Violet Fairbanks's Story

Violet Fairbanks sat on the smooth, cold surface of the bar staring down at the body, gun in hand. Before her, face down on the cold, slick black floor lay her beloved Uncle Jack. The only adult she'd ever trusted in her entire life. He'd been traveling with her family for a few years now, making sure her and her little sister Heather were okay, helping in small ways to make sure they were fed and cared about. He was a millionare, and had been diagnosed with four types of cancer years ago. He could have retired in happiness, but what had he done with his millions of dollars? Decided to travel across-country with his dead-beat brother and two kids, taking ownership of night club after night club. Violet had asked him once, why be a bartender? He'd said he likes stories, and, being a bartender, he heard a million of them each day.

Now she stared at his dead body on the floor of his latest nightclub, simply named Uncle Jack's. A few days after the emergency broadcast, Violet and her little sister Heather had made a beeline for their Uncle's bar, needing protection. Jack, though he had four types of cancer, had been one of the few people to have actually turned down the cure that had doomed everyone and if anyone knew what to do, the girls figured it would be him.

He was fine when they arrived.

But Heather wasn't. They had to find out the hard way that her little sister was a carrier of the virus and Violet herself was immune. Now, after suffering through the pain of watching their Uncle get taken by the infection, the two girls sat on the bar staring at his body. He'd finally attacked them. It took three days after his "death" but he'd finally gone after Heather in the middle of the night, forcing Violet to pull her gun on him.

The small hand gun had a silencer on it, so it wouldn't alert anything nearby, but it'd been the death of the only man they'd ever trusted. Violet sighed and set down the gun on the black surface of the bar, hand shaking as she wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders and pulled her close. "It's okay Heather," she said, rubbing circles on the smaller girls arm. "He would have wanted us to kill him before he ever hurt us. Go clean up in the bathroom."

Violet watched her sisters small, frail form disappear behind the bathroom door before she bit down her pain and dragged her uncle's body out into the alley before re-blocking the door and heading back to the bar.

She moved around behind the surface of the u-shaped counter. A familiar place. She wasn't yet 21, but her Uncle had let her bartend for a couple of extra bucks every once in a while and hadn't minded if her and Heather needed a drink here and there. Age is a state of mind, not a number. He'd always said, and Violet didn't argue.

With a sigh, she grabbed a bottle of vodka and two glasses. She wasn't dumb enough to get drunk, but one drink wouldn't hurt. She filled them, and, by the time she was done, Heather had returned. Her sister had dark, bruise-like circles under her eyes and her frail frame made her look mal-nourished and younger than she really was. Her blonde and pink hair was a wild, dirty tangle and she was shaking visibly. Violet slid a glass of vodka to her eleven year-old sister. She'd never let her get drunk, but, since no one else seemed to want to, she was practically raising her sister, meaning she could do it however the hell she wanted. "Here." She sighed, taking a drink from her own glass. "Drink that and see if you can get back to bed. I'll keep watch."

As if to confirm it, Violet grabbed her gun, slid it in it's spot at her hip, then grabbed a dagger and twirled it on it's tip on the counter while she drank her glass of vodka.



In the bathroom, Heather leaned on the sink, hands gripping it's ceramic sides with whitened knuckles. She glared at herself in the mirror. Big, blue eyes that seemed as if they were innocent once, but now held a dark wisdom beyond her years, always with a sadness that her sister described as heartbreaking sometimes. That made Heather laugh cruelly. Violet? Heatbroken? Never. Her older sister was made of the strongest of steels. She'd had never seen any emotion other than anger come from the girl. Heather, on the other hand, was an emotional mess.

Just looking at her, you could see the strain of emotion. Her over-sized eyes should be careless and innocent, like most eleven year-old's. Instead, they'd seen more than most 30 year-old's. Her body should still hold traces of baby fat and signs of healthy eating. Instead, she was skinnier than a twig and her cheeks were slightly hollow. Under her eyes, dark bruise-like circles sat like running eyeliner. Her small body and oversized eyes made her look like a nine year-old when she was really eleven. Something she hated more than anything.

Heather groaned at her reflection and flicked open a pocket knife, examining the sharp end closely. As if it held the answers to all her problems. With a sigh, she slipped it away again and turned on the faucet, allowing it to get cold for a second before splashing it's icy water onto her face. A refreshing second of clarity came over her and she sighed again, grabbing a paper towel and patting her face dry. Then she turned and left her shaking, sad reflection behind, heading back out to the bar.

