Name of your Community: Triton's Rest
Origin: The Community was not originally meant to be a place of survival-it was meant to be a warship. An old, outdated aircraft carrier-the U.S.S Triton-was ordered by her captain to assist rescue efforts all along the coast. For a time, they did so, dispatching air support and carrying as many civilians as they could from the mainland-later, they helped in the widespread firebombing in a desperate effort to stop the rampaging undead. Then things got worse. Orders stopped coming, as did supplies-food, water, ammunition, and fuel. The Triton was burdened with almost ten times it's maximum capacity for passengers, and tempers quickly flared. Captain Jones, with little recourse, beached his vessel furthest from any known infection zone and jumped ship with a few of his hand picked crew. Leaving those refugees left, to settle on their own. The ship was stripped for parts and supplies, and most people fled as well, leaving only a rusted hulk and those too weak or perhaps too stubborn to leave.
Current Location: The Triton is currently beached in a far Southern area-winters are short and bitter, summers long and grueling, though spring is usually nice. The land around is barely arable, mostly swamp flats and salt marshes. It's dangerous, smelly and difficult to move around in. Most inhabitants around here live-or lived-in small communities or by themselves, most of which faired better than most in the apocalypse. A large main road leads a great many miles to a large metropolitan city, and it seems more and more infected are walking down the strip every day. The largest infected area is a small airport to the north of Triton, where a mass of refugees and army personnel were overrun awaiting rescue-they're mostly sedentary, but no one has really riled them up yet.
Form of Government: Triton's Rest is more or less run by those military who stayed behind, and while their leader isn't calling himself a Warlord, that's exactly what he is. He delegates orders to five lessers, who in turn run day to day affairs and control the loyalties of a fair amount of soldiers. This is a hotbed of tempting intrigue and near constant betrayal, and most consider it eventual that the decks will run red with blood. Triton may very well destroy itself from the inside out.
Policies: To other, triton's Rest seems to take more than than trade-there's not alot of resources to go around here, and while they will attempt modest diplomacy, it's usually just to cover troop movements. They don't kill more than absorb, though, sometimes by force. Conscription whomever they need from the local population has become secondhand, and cause a great deal of resentment. With the infected, Triton is perhaps rare in that they don't antagonize them-they will be killed if crossing a certain threshold, but no direct attacks have ever taken place. Their official plan is to 'wait it out', until the undead rot into nothing or command and control is re-established. This might change if their seemingly safe haven is ever truly threatened.
It's people tend to have no rights, nor do they expect any. Law and order, what it is, is enforced brutally-no murder, no robbery, no violence, no infection of any kind is allowed on the ship. Lawbreakers tend to be hung over the ships railing on nooses. People are otherwise free to come and go as they please, assuming they pay their dues. People tend to fall into three categories-soldiers, those who cater to the soldiers, and the technical types, who run the ship or grow crops
Backstory: The Triton is more or less a fortress. Though it's no longer able to sail (despite the ideas of some the whackier crew) it's built strong, and the high deck and armored hull walls keep wandering undead and snooping humans away. Affordable space for bunks and supplies, along with some built in amenities-lights, refrigerators, kitchens-make living here a peach...as long as they can power them. They've resorted to only running certain parts of the ship and only when needed, but fuel is scarce and the crew quickly turned to 'opportunistic scavenging' to feed the behemoth. Some might say the whole thing is a bit of a waste of resources for the amount of people that can live here, but those who stayed were stubborn, and for many it's the only home they have anymore. Four walls and a roof is a damn good reason to dig in...but they've only gotten more aggressive as time goes on, and attracted more attention-rumors of the 'treasure ship' loaded to fore with supplies, it's crew living like kings have spread for miles and leagues. It's only a matter of time till the castle gets sieged, but will they be ready for it?