The Consumption!

[gardenphilosoph]

The

CONSUMPTION!

GM Note: I was trying to decide between calling this game either Consumption or The Consumption! Though both similar, I think just Consumption gives it a more modern darker tone while The Consumption! gives it sort of a B-movies vibe, which despite the way I'm going to run this game, just felt sort of cooler. I picture the title in scathingly bright letters emblazoned across a 70's lowbrow horror zine-style cover, depicting a street lined with rotting bodies and one of them rising up, eviscerating an attractive girl. If you look closely, you can spot a man hanging out of his apartment window from a self constructed noose. Irrelevant info, I guess - but I felt like I needed to justify the odd title.

THE CAST

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Emmett Bower played by KUMA DA

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ATTRIBUTES
STRENGTH: 4
DEXTERITY: 2
CONSTITUTION: 4
INTELLIGENCE: 1
PERCEPTION: 3
WILLPOWER: 2

LIFE POINTS: 51/54
ENDURANCE POINTS: 33/39
ESSENCE: 16/16
SPEED: 12 mph

QUALITIES/DRAWBACKS
Attractiveness -1
Emotional Problems (Fear of Commitment)
Fast Reaction Time
Hard to Kill 4
Honourable
Impaired Senses (Touch)
Nerves of Steel
Recurring Nightmares
Resources (Hurting)
Situational Awareness

SKILLS
Brawling 2
Climbing 3
Dodge 3
Driving 1
First Aid 3
Hand Weapon (Axe) 4
Intimidation 1
Notice 4
Running (Marathon) 4
Traps 1
Streetwise 2
Survival (Mountain) 1

GEAR
Gray Wifebeater
Navy Hoodie
Worn Jeans
Old Running Shoes
House Keys
Wallet ($16, Various Cards & ID)
Assorted Change
Ballpoint Pen
Old Cellphone
First Aid Pack
Hatchet

APPEARANCE
Emmett is broad-shouldered and muscular, with lanky, neglected black hair and an empty expression. Emmett’s eyes are still piercingly blue, a feature which gives the rest of him an eerie, half-real look. Eyes that bright obviously have no business being a part of his burned, scarred, world-weary body.

BACKGROUND
He keeps the picture. He’s not wholly sure why, but he does. It’s like another limb by this point, and even if it’s gone all numb or even gangrenous he can’t bear to hack it off.

Rachel was his anchor. The mooring point for his existence. It wasn’t that he was obsessive about her. In fact, he would have argued quite the opposite. When there was still a Rachel in the world, nothing could touch him. Not fear. Not doubt. Not despair.

Seven Augusts ago, he had told her he loved her. She probably loved him back. After all, she did marry him a few years later. But the tone of her emotion was different. She felt for him the way someone might feel for a large, adorable mastiff that had guarded them since birth. He felt for her the way a man feels for his own heart. Or spine. Or lungs. It wasn’t love. She just happened to be an essential bit of him.

When the fire took their house, he never thought too much about the irony of it. He was a volunteer for the local department, but when he burst still-smoldering into the night air, looked around the front lawn and failed to see her there, it wasn’t his training that compelled him to go back into the inferno. It was the same instinct that prompts a wolf to frantically dig the earth around a trapped leg. She was a part of him. He refused to let her go.

Later, much later, when the paramedics pulled him from the wreckage and siphoned the soot from his lungs and explained to him in that just-wait-for-the-bad-news tone of voice that he was lucky to be alive, he wondered if he’d even had a chance of getting her out of the house. Maybe if he’d pushed just that little bit harder and run just that little bit faster…she still would’ve baked alive.

It was worse than feeling like he was somehow at fault. It consumed him.

What if everything meant nothing?

He took leave from his job and, when that ran out, he quit.

What if everything meant nothing?

He stopped calling his friends. Stopped talking to them. Changed his number. Moved again.

What if everything meant nothing?