Outside, Violet had already cleaned up their Uncle's body. Not a surprise to Heather. Her sister wouldn't have wanted her to see her drag her beloved uncle's lifeless form outside and leave him there. Nothing better than food for the infected milling about outside. The thought made her flinch and she couldn't look at Violet for a second.

"Here." Her sister said as she slid a glass of vodka over to her. Heather caught it in her hand and took a drink, a familiar warm tingle sliding down her throat as she did so. "Drink that and see if you can get back to bed. I'll keep watch."

Heather rolled her eyes. "No offense, but the last time I tried sleeping, my Uncle ended up dead. I mean, I'll try but I don't think I'll be successful." She shrugged and finished her drink before moving around behind the bar and slipping back into her sleeping bag. Like always, she burrowed herself down into the bottom and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and slowly to try and promote sleepiness. She felt a soft kiss on her forehead and the last thing she remembered before falling into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep, was the sound of Violet's retreating steps as she went to take her post on watch.

Violet sat with her legs hanging off the bar, facing the front door of the building. Next to her, on the counter sat another glass of vodka and her gun. In one hand, she twirled her dagger on the bar by it's tip though her eyes were trained on the door. The door was made of plexi-glass, and at a point in the room where Violet could sit in this particular spot on the bar and see the street, but not be seen by anything on the outside should they look in. Heather was behind the bar, kicking and writhing in her sleeping bag. Violet had long-since given up on trying to wake the girl during her nightmares. It only made things worse. All she could do was pray that Heather wouldn't wake up screaming and alert anything nearby. If Violet nudged her, that was sure to happen. They'd learned that the hard way.

Something moved outside the door, catching her attention. Her knife stopped twirling and she froze, watching carefully. It was a man. Walking straight towards the bar. He didn't appear to have the tell-tale marks of any of the infected, but that didn't mean he didn't have the virus. He could just be at one of the in-between stages. Right before the infection started to show.

Plus anyway... Even if he was a survivor, what was stopping him from killing her and Mercy for supplies? Angrily, Violet hissed. Survivors were almost worse than infected. They were intelligent and sometimes, ruthless. Having seen him before he saw her, Violet had the advantage and she wasn't about to waste it. She took a swig from the bottle of vodka and hopped down from the counter, holding her gun down by her hip.

At that same second, the back door started to shudder, a loud pounding filling the room. "Fuck!" She hissed. The noise woke Heather from her nightmare and, just as Violet had feared, the young girl sat up panting and shrieking. Forgetting the survivor advancing towards the front door, Violet hopped over the bar and landed over Heather, slapping a hand tightly over her mouth. "Shut the hell up Heather!" She hissed.

"We've got visitors." Slowly, her little sister seemed to come back to reality and Violet slapped a hand gun and a pistol in her hands, lifting her out of her sleeping bag and shoving her towards the back door. She wanted her sister to take whatever was at the back door. If it was an infected, it would be much easier and safer to deal with than the survivor out front. "Get the back, I've got the front."

Looking up, Violet saw that the man had heard Heather's scream, but thankfully, hadn't reached them yet. She sprinted across the dark room and watched as her sister disappeared into the shadows at the back of the bar. Standing with her back flat against the wall, next to the door, Violet waited, breathing slowly, heart pounding. She was a small girl. If this man was big and burly, she might have a problem. Vi was fast though. Faster than anyone she knew. Maybe she'd stand a chance.

The man came to the door. It was locked, obviously, but he didn't seem to care. He just forced the door open and stepped into the darkness. Violet made her move. Without hesitation, she grabbed hold of him, using all her strength to force him back, against the wall, out of view of the door. Using her foot, she kicked the door shut before pushing her forearm into the mans throat to keep him pinned to the wall. She lifted her gun to his head and hissed. "Who the hell are you?"

The shadows shaded her, but there was a sliver of light falling through the doorway on the man's face. She recognized him. Not like an old friend or a family member, but like someone you've seen before. Knitting her brows in confusion, she ran a mental list of all the places she could have seen him. Of course! She gasped slightly. He was a regular here at the bar. When her Uncle let her bartend, she saw him often. Meaning he would recognize her too. She cursed under her breath, but her grip didn't faulter. She merely pushed harder on his throat, leaning into her arm as she mentally tried to come up with his name.



