Season 2, Episode 1
Bryce Winters – The father of Kimmy and husband of Fabiana Winters is just trying to protect what’s left of his family.
Dr. Fabiana Winters – Wife of Bryce Winters, the doctor’s goal is to help find a cure.
Thomas Odenson – This Marine decided to stick with the group, rather than leave with Major Morgan.
Brooke Abrams – The former party girl is dealing with her strange fevered dreams and her attraction to Thomas.
Trip Gordon – This Irish drifter is finding a place in this group that he’s never found with people before.
Mike Fulmin – Always a rebel, Mike is now battling a budding drug addiction along with the walking dead.
Alison Gandry – The lithe dancer is finding herself well-suited to getting into and out of difficult situations.
Sean MacGregor – He’s getting the photos of a lifetime, if there is anyone left to appreciate them later.
Kimmy Winters – The young daughter of Bryce and Fabiana shares a bond with Samantha Hickman and Brooke Abrams.
Tim Hickman – A former chemistry teacher who is trying to protect his daughter Samantha, the only thing he has left.
Samantha Hickman – Tim’s daughter has grown inseparable from her friend Kimmy.
Sarah Sherman – The former party girl was disfigured by Spiderbait, but has fallen for Trip’s strange charms.
David Norris – This drifter and jack-of-all-trades is Trip’s reluctant sidekick.
Heidi Simpleton – Long Alison’s best friend, she now clings to Alison for support in the face of this threatening new world.
Making it past the population centers of North Carolina was not easy. The two weeks since leaving Pink Hill and splitting off from Major Morgan and his Marines were a desperate blur of running, scavenging, fighting, surviving. They barely had time to process the atrocities they’d faced in that small town. Everyone was dealing with Dr. Winters’ seeming betrayal to the town’s ruthless Dr. Lewis in a different way. Her husband Bryce didn’t really blame her for confiding in the doctor. He knew that she was only trying to do what was best for their family. The others weren’t so sure.
The first thing to go was the little station wagon. It didn’t make it past Fayetteville. Everything else in the convoy was diesel and it just didn’t make sense to have to search for two sources of fuel. Before ditching the car, the group siphoned what little gas remained in the tank and filled the tanks of the motorcycles in the back of the panel van. They also stripped anything useful that they may need later.
Somewhere between Fayetteville and Charlotte, Trip’s pickup truck was ditched to save fuel. Everything in the back and in the toolboxes was crammed into the panel van. The truck was stripped and hidden off the road.
Getting around Charlotte, NC wasn’t easy before the dead started to walk. Now, it was an even more terrifying ordeal. Somewhere north of the city, the group decided to save fuel by ditching the Humvee, first removing the mounted .50 cal machine gun and as much of the mounting assembly as possible. They also stripped out the radios and all other useful parts and equipment. It really broke Thomas’ heart to leave her behind, so they found a stretch of trees and wedged her in there, covering her with camouflage netting and branches, in case they came back through.
The final obstacle was Asheville, NC. Getting around the city and through the mountains in which it rested was no easy task. The roads were impassable in many places. The roads that were clear, or could be cleared with some effort, did not permit easy scavenging for food or fuel. Breaking through into the less populated areas in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains was a major accomplishment for the group, and the going became easier, though supplies became no more plentiful.
A little more than 12 miles east of Maggie Valley, NC their luck, and their fuel, ran out. They were on a winding mountain road in the middle of nowhere. Night was approaching quickly. On the right hand side of the road, they could see a driveway leading to some farm buildings set back from the road.
Thomas and Brooke kept watch from the roof of the RV while two groups went to check out the farm. Trip, Mike, and Alison snuck through the woods to investigate the chicken coops, hog houses, and barn. Bryce, Sean, and Tim took the direct route up the driveway toward the main house. Each group carried a radio to signal if they were in trouble.
Bryce’s group found two vehicles out front; an old rusty pickup truck and another old flatbed stake truck. Approaching the house, there were no signs of habitation, but the door was locked. Bryce put his shoulder to the door, forcing it open, and found a dusty, deserted home with the furniture covered with sheets and nothing in the way of food or supplies, but also none of the dead things. It looked like the farm house was abandoned long before the crisis arose.
Trip’s group found the chicken coops and hog houses empty of both livestock and useful items. They found the barn door barred from the outside, so Mike climbed up the old planks and made it to the opening into the hayloft. Sneaking to the edge of the loft, he looked down on a scene of dead horses and about a dozen of the dead shambling around the barn, trapped inside. He climbed down and informed the others. Around the side of the barn was a tank of diesel with almost 20 gallons still inside and a few old, rusting pieces of farm equipment.
The two groups merged back at the house and reported their findings to each other, then walked around the house, looking for a storm cellar or other basement. They found the angled metal doors to the cellar around the side of the house. There was no lock on the doors, but Trip saw numerous footprints leading to the cellar. They called out and heard no response.