He still had a little bit of money left, so he donated that to charity. His stocks and the car he owned went the same way. After a while he became lean. He didn’t see the point of starving, so he took up a job at a local convenience store. They weren’t exactly looking for America’s best and brightest to hire, and the hollow, haggard look he wore matched that of most of their employees after a few months on the job. Management joked that they were saving on job training when they picked him up. Emmett heard, but he didn’t care.

The only thing that stayed with him, that drove him in spite of his self imposed apathy, was his need to help people. It had always been there, somehow diminished, but Rachel’s erasure from the earth brought it out in force. He found that he couldn’t stand by when a man outside the store got mugged, or a co-worker got his car stuck in a snow bank, or even when a girl on his block lost her dog. He might habitually neglect his own needs, but he couldn’t let other people suffer. After all, it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose by helping them.

Marshal Byron played by CATSEYE2121

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ATTRIBUTES
STRENGTH: 2
DEXTERITY: 2
CONSTITUTION: 2
INTELLIGENCE: 3
PERCEPTION: 3
WILLPOWER: 2

LIFE POINTS: 26/26
ENDURANCE POINTS: 22/23
ESSENCE: 14/14
SPEED: 8 mph

QUALITIES/DRAWBACKS
Addiction (Habitual Drinking)
Bad Luck
Charisma 1
Clown
Contacts (Past Employers) 2
Emotional Problems (Fear of Commitment)
Honourable
Resources (Below Average)
Status (Jack of All Trades) 2

SKILLS
Computers 2
Craft (Carpentry) 2
Demolitions 2
Driving (Car) 2
Driving (Motorcycle) 2
Electronics 2
Engineering (Mechanical) 2
Engineering (Construction) 2
First Aid 2
Instruction 1
Investigation 1
Guns (Handgun) 2
Mechanic 2
Questioning 2
Storytelling 2
Streetwise 1
Surveillance 1

GEAR
Worn Leather Jacket
Blue Workshirt
Worn Khakis
Steel-toed Boots
Tool Belt (Hammer, Wrench, etc...)
Handheld Transceiver
Mechanical Watch
Wallet ($42, ID, Driver's License)
Power Drill

Nathan Thomas played by GALLIUN

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ATTRIBUTES
STRENGTH: 1
DEXTERITY: 3
CONSTITUTION: 2
INTELLIGENCE: 4
PERCEPTION: 3
WILLPOWER: 2

LIFE POINTS: 22/22
ENDURANCE POINTS: 20/20
ESSENCE: 14/14
SPEED: 10 mph

QUALITIES/DRAWBACKS
Attractiveness -1
Clown
Contacts (Gaming)
Covetous (Conspicuous) 1
Impaired Senses (Sight)
Photographic Memory
Resources (Middle Class)
Status (Well Known Game Designer)

SKILLS
Computer Hacking 4
Computer Programming 5
Computers 5
Driving (Car) 1
Electronic Surveillance 1
Electronics 4
Fine Arts (Computer Graphics) 2
Language (French) 2
Language (Spanish) 1
Notice 1
Play Instrument (Guitar) 1
Sciences (Mathematics)
Writing (Creative) 1

GEAR
Prescription Glasses
Plaid Shirt
Dark Jeans
iPhone & iPod
Digital Watch
Digital Camera
Laptop Bag (Laptop, Case, Batteries, Charger)
Backpack (Binder, Various Books, Sunblock)
Crowbar
.38 Handgun

PERSONALITY & BACKGROUND
Nathan was always a geek of sorts. Somewhat lazy (not completely, just a bit), smart. Very smart. From an early age, he decided he wanted to be a game designer, following in the footsteps of other giants that came from nowhere. He studied hard for it, learning about computers, electronics and everything else he could get his hands on, becoming quite a techie.

His father was a cop who killed his partner by accident. After this happened, he became a drunk recluse, beating on his wife and son. After some time, they both grew tired of it, and left home altogether, moving to the other side of the country.

Being somewhat famous on his job, he gets to travel a lot, and that he enjoys, specially by plane.