Heather moved slowly towards the back door of the bar, gun held tightly in a shaking hand. Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me. She repeated over and over again in her head as she reached the door. It was shuddering and pounding, creating a lot of noise. She moved the boxes Vi had stacked in front of it and looked at the locked door for a second before unlocking it and whipping it open, gun held straight up in the face of the person on the other side.

A girl. Not a zombie. Though.... There were zombies coming quickly down the ally towards her. An entire horde of them. "Shit. Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to bring this here?" She hissed, stepping out into the alley with the girl. She spotted the screaming infected in a second and whipped out a knife, throwing it. It hurtled through the air, but missed it's target, lodging in the thing's shoulder. "Dammit. That was a good knife too."

If she didn't act fast, the horde would be on them in a second. Deciding to use her silenced gun, even though she'd never really been a good shot, Heather raised it, shooting frantically. One, in the arm, one in the thigh, one... In the head! The screaming horde leader fell to the ground dead. It was all Heather could do not to jump for joy.

The horde stopped chasing and milled about, confused. Without hesitating, Heather grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her inside, slamming the door behind them. Again, they were in the shadows and she began relocking and stacking the boxes in front of the door. Now that their leader was dead, the horde outside wouldn't even realize what happened and disperse. Most likely.

When she was done, Heather leaned against the boxes, panting hard. She raised the gun on the girl. In another moment, she might have laughed. Heather was eleven, but only looked to be about nine, and was raising a gun on a girl older than her sister. She lifted her eyebrows. "I just saved your ass." She stated plainly, hoping the fact would keep the girl from using her crowbar to kill her and steal her supplies.

"So you owe me a name at least. Who are you?" From the front of the bar, she heard her sister ask someone else the same question faintly. They had two survivors on their hands? Her gun stayed pointed at the woman's head, even tough her hand shook slightly and she panted heavily. If this woman decided to attack, Heather would surely be no match for her and Violet already had her hands full. Please don't hurt me. She thought to herself, large blue eyes steady on the girl.

Wesley had burst through the door without a care in the world. He needed that drink. The room was pitch black. He squinted to see better. Though that was in vain to him being jacked up against the wall the next moment. His throat was almost being crushed to the point where he couldn't breathe. "Now, that wasn't the brightest idea that you have had today. You don't know me or what I'm able to do." He wheezed. He allowed the injustice a little longer, it was only to make her feel like she had the upper hand here. Wesley knew that he could over power her in an instance and would to if he felt like doing it.

His vision started to adjust to the light, or lack of. He saw the person's outline. It was a female, and she sort of looked familiar. Where he saw her, he had no idea. He had heard a sharp intake of breath and he knew that the familiar feeling wasn't complete bullshit. She started pressing harder into throat. He can honestly say that he now knows what it is like to be choked. "As to answer your question, I'm a regular and I need a drink of some hard stuff. I suppose you want my name too?" He said. He wanted to grab her arm and throw her. Though that piece in her other hand was all evidence against doing said plan.

"Sergeant Wesley Hill, 32nd infantry division. Served two tours of duty. Now, I suggest you put down your arm and your gun before I go all militaristic on you." He said keeping his voice in a calm tone. He had to let it be known who he was and how he shouldn't be toyed with. He wanted to use scare tactics for her to back off. He really didn't want to kill another human today. One was definitely more than enough for a week. It sucked killing people when he had to on the job. His breathing was getting more ragged by the second as she pushed down on his wind pipe. He saw that her eyes were glued onto his face. He used this opportunity to reach for his pistol. He started to un-holster. If she didn't notice, then that lovely weapon was going right into her gut. He was losing patience fast.

Wesley Hill. Well now she had a name. She looked at him, eyebrows unknitting as she fully recognized him. It's not like they were friends or anything like that, but she'd seen him around the bar a lot, even talked to him a few times. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him moving for his gun. "Now, I suggest you put down your arm and your gun before I go all militaristic on you."

She pressed her gun into his forehead, right between the eyes. "You don't scare me." She said evenly as she pulled her arm away from his throat. Slowly, she pushed the hand he was using to take out his gun back. "I don't want to shoot you, but you better believe that if you even so much as twitch towards that trigger, I'll kill your ass faster than you can count to three."