Back at the RV, Thomas and Brooke saw a few dozen of the shamblers approaching on the mountain road. Due to the terrain, the things were pretty close when they were spotted. Thomas quickly signaled everyone back to the RV. Moving quickly away from the house, the group followed the footprints back to the stake truck and found that it had a little bit of gas, just barely above the “E” on the guage. They hotwired it and rode back to the RV and the panel van.
Once at the vehicles, the group gathered their easily portable necessities, the .50 cal machine gun, and a motorcycle and jumped on the back of the stake truck for a short ride back to the cellar doors. They decided to take their chances with who or whatever was dow there as the horde, now looking to contain close to 200 of the things, approached.
Back at the house, they tied rope around the door handles and pulled them open from the sides. They moved down the stairs cautiously to find a group of about 20 dirty, disheveled, and extremely frightened folks huddled in a back corner of the cellar. They pulled the doors shut and pulled the bolt from the inside, wondering why the group down here hadn’t done that in the first place.
The survivors in the cellar did not have a single weapon larger than a butcher knife or a hatchet among them. There were no firearms present. They were extremely hesitant to talk about how they got there or how long they had been there, and the group quickly surmised that they left someone outside who had barricaded the shamblers inside the barn and was likely still out there. Meanwhile, Thomas set-up the .50 cal on it’s ground mount at the foot of the steps.
After a short time, a dozen gunshots were heard echoing from the area between the house and the road. Bryce and Thomas climbed out of the cellar to check it out, sneaking along the house and keeping to the bushes, trees, and longer grass. Scattered along the driveway were the corpses of a dozen of the things, each with a clean shot to the head from a large caliber handgun, fired at fairly close range. They could see the main horde still out on the road, mostly clustered around the vehicles, probably still smelling the living humans who had so recently been occupying them. They could also see several more of the things approaching down the driveway, likely drawn by the gunshots.
Bryce took three out with his crossbow, and the remaining ones were getting close to where he and Bryce were hiding behind the bushes almost under the front porch, when another gunshot echoed from the area of one of the hog houses and another of the things crumpled, with half of its head missing. The shooter then yelled out, “HYAAA! C’MERE PIG!” The remaining things moved towards the yell. Another gunshot dropped another one, and Bryce finished another with his crossbow.
As he approached the hog house, Bryce heard a voice behind him say, “Nice shootin’ pardner.” Turning, he saw a man dressed in the black outfit of a sheriff from the wild west. Huge old Colt revolvers hung from his twin gunbelts. The handles of kukri-like old machetes protruded over each shoulder. In his hands was an old Springfield 1903 rifle. At the man’s urging, they collected Thomas and moved back to the cellar as more of the horde began to find its way towards the vicinity of the house.
Back in the cellar, the man in black, who identified himself as Lucas Waller, told his story. A former rancher and collector of vintage weapons from Pinebox, Texas with a Masters degree in history from East Texas State University (ETSU), Lucas lost his ranch when the economy collapsed. He fell back on his history degree, and his love for the wild west, taking a job as an “interpretive historian” at the Ghost Town In the Sky in Maggie Valley, NC. When the dead started walking, he reasoned that the park, accessible only by chair lift, would be the safest place to go, but he couldn’t get people to listen at first, until he donned his sheriff’s outfit from his job as a re-enactor… I mean, “interpretive historian” at the park, grabbed his guns, and took on the persona of the old west sheriff he was so used to playing. “Sheriff” Waller had spent the weeks since then traveling to as many of the nearby small towns, villages, and collections of buildings that passed for civilization in these parts, collecting what survivors he could and transporting them to the Ghost Town In the Sky. In that time, he had earned the apparent animosity of the local hordes of undead, who seemed to be following him from place to place by now. The best he could hope for was to stay one step ahead of the hordes. This time, he didn’t have enough gas to make it to Maggie Valley, so he stopped at this abandoned farm and got “his people” into the cellar, locking some wandering undead into the barn, before the group showed up and ran out of gas.
By now, the group could hear the unmistakable, chilling sound of one of the zombie babies outside. Frighteningly, it seemed to be directing the horde, as they apparently searched the property, first rampaging through the house, directly above their heads, then using their mass to demolish the barn and free those trapped inside. Before they could come back around, Lucas turned to the group and asked them to do him a boon. He would draw the horde off if they would promise to get his people to the Ghost Town. They agreed and gave Waller the keys to the motorcycle and two molotov cocktails to help him make his escape.
The last they saw of Lucas Waller, he lit the two molotovs, threw open the cellar doors, and started yipping and yelling. They heard him gun the motorcycle and thread through the horde, which followed him inexorably into the night. Barring the doors, the group got what sleep they could until morning, when they led Waller’s “people” out to the truck, divided the diesel between the three vehicles and dropped them off at the entrance to the Ghost Town in the Sky. As Waller’s “deputies” fired up the generators to the chair lift, they were allowed to take a little more fuel for their good deed. The group told the “deputies” that the sheriff had led the entire horde off on his motorcycle and that he was out there somewhere, hopefully to return soon to the Ghost Town In the Sky.