He has a very cloistered personality, and is not a "people person" at all. He feels most at home at his computer, with wireless networking. Ironically, he feels very dependant on those he meets. The few friends he makes, he becomes close to.

Being quite the computer-freak he is, he never leaves home without his laptop.

THE BACKGROUND
The first reports trickled in a couple days ago, little more than a week. A virulent strain of some sort of vile disease had somehow consumed a small hospital in the heart of America. The deaths of fourteen patients and six staff within four days spread throughout the medical world through journals and reports like wildfire before making its way to the news and media. The world was taken aback. What happened wasn't actually clear in the slightest. It had seemed some sort of disease, whether it be caused by a virus or by bacteria wasn't known, had resurfaced. It was highly contagious. At first presumed to be a new strain of tuberculosis, the media instead tagged it as a new strain of rabies, a theory supported by the rabid behaviour of its victims. Whatever it was, it caused a national panic. When the Canadian border closed its doors to Americans, British airlines began doing the same thing. America's populace reacted like a dog that had been locked into a small cage. At this point, the disease hadn't seemed to spread at all, the original story having caused far more chaos than the actual infection itself.

Then it hit the major cities.

The Infected, victims of the disease that came to be branded as the Consumption, acted like madmen, homicidal creatures which acted more like a primitive predator than a murderous psychopath. When you were Infected, you lost your humanity. The Infected claimed the city streets in hours. Less than a day had passed before even the largest cities descended into bloodshed and chaos, massive hordes of the murderous Infected patrolling the streets. They didn't know how the disease was spread - some said it was through body fluids, others said it was only the bites, like the zombie movies, while yet others said that it was airborne and when you die you become an Infected. Which brought up another point - were the Infected dead? The media said no. The scientists said no. God knows.

THE CURRENT SITUATION
Fairfield, Pennsylvania. 10:16 A.M.

A couple hours ago, the city began screaming.

Sirens echoed across the city, calling the populace into dozens of supposed safety or quarantine centers and emergency shelters. Ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars raced across the city, which had not yet been hit by the devastating effects of the Consumption, not like the big urban centers. Los Angeles, New York, Washington...all had fallen to the plague in the past few hours. Fairfield had had some time to prepare. Hastily erected barricades and a scattered network of emergency workers were all that had been done. And now, it was too late.

Emmett, Marshal, and Byron had all rushed to the nearest emergency shelter, and found themselves among hundreds of the city's civilians, all of them panicked and distressed, like rats in a cage. The sirens had been screeching nonstop since last night, and ears throbbed with the sound of thousands panicking. Wailing babies, nervous mutters, and wracking sobs thundered through the community center which served as their emergency shelter.

For several hours, nothing had happened. Medical professionals dashed around the center, and it seemed like tests were being conducted. Most everyone in that stadium was subject to a hastily run blood and urine test, and the samples were being analyzed out of the back of several ambulances hastily backed into the community center's garage.

An hour ago, all hell had broken loose. A steady pounding at the community center's front doors quieted the hundreds inside, as all listened. The steady pounding grew into a frenzied knocking, then something halfway between a snarl and gasp sounded. The Infected were at the door. The emergency shelter was silent. Outside, the muffled sounds of a city dying continued. Screams, explosions, car collisions, and god knows what else went on.

The sharp noise of breaking glass broke the silence, quickly followed by racing footsteps and a crazed bloodlust roar. The Infected were inside. Widespread panic. Shifting bodies and screaming mothers.

Emmett, Marshal, and Byron found themselves in the back of an ambulance, having jumped in to escape death by trampling from the panicked masses outside. The Infected were tearing into the crowd. Blood began to spill. The last thing all three men had seen were two paramedics, trying to control the panic. One of them glanced into the ambulance, spotting all three men. His eyes widened. He suddenly shouted to the other paramedic.

"CLOSE THE DOOR! ONE OF THEM'S IMMUNE!"