Typically, she wasn't a trusting person, but she remembered her Uncle Jack mentioning a Wesley Hill once or twice and anyone he trusted, she was willing to trust. "If you've come looking for my Uncle, you missed him. I just killed him." Her voice was cold, nonchalant, but the steadiness in her hand wavered as she said it. "But... If you promise not to kill me and stay quiet, you can have a drink and get some sleep."

At this, she cautiously lowered her gun hand and stepped away from him. As she stepped backwards, she stepped into the light from the door so that he could see her put her gun away. Watching him still, she back up to the bar, not wanting to turn her back to him. "Heather!" She hissed into the darkness as she hopped up onto the bar and sat, eyes on Wesley. "You good back there?"

"Yeah. I've got it handled. I'll shout if I need you." Came the young girl's response and the stiffness of Violet's shoulders softened with relief considerably.

"I'm Violet Fairbanks." She told Wesley as she grabbed her glass of vodka and tucked her legs up under her so she was sitting Indian style on the bar. "Seems fair to give you a name since you gave me one." Vi said with a drink from her glass.



The sound of her sister moving about and talking near the front of the bar was comforting. It meant she wasn't dead yet. What sound wasn't comforting was the sound of another knock on the door behind her. Heather winced. What the hell? Why was everyone attracted to their hideout? Uncle Jack's had been a popular club, but why did so many people think it was a good place to spend their possible last moments in? Because they could get drunk? That was just pathetic.

With a hiss, she unstacked the boxes once more and snapped the door open. Outside stood another girl, looking rather pitiful. Heather rolled her blue eyes, grabbed the girl by the arm, and yanked her inside. She slammed the door shut and restacked the boxes again.

Then, she whirled on the two girls, a knife pointed at one, ready to throw, and a silenced gun at the other, ready to shoot. "You two better get talking. Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? We're not an orphanage you know. We don't just take in anyone off the streets." She knew she was being rude, but she'd lived with Violet for eleven years. Kindness was only something she did when Violet was around.

When her older sister wasn't there to take the reins and be the tough one, Heather stepped up to the plate. If the girls didn't pose a threat to her, she wasn't going to hurt them, but she would give them a hard time. They'd interrupted the first sleep she'd had in days and she'd had a pretty shitty night.

"I wont hurt you if you wont hurt me, but I'm not lowering my weapons until I know who you are."

Blair was starting to get more panicked when no one answered, there would be no way she could climb back up the side of the building without being killed, but just as Blair was about to start bangging and calling for help, the door swung open and she was pulled in by a child. Right away,even through the kid had a gun pointed at her, her heart broke. The kid in front of her had long blond hair and bright blue eyes just like Cassie had had. In fact the way the girl was standing almost reminded her of her little sister. It was a confident stance, but there was other things mixed in, like happiness and then fear. It took everything Blair had not to sweep the child into a hug and burst into tears.

Instead Blair put up her facade and tried to fight back the tears. "You two better get talking. Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? We're not an orphanage you know. We don't just take in anyone off the streets." at first she was slight taken back by the child's words, but really in this days a eleven year old turned into a twenty year old in minutes. Instead of doing what any normal person would do, which is pull out her own gun and aim it at the kid, she pulled her Army tags out from her shirt and off her neck to show the kid.

"My names Blair Lee Blake, I served two terms in the army I wont hurt you or anyone else here I just....I haven't seen another living person for weeks..." Blair's voice trailed off and a sad look crossed her face. The last living person she had seen was her sister. After she had to kill her...all she saw were monsters. Blair shook the thoughts from her head and put the tags back around her neck, but she didn't tuck them in this time, they hung loosely around her neck. The way Blair saw it, is if the government ever pulls through with this, they'll be able to identify her body because of her tags.

"I only want to stay for a night or two, and I can trade food if you will allow me to stay, I just need a place to sleep, I haven't slept in two days.." Blair raised her hands slightly as if to show she was unarmed "If it makes you feel any better I wont take any of you alcohol?" Blair glanced at the other girl then back at the child as she forced a weak smile that hadn't been on her face in weeks into place. It didn't feel right, the smile felt weird, it didn't belong on her face anymore.

"Heather!" someone called from the front "You good back there?" she sounded female.

"Yeah. I've got it handled. I'll shout if I need you." the young girl responded. Heather, that was a nice name. I wonder if Heather and Cassie went to school together...they seem around the same age.. Bree bit her lip, she felt like crying, no matter how hard she tried her sister kept coming to mind and all it made her want to do is hug the girl in front of her, it was so dark that if you didn't really look at her face and if you knew Cassie you would think that was her..pointing a gun at her older sister.

