with just as much firepower as even a Glock 17 he placed it securely over his heart. The namebrands were the first to go even before the stockpiling began. Two S&W Model 617s revolvers would go well in the holsters. Donatable, if someone could use both hands better than he could. Digging through the leftover ammo boxes left behind the counter Chaz found luckily another ammo belt to hang on his waist over the guns and fanny pack. There was still no ammo in sight, and thought carrying lots of hopefully well working tools fo war, without ammo or skill in them they were mearly good for hammers and paperweights. Hopefully a busy stranger would drop a round of two somewhere, insurance against his participation in the terrible plague so long as he wasn't felled too hard.

Sitting on the counter the husky began to chew on a loose rubber grip for some other form of pistol. He paused mid-search as he loaded up every spare empty magazine he could find, tossing a mismatched clip near her. "Knock it off Maia! That's not a chew-toy we'll find more rope for you soon. Jeez.." He complained but the unruly dog would only sniff the clip before coming over to him. He finished up with a half dozen clips.. filling the two inside pockets of his jacket with the clips. Waltzing out of this store with his shotgun slung under his elbow as he peered around the mall, it seemed to be becoming more vacant as people filtered into other areas again. He strolled down the strip of mall to look over the other shops, his bat over his right shoulder ready to swing out at the first glassy-eyed Zed that crawled or sped into his peripheral vision. On nervous edge few drugs could help soothe him now, the husky moving ahead of him but still within arm's reach, and full swing. Her tail was down, drawing less attention. She wasn't that happy to be here, even as she squated for a moment outside the next shop to drop a duce where anybody could step. "I'd think you were raised in a barn but I know this is all city.." He commented to the panting puppy.

With the proper lights on in this store Chaz returned unmolested. He was tossing a can of ravioli in his hand, as tow other cans bounced in his cargo pocket off his knee uncomfortably. Sitting up on the counter once more he used a trusty Walgreens can-opener to access the food in question, his set of silverware on the counter beside him complete with napkins. Eating from the can with his fork and spoon he knew it wasn't spoiled yet, and didn't count on a bad batch of food recently from the Chef. Boyardi made tolerable meat ravioli, but the spaghetti and meatballs were atroscious. Maia simply begged with her eyes and her tail as she could smell the fresh food easily, her poofy white tail was alsot curled to her back whenever she did wag it. Flicking the tail up and down with a bit of side to side motion she was very eager to have the pasta but Chaz rebuttled. "C'mon stop it.. you know you eat more than I do anyway. Not always better food but you don't need much with your breed."

A genuine empath to both people and animals Chaz disliked saying no to the puppy, but she would beg worse otherwise. As he steadily ate the meal and drank a Hershey's vanilla milkshake from the still cool freezers there, he too would have to live up the common food before he would eventually have to settle for all-in-one meals from the health bars and drinks. He wouldn't really mind, but even MREs would be tastier than endless granola and peanut butter bars. The slight noise of metal scraping metal echoed from the Guns and More for a few minutes until he set his findings on the ground for the dog to lick up tastily, letting her enjoy the fatty milkshake and meaty sauce. Just no chocolate for this doggy, as his gaze went across the messy floor and shelves. Seeing nothing he lit up another smoke and puffed away on the crackling treat for his lungs, which always seemed to clear them out more than clog them up. But only two or three kreteks a day was nowhere near the usual tobacco consumption of most Americans or Japanese.

Eventually his digging behind the counter found a respectable blade. Sliding it into his boot he felt more confident now in his course of action.

Assured to himself his husky would not wander far with a medium load preventing her from being as agile and darty as she often was.
Investing some of his recently acquired grip tape and the common flashlight he used from his backpack to give his shotgun some radiance. "Just like in Doom 3! Easy as two sticks to make a longer one.." He said to himself, testing the aim and weight of the gun now. It would take some getting used to, but target practice wasn't an option anymore. Every round counted, and every moment longer he wanted to live may depend on those rounds. Paying mild attention to his surroundings as Maia had laid down to rest for a few minutes. He admired the dog for surviving as much as he did for gaining his trust in such a short timespan, as she had been abused without a doubt in his mind.