The backdoors of the ambulance shut and the metallic creak of a locking mechanism sounded. Outside, the sounds of slaughter were just beginning.

Several hours passed. Gradually, the sounds of death faded out. A crippling silence descended over the ambulance.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

The hulking shape has been silent ever since the ambulance doors shut. Just sitting on the floor and staring straight ahead, with his fingers folded together in his lap. When he stands up, it's as sudden and violent as an earthquake.

"It's clear outside."

[Galliun]

Nathan Thomas

Nathan copies Emmet's motion, and stands up as well. His voice is shaky, he speaks.

"Finally. Freaking zombies... You know, they should send the army in, might help us. Or bomb the city. Worked on Resident Evil 3. Sort of."

Spoiler

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OOC

I claim Navy! For it is the coolest of all!

Edit - Also, Nathan, and not Byron =)

[TFT]

Marshal

"What should we do now? There are zombies probably still zombies in the area."

Leaning back against the end of the truck, Marshal looks like he's in deep thought. After a minute, he pushes himself off the end and says

"I'm going to check the ambulance, see what I find."

[gardenphilosoph]

Marshal gets up from his position on the floor, wanting to check the ambulance for supplies and/or help. The back has been cleared for use, the stretchers and various medical equipment removed, leaving the back clear. Some medical equipment still lines the walls, but what they are used for is beyond Marshal's knowledge. A padded first aid pack hangs on the wall - that could prove useful.

The front of the ambulance contains next to nothing as well. The glove compartment has various papers and forms for the paramedics to fill out, and there are some keys lying around, but nothing of use. The garage is far too dark to see anything through the windshield or windows.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

"Finally. Freaking zombies... You know, they should send the army in, might help us. Or bomb the city. Worked on Resident Evil 3. Sort of."

Emmett grunts noncommittally. "You wanna be in here when they bomb it? Go ahead. Keep wishing." He joins Marshal in a cursory inspection of the ambulance, ripping the medical kit off the wall and tucking it under one arm as soon as he finds it. When he clambers into the cab and finds the keys, he starts trying them methodically against the ignition.

"Can you hotwire?"

[gardenphilosoph]

The keys are missing.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

Figures.

"Step back."

Scrunching his body back against the driver's seat, Emmett throws all of his weight into a kick to the hard plastic around the ignition.

Spoiler

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(1d10)[8]+6 (str/brawl). Whoo! That beats an impossible check .

[gardenphilosoph]

The plastic crumples inward, and is easily ripped out to expose a mess of wiring and the mechanical workings of the steering wheel.

Something that sounds like a gunshot goes off in the distance. Two shots...then silence.

Spoiler

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What are you trying to do? Expose the wiring so you can attempt to hotwire the ambulance?

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

Emmett peers into the ruins, looking for the ignition switch. It should be linked to the tumblers in the locking mechanism. If he can find it, he turns it with an abrupt flick of his wrist and waits to see if the ambulance starts up.

[gardenphilosoph]

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I'm going to make you roll, using Perception and your Streetwise skill, to recognize the ignition switch. If you succeed you successfully start the ambulance.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

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(1d10)[8]+5

[gardenphilosoph]

The engine rumbles to life and the steel walls of the ambulance vibrate as the motor begins to chug loudly. The headlights light up, illuminating the corrugated metal door of the community center's garage.

The cold gray cement floors outside are stained with blood. A torn paramedic's jacket lies in a small pool of blood, and the blood streaks away into the darkness. Partial hand prints can be seen, cast in blood.

Spoiler

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Everyone make Fear checks, otherwise known as Difficult Willpower Tests. Basically roll a d10 and add your Willpower attribute. If you don't do this in 24 hours, I'll roll for you.

The steady beat of the motor breaks the silence gripping the building. Suddenly, a pair of guttural snarls and growls sound, from someplace not too distant.

[Galliun]

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OOC

Here goes...

(1d10+2)[9]

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

"Grab hold of something."