A grim laugh almost escaped her lips,she would do anything for her sister to be pointing at gun at her instead of laying in their old house, a dead monster times two. Knock it off you idiot! Stop thinking about her! You don't even know the kid in front of you and your thinking about hugging her, not to mention she's pointing a gun at your face. You served two terms, you should be tuffer then this!
Blair frowned on the inside. she had to tuff up or just let the kid shoot her now. No..that would be a bad idea...

Wesley frowned inwardly. He hated being shown up. He pulled out a crushed box of Marlboros and pulled one out of the pack. He walked over to behind the bar and reached all the way in the back. It was where Jack kept the good stuff. His hand reached a glass bottle. He pulled back his hand and saw that it was a decent sized scotch bottle. He grabbed a glass from up above and turned around to see that the Ice machine had no power. Looks like he was enjoying his scotch warm, "Why it's my lucky freaking day." He walked back over to the bar and sat down with the scotch bottle and the glass. He poured himself two finger widths. He sloshed it around and downed half of it on the first swig. He cringed and shook his head.

"Jack was a good man. Knew what it was like coming home and having everybody thinking your a heartless monster for protecting yourself. I respected him, I know what it is like to kill a family member. I've had to put down three of mine." He said slugging the rest of the scotch. He wanted to find God at the bottom of that damned bottle. He planned on doing it do. He refilled his cup and slugged it down again. He repeated this process until the scotch bottle was half way gone. Wesley knew what he was trying to do, get hammered. What else was there to do, besides curl up in a ball and die.

"So, your Jackie's niece. He's talked about you. All sorts of good things. About how you practically raised your sister all on your own. I must say, that is quite the accomplishment. " Wesley said. He was a little more than drunk right now. He hadn't gotten hammered since before the virus went airborne. He had been too busy trying to stay alive to get drunk. He needed this, it was the only luxury that he couldn't have everyday out there in this godforsaken hell hole. That's when he heard the banging on the door, "Great more guests. The bar is never this busy during a week day." He said getting up. He stumbled his way to the door and opened it. He saw a tall man in a trench coat holding a sword and a rifle. He shook his head at the sight and grabbed the man and tossed him inside. He picked up a near by beer bottle and chucked it. The resounding crash led the infected the other way. Now his attention was focused on the man on the ground.

"My name's Blair Lee Blake, I served two terms in the army I wont hurt you or anyone else here I just....I haven't seen another living person for weeks..." The pretty, dark-haired girl answered first, and, as Heather watched, a sad look crossed her face and her words trailed off. Heather guessed the last time she'd seen a living person had been a bad one, and instantly, she became curious. She was about to ask when the girl talked again. "I only want to stay for a night or two, and I can trade food if you will allow me to stay, I just need a place to sleep, I haven't slept in two days.." The girl raised her hands as a sign of surrender and Heather sighed. "If it makes you feel any better I wont take any of you alcohol?" She watched as Blair's face contorted with several emotions all at once and Heather looked at her with pity, knowing what she was going through.

She considered shooting the girl. What if she was lying? Heather looked in Blair's eyes and sighed. No one could fake the emotion in the older girl's eyes. Could she even shoot her if she was a threat? Killing the infected was one thing. Techinically, they had already died and cheated death. No one was allowed to cheat death like that. Killing a living, breathing person was another thing entirely and Heather doubted she could do it.

So, instead, she flipped her gun towards the other girl. "Alright, you're good." She gestured towards Blair, hardness returning to her eyes. "Now you. Talk." She twitched the gun and waited. When she did talk, she was a lot more chatty than the Blair.

"Name's Sparrow and it sure is nice to meet the two of you. I haven't had human contact in a few months now, it's nice to hear voices again, not the moaning noises the undead seem to make. Anyways, I heard a gunshot and ran here, it's the first time I've heard any survivors so it gives you hope, you know what I mean? There was a guy too, although I don't know if he's still alive or not. I did try to drag the crowds away from him." She laughed, a real laugh. Heather liked the sound of it. She hadn't heard someone laugh for real like that in ages. Even before the outbreak of the virus, Violet was really her only friend and she wasn't exactly the most happy person in the world. Not that Heather could blame her. She'd had to grow up fast. "Wasn't the best idea, espicially when you consider how crappy of a shot I am. My dad tried to teach me once but guess it never stuck too well. Although it seems like you're a nice shot, good job." Heather couldn't help it. She beamed. Compliments were hard to come by in her life. She was lucky if Violet thanked her for doing her chores.

