[[Huh Page 5, how long till' this RP dies.]]
The Road Ahead
With your crew on board the RV you pull out of the campsite, taking care that you don't knock over the barrel that was still ablaze with old moldy newspapers and rotten drift wood that stunk of decay. As your driver (whoever at this point, I kinda want to get the show on the road and the dedicated Dunc- I mean "driver" still hasn't posted) gently turns the wheel, the CB Radio staticly screams to life, causing your driver to jump and take the wheel with him; the metal 'homelike' vessel violently spills its contents onto the floor, boiling tea kettles, papers, water, and passengers all unwillfully fall into the center, similar to how a [Insert Lovecraft Racism here] child ducks and covers during an atom bomb.
A loud metal thunk is heard outside, along with the blazing roar of a fire spilling out from its metal prison. In other words: You hit the barrel. With everything settling to a sudden halt as the RV crashes into a concrete divider, the CB is clearly heard, through the static-veil you hear a familiar voice. Ivan. His thick southern-accent standing boldly in the "static-blizzard", he tells you that its all clear. And that there hasn't been a single soul seen for miles.
Your driver straightens out the RV and takes off to pick up Ivan. While the group hopefully cleans up the mess.
Ivan
You've been camping in this musty fruit stand for two days, "Keep watch." They said, "It'll be relaxing!" They said. Well you say bull****, and next time Wolfboy gets road watch duty. All you've had for company is the sound of rain hitting tin, and a pile of moldy-mush that probably was once a pear; you've taken to calling this pile of putrid sweetness, Timothy, and Timothy doesn't betray or lie to you, he's also a great listener.
You take a quick look at your watch and see its time to report your status again, you flick on your jury-rigged radio, tune it to Frequency: [221.7] and tell them that the way is still clear. From what you briefly heard on the other end, it sounded like a "indoor-tornado" just ran through the RV, with all the clattering and clashing of pots and people. You shrug it off and just wait for a response.
Hopefully they're still alive, they're the only people you know that actually have a decent working shower.
Seb
As a lukewarm teakettle took a harsh liking to the back of your head, you remember that you left your friend Ivan down the road. And the scent you were smelling was probably him... hopefully.