Settling back into the driver's seat, Emmett throws the ambulance into drive and lets the vehicle roll forward, trying to locate the exit to the garage.

Spoiler

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Nerves of steel. No fear test except under ridiculous circumstances, and then at a plus 4.

Drive: (1d10)[5]+4
Spot the exit: (1d10)[4]+7
Spot the infected: (1d10)[8]+9

[TFT]

Sorry about the double post.

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[roll]1d10[/roll]+2

[TFT]

Spoiler

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(1d10)[8]+2

Lets try this again...

[gardenphilosoph]

The sight of the blood is an unwelcome omen, but it does nothing to the adrenaline-fortified nerves of the three men.

Emmett, at the wheel of the ambulance, looks for an exit to the garage. There is not much room to navigate among the cluttered room, but it's soon clear that the only exit to the garage big enough for a car to leave is the mechanical garage door directly ahead. A quick scan of the glove compartment and storage space up front reveals no remote control. There must be a button or switch outside to open the garage door.

Something slams into the back of the ambulance, making a loud bang.

[gardenphilosoph]

Spoiler

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Hey, what do you guys think about keeping a little log like this as we go? It takes a couple minutes, but a page of posts can be compiled into a semi-fluid story. It reads a little awkwardly, but do you think it'd be good to have it? Would you actually read it after the game? I don't know, I just wanted to experiment. Tell me what you think. It's in the spoiler below.

Spoiler

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The

CONSUMPTION!

THE BACKGROUND
The first reports trickled in a couple days ago, little more than a week. A virulent strain of some sort of vile disease had somehow consumed a small hospital in the heart of America. The deaths of fourteen patients and six staff within four days spread throughout the medical world through journals and reports like wildfire before making its way to the news and media. The world was taken aback. What happened wasn't actually clear in the slightest. It had seemed some sort of disease, whether it be caused by a virus or by bacteria wasn't known, had resurfaced. It was highly contagious. At first presumed to be a new strain of tuberculosis, the media instead tagged it as a new strain of rabies, a theory supported by the rabid behaviour of its victims. Whatever it was, it caused a national panic. When the Canadian border closed its doors to Americans, British airlines began doing the same thing. America's populace reacted like a dog that had been locked into a small cage. At this point, the disease hadn't seemed to spread at all, the original story having caused far more chaos than the actual infection itself.

Then it hit the major cities.

The Infected, victims of the disease that came to be branded as the Consumption, acted like madmen, homicidal creatures which acted more like a primitive predator than a murderous psychopath. When you were Infected, you lost your humanity. The Infected claimed the city streets in hours. Less than a day had passed before even the largest cities descended into bloodshed and chaos, massive hordes of the murderous Infected patrolling the streets. They didn't know how the disease was spread - some said it was through body fluids, others said it was only the bites, like the zombie movies, while yet others said that it was airborne and when you die you become an Infected. Which brought up another point - were the Infected dead? The media said no. The scientists said no. God knows.

THE CURRENT SITUATION
Fairfield, Pennsylvania. 10:16 A.M.

A couple hours ago, the city began screaming.

Sirens echoed across the city, calling the populace into dozens of supposed safety or quarantine centers and emergency shelters. Ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars raced across the city, which had not yet been hit by the devastating effects of the Consumption, not like the big urban centers. Los Angeles, New York, Washington...all had fallen to the plague in the past few hours. Fairfield had had some time to prepare. Hastily erected barricades and a scattered network of emergency workers were all that had been done. And now, it was too late.

Emmett, Marshal, and Byron had all rushed to the nearest emergency shelter, and found themselves among hundreds of the city's civilians, all of them panicked and distressed, like rats in a cage. The sirens had been screeching nonstop since last night, and ears throbbed with the sound of thousands panicking. Wailing babies, nervous mutters, and wracking sobs thundered through the community center which served as their emergency shelter.

For several hours, nothing had happened. Medical professionals dashed around the center, and it seemed like tests were being conducted. Most everyone in that stadium was subject to a hastily run blood and urine test, and the samples were being analyzed out of the back of several ambulances hastily backed into the community center's garage.