"Thank you." She said, still smiling.

"I guess you're staying here with someone else?" She asked her with a smile. "And I expect a name from you too."

Heather nodded and shrugged, putting her gun away, having decided they were trustworthy and she, quite frankly, didn't have what it took to shoot them. If they were liars, Violet would take care of that. "I'm Heather. Heather Fairbanks." She winced at the sound of her own name. "Call me whatever you want, but please don't call me Heather. Bee, Nicole, Nikki, any of those work just fine." She smiled at the two of them, a smile she hadn't allowed herself to use in a long time. Sparrow was right. It was good to see another human again. She'd been fortunate enough to have a sister to travel with, but Violet wasn't exactly the warmest company sometimes. "And yeah, I'm with someone else. Come on, meet my sister." She'd had a terrible night so far, but these two were turning it around quickly. "Her name's Violet. You can call her Vi if you want. Oh. And I'm sorry ahead of time if she's a bit... rude. That's just how she is."

Pushing herself off the boxes, Heather lead the two girls around to the front of the bar where she found Violet, two guys, and a girl with her dog. She froze, honestly shocked. "What the hell is this?" She said, announcing herself. "This isn't God-dammed happy hour you know." She was on the verge of shouting. Outside the door, a bunch of infected were milling about. "Did you idiots bring those things here?!" She hissed, looking at Violet for an answer, blue eyes confused. Now, even if they wanted to, they couldn't leave the bar without some elaborate escape plan, which Violet would make her come up with. Why give all the big decision making over to an eleven year-old? Because she was smarter than her twenty year-old sister. Violet would never admit it in a million years, but, even though the older girl got all the guts and strength, Heather was the brains of their two-person operation.



Violet watched Wesley carefully from her spot on the bar, still a little on edge. She took note of the drink he liked, and the way he grumbled when he found the icebox wasn't working. Her eyes followed him as he sat at the bar in front of her, a little off to the side. Silently, she drank her vodka. She wasn't about to get drunk, she had a high alcohol tolerance, but that's all this man seemed to want to do and she wasn't about to stop him. So instead, she just watched him over the rim of her glass as he talked.

"Jack was a good man. Knew what it was like coming home and having everybody thinking your a heartless monster for protecting yourself. I respected him, I know what it is like to kill a family member. I've had to put down three of mine." Now she turned her eyes away. She was good at hiding her emotion on the outside, but people had always told her that her eyes were her tell. So she looked at the bottle of vodka next to her, drawing small circles with her finger on the counter as he continued. She would have spoken up, but she was afraid of what she would say if she did. How weak her voice would sound. "So, your Jackie's niece. He's talked about you. All sorts of good things. About how you practically raised your sister all on your own. I must say, that is quite the accomplishment."

It was obvious from his voice that he was a little more than simply drunk and she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair with a sigh. What was the harm in admitting a little to a guy who probably wouldn't even remember it, or care later? "Yeah. Heather. That's my sister. My dad was an asshole, he never took care of us. Instead, I pretty much had to take care of him. He had this thing for running away, ya know? Whenever things got tough we would just move. Anyway, Heather came along when I was about nine. My uncle, Jack-" Her voice cracked slightly on his name. "Did what he could. He moved with us a lot and gave me work here at the bar." She shrugged, taking a sip of her glass. "But I've talked enough."

Then a knock came at the door and Violet snapped her head up, watching drunk Wesley stumble over and pull the man inside. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her gun from the counter next to her, hopping down and crossing to Wesley. "Maybe you should go sit down." She said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You seem a little... Drunk."

"What the hell is this?" Heather's voice came from behind her and Violet followed her little sister's gaze to the door. Infected milling about outside on a street that had been empty just minutes ago. "This isn't God-dammed happy hour you know." Vi could see the rage in her little sister's eyes. "Did you idiots bring those things here?!"

Rolling her eyes, Violet pointed her gun on the newest guy that Wesley had pulled inside. "Chill Heather. Go sit down. Drink something. We'll get out of this. They're just survivors." She gestured at the two girls behind her. "I see you've made your own friends so don't get pissy. What? You can take them in, but I can't? Just sit the hell down. I've got it handled." She looked at the man who just came in and rolled her eyes, lowering her gun. What was the point in even threatening him?

At that second, a bark came from the shadows and then a "Shhhhh! and Violet realized they had even more company. Lovely. She ran her hands through her hair and groaned. She hated traveling with other people. She wasn't exactly the friendliest person in the world and all it took was another strong-willed person and there were bound to be fights. And looking at the lot of them, she knew it would be hard for her not to just shoot them when they pissed her off. "Alright whatever. Come out from your hiding place. We're all here, so why not form a group?" She shrugged as if it didn't bother her, when really, someone might as well have fed her to the zombies. Her offer hung in the air like a cloud.

inside the bar:

gunshots were heard then he was thrown to the floor was what he remembred after being outside again face first a muffled "ow...again" was heard before he rolled the woman he manage to pick up off his shoulder but the hunter got to her and she was dead he rubbed his face and shook all his stuff onto the floor, removed his glasses and then listened to all the talking, he head a gun clicking as it was pointed at him and his head darted up "who the hell is this?" "im a man with a pained face... but penfold is a much shorter name. and as for them outside who ever was shooting that frigging gun brought them this way. im there, sat on my arse eating a sandwhich then suddenly "BAM" gunshots, she..." he guestured to the corpse with a small shiver "had a broken leg so i carried her here when the people out there started climbing in to get to the noise but ofcourse carrying all this wasnt the best idea but i managed to out run them...had trouble stopping though " he shook his head with a small "woo" noise as if waking himself up "those hunters are quick i dont think shes made it, best roll her into a corner or throw her out....if she were to revive she wouldnt doo much with the broken leg so your safe either way" he didnt notice anyone else yet only the younger girls and the man who pulled him in but he looked around taking in everyones image "i dont mind forming a group.... better than them outside...i hope" he grinned at everyone before rubbing his face again "dont run into that glass....it really hurts"

shaking all the bags off had revealed him to be not as big as everyone thought, infact he was rather short standing at only 5"6 maybe 7 inches tall but penfold didnt get much farther than his hands and knees as his thighs shook and his legs gave way making penfold land again. putting his glasses on he rolled over and sat up and began massaging his legs before long he got tackled by yet another youngish girl "gaaah ahh who are you?" he flailed a bit his leg jerking which brought a slight spasm to them before long he heard "how are you bro?" he then seemed....perplexed staring at sparrow again before kissing her cheek and giving her a tight hug "how am i? ive got a broken face and im not in the highlands anymore but im with people now unless im much crazier than i was" he brushed back his hair and then sparrows before moving towards a wall dragging his stuff with him he sat there leaning on the wall looking at everyone "lets see...we have my sister, a girl with a gun, a wee girl. a dude aaaannnnd...a man with his priorities right guesturing to the man at the bar getting steadily more drunk. at then a dog barked and a look of fear in his eyes as his head snapped to the dog's direction, penfold hated dogs. when he lived in germany and very young when sparrow was but a baby he was bitten by a dog. another time when they lived in the south of england he got bitten again by a much larger dog he gripped his rifle and held it close ready to stab the thing if needed "get the dog away from me" he subconciously kept his sister close like when they were younger his eyes dead set on the dog watching it blinking very little while one arm was around sparrows shoudler the other was on his rifle leaving his legs for now

Wesley walked back over to the bar after pulling in the guy. God wasn't going to find himself at the bottom of that bottle. He had just poured himself another drink when the three females showed up. He was instantly being shouted at like he was back in boot camp. He quietly drank his scotch and refilled it. It was a little girl, he couldn't do anything. He let it go and kept drinking. He checked the wall clock it was indeed happy hour... somewhere.

That is when he heard the dog growl. He groaned loudly, he had said something about dogs earlier and here is one. Judging by the noise it was a big one, sure he used to have a German Shepard when he was younger, but that doesn't mean he is in love with them. He prefers cats over dogs.

"Alright settle down now, we don't need any fire fights. I've already been in five the past few days," He said trying to sober up due to the fact there was seven well armed people in the room and being drunk was not gonna help his case for surviving a fire fight with them. He sipped his drink. He definitely was drunk no doubt about it. He had heard Penfold's comment on how he had his priorities straight. He raised his glass and nodded his head towards the red haired man. He downed the rest of his drink and shook his head. He walked around back of the bar and found the peanut bowl. He smirked and grabbed a handful of them. He walked back around the bar and stood in the middle of the small crowd.