An hour ago, all hell had broken loose. A steady pounding at the community center's front doors quieted the hundreds inside, as all listened. The steady pounding grew into a frenzied knocking, then something halfway between a snarl and gasp sounded. The Infected were at the door. The emergency shelter was silent. Outside, the muffled sounds of a city dying continued. Screams, explosions, car collisions, and god knows what else went on.

The sharp noise of breaking glass broke the silence, quickly followed by racing footsteps and a crazed bloodlust roar. The Infected were inside. Widespread panic. Shifting bodies and screaming mothers.

Emmett, Marshal, and Byron found themselves in the back of an ambulance, having jumped in to escape death by trampling from the panicked masses outside. The Infected were tearing into the crowd. Blood began to spill. The last thing all three men had seen were two paramedics, trying to control the panic. One of them glanced into the ambulance, spotting all three men. His eyes widened. He suddenly shouted to the other paramedic.

"CLOSE THE DOOR! ONE OF THEM'S IMMUNE!"

The backdoors of the ambulance shut and the metallic creak of a locking mechanism sounded. Outside, the sounds of slaughter were just beginning.

Several hours passed. Gradually, the sounds of death faded out. A crippling silence descended over the ambulance.

---

Emmett has been silent ever since the ambulance doors shut. He's just been sitting on the floor and staring straight ahead, with his fingers folded together in his lap. He stands up, as sudden and violent as an earthquake. "It's clear outside."

Nathan copies Emmett's motion and stands up as well. He speaks, his voice shaky with stress and fear. "Finally. Freaking zombies... You know, they should send the army in, might help us. Or bomb the city. Worked on Resident Evil 3. Sort of."

Emmett grunts noncommittally. "You wanna be in here when they bomb it? Go ahead. Keep wishing."

Marshal breaks the brief silence. "What should we do now? There are probably still zombies in the area." Leaning back against the end of the truck, Marshal looks like he's in deep thought. After a minute, he pushes himself off the end and says, "I'm going to check the ambulance, see what I find."

---

Marshal gets up from his position on the floor, wanting to check the ambulance for supplies and/or help. The back has been cleared for use, the stretchers and various medical equipment removed, leaving the back clear. Some medical equipment still lines the walls, but what they are used for is beyond Marshal's knowledge. A padded first aid pack hangs on the wall - that could prove useful. The front of the ambulance contains next to nothing as well. The glove compartment has various papers and forms for the paramedics to fill out, and there are some keys lying around, but nothing of use. The garage is far too dark to see anything through the windshield or windows.

---

Emmett joins Marshal in a cursory inspection of the ambulance, ripping the medical kit off the wall and tucking it under one arm as soon as he finds it. He clambers into the cab and looks for the keys, but to no avail. "Can you hotwire?", he asks Marshal.

Marshal shakes his head.

After a moment of consideration, Emmett nods. "Step back.", he warns. Scrunching his body back against the driver's seat, Emmett throws all of his weight into a kick to the hard plastic around the ignition.

---

The plastic crumples inward, and is easily ripped out to expose a mess of wiring and the mechanical workings of the steering wheel.

Something that sounds like a gunshot goes off in the distance. Two shots...then silence.

---

Emmett peers into the ruins, looking for the ignition switch. It should be linked to the tumblers in the locking mechanism. After some brief searching, he turns it with an abrupt flick of his wrist and waits to see if the ambulance starts up.

---

The engine rumbles to life and the steel walls of the ambulance vibrate as the motor begins to chug loudly. The headlights light up, illuminating the corrugated metal door of the community center's garage.

The cold gray cement floors outside are stained with blood. A torn paramedic's jacket lies in a small pool of blood, and the blood streaks away into the darkness. Partial hand prints can be seen, cast in blood.

The steady beat of the motor breaks the silence gripping the building. Suddenly, a pair of guttural snarls and growls sound, from someplace not too distant.

---

Emmett, now in the driver's seat, gets ready to drive the ambulance. "Grab hold of something.", he warns the others. Settling back, he throws the ambulance into drive and lets the vehicle roll forward, trying to locate the exit to the garage.

---

The sight of the blood is an unwelcome omen, but it does nothing to the adrenaline-fortified nerves of the three men.

Emmett, at the wheel of the ambulance, looks for an exit to the garage. There is not much room to navigate among the cluttered room, but it's soon clear that the only exit to the garage big enough for a car to leave is the mechanical garage door directly ahead. A quick scan of the glove compartment and storage space up front reveals no remote control. There must be a button or switch outside to open the garage door.

Something slams into the back of the ambulance, making a loud bang.

---

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

Emmett immediately throws the ambulance into reverse and guns it.

Spoiler

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(1d10)[10]+4 to run over the infected without going too far and fetching up against a wall. Also, I like the log idea, but try not to take too much work on by yourself, garden.

[gardenphilosoph]

The ambulance slams backwards, and a wet flesh-on-metal thump is heard immediately before the ambulance shakes, the wheels running over some body-sized object.

Spoiler

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Remember to tell me what you're rolling. It's good that you're giving me so many rolls, though you don't really need many of them. Still, erring on the side of caution makes the game go faster. Also, smart move - didn't expect that. I think it'd be a cool idea if you guys kept zombie kill counts in your signatures. Kuma Da, you've got one. Well...probably. Maybe it's not dead.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

Before the whatever-it-was can get back on its feet, Emmett sends the ambulance lurching forward again. He weaves the vehicle side to side, playing its headlights across the far wall as he looks for a switch to open the garage doors.

"You," he angles his head at Marshal, "be ready to take over for me when I hop out."

Spoiler

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(1d10)[9]+6 notice the switch

[gardenphilosoph]

Emmett presses on the pedal, commanding the ambulance to lurch forward. It doesn't. The back left wheel is stuck, whirling around and making a wet slurring sound, as if stuck in mud.

[TFT]

Might as well make myself useful...

Hey you, I think its Nathan, right? You have a laptop... Do you have anything else technological, maybe a video camera with a light on it? If so let me see it...
Meanwhile, he grabs the hammer in his belt of tools and makes a hole in the wall, just big enough to get a light and look outside, but not enough for a hand of some kind to get through. After he makes the hole, he attempts to use the light to look and see out the back.

Spoiler

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I think I need to make a perception roll here. I'll just use a perception modifier
(1d10)[5]+3

[gardenphilosoph]

Spoiler

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Sorry Catseye, just a couple problems with your post. The first isn't a big deal, but your character probably doesn't know Nathan's name, you're just random strangers caught in the same disaster, that's all. Second of all, the ambulance has steel walls - you can't make a hole through one using a hammer.

[TFT]

Spoiler

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Ok, what do I have in the tool belt? Second thing is, how big of a dent did the zombie make to the back of the trunk?

[gardenphilosoph]

Spoiler

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Didn't make a dent at all. You have the general assortment of tools...no power drill though. Nothing that can really make a hole through a steel wall.

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

Whipping the driver's side door open, Emmett jumps out onto the concrete. He sets his shoulder against the joint between the door and the body of the ambulance and gives it a ferocious shove while slapping the gas pedal with his free hand.

Spoiler

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Fast reaction time means that Emmett goes first in a combat (barring the extreme example of a sniper's bullet,) and situational awareness gives anyone trying to get the jump on him a -2.

Roll to unstick the ambulance: (1d10)[6]+4
Dodge to keep it from taking his hand off if this works: (1d10)[6]+5

[TFT]

Marshall is ready to take over the wheel, if Emmett moves his hand out of the way.(Basically if Emmitt tells him to, Marshall is ready to drive the car.)

[Kuma Da]

Emmett Bower

"Watch my back." Emmett takes his hand off of the gas pedal.