"Alright, we got an idea of sticking together and forming a group. I have no problems with this. The problems I do have with the situation are quite a lot in numbers and want to eat our flesh. That and the obvious distrust between us. We would all be worried that we will get killed in our sleep while somebody is on watch. Oh and the power struggle for the group leader. That always makes things interesting. The one thing that the people who want to be group leader won't have to worry about me. I'm done leading people, it almost got me killed a few times." He said trying his hardest to sound more sober than he actually was. He was sure that he was making some form of sense because if he wasn't he sure as hell was going to be dismissed and never asked for his opinion for anything. At the end of his little speech there he crushed a peanut and tossed the meat of the nut into his mouth. 'Needs more salt,' he thought to himself.

He walked back over to the bar and grabbed a glass that was sitting there. It looked like it had been used for beer or something. It was obvious it was a few days old. He light up a cigarette and waited for people to give him hell for the nonsense that he had just raised. Wesley might have been drunk, but he still could kick somebodies ass if he needed to.

Violet leaned back and watched their reactions with interest. First, Sparrow smiled from ear to ear and she guessed that was a good indication that the girl agreed, though she hadn't said anything, it was a pretty obvious sign. "I dont mind forming a group.... better than them outside... I hope." The man Sparrow had run up to hug said, and Violet sighed a small sigh of relief. She'd been half-afraid, half-hoping everyone would shoot her down. She wanted to form a group, but then again she didn't. It made sense, and seemed like the logical move, but Violet had never been one to follow logic. She'd cared more about her feelings than her thoughts, and, while that often got her in trouble, it kept her happy. For the most part.

"Alright settle down now, we don't need any fire fights. I've already been in five the past few days," Wesley said, breaking into her thoughts. He was at the bar again, and it was obvious he was drunk, but was trying to act sober for the rest of them. "Alright, we got an idea of sticking together and forming a group. I have no problems with this. The problems I do have with the situation are quite a lot in numbers and want to eat our flesh." He said, coming back over to stand by them. "That and the obvious distrust between us. We would all be worried that we will get killed in our sleep while somebody is on watch. Oh and the power struggle for the group leader. That always makes things interesting. The one thing that the people who want to be group leader won't have to worry about me. I'm done leading people, it almost got me killed a few times."

Violet nodded at this, looking around the group. Besides Sparrow and Heather, everyone seemed to be on edge. Especially herself. She sighed and slipped her gun away, about to speak up when the dark-haired girl did it for her. "I agree with..Violet..and the drunk teddy guy." Violet, hearing her name, turned her blue eyes on the girl. "We would have better chances at... living if we were together, if we could watch each others backs, because face it, if you try taking on a pack of those.. things by yourself, you most likely wont make it. But we have to trust each other more." Blair pointed towards the drunk man before going on. "We can't be worrying if, when we turn our back for a second to get some rest, we'll wake up with a gun pointed at our heads." Violet crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor guiltily. No doubt, most of them were probably thinking about her. She'd threatened pretty much all of them here, and the ones she hadn't pointed her gun at, Heather had. There was no question that the two sisters were probably the most suspicious ones here. Maybe, Wesley. For the most part, the rest of them didn't really seem to have what it takes to shoot a living human. Sparrow just seemed happy to have human contact, Blair seemed too grief-stricken about something, probably losing family members, and the fact that the new guy had carried some woman with a broken leg all the way here pretty much proved that he was more of a protecter than a killer. The girl with the dog was too quiet for Vi to get a read on. "All I'm saying is..we need to get to know each other more.. know our back ground storys, how we ended up living, that kind of stuff." That made her head snap up. Share their personal histories? Was she kidding? Violet looked at Heather for a second before sighing and rolling her eyes. Maybe this whole group thing hadn't been the best idea afterall.

The last person to speak was the girl with the dog. "If I may but in, standing here isn't going to get us far if we want to live..." Again, she was right. They all were.

Violet walked over to the bar, hopped up on the counter, and turned to face them, legs swinging over the edge. "Alright." She said with a sigh. "You're all right. A group is..." She looked for the right words, not wanting to say good idea, because really, to her, it wasn't. "The logical solution." She said, looking to Heather for a bit of help, she'd never been good with words that weren't offensive, but the young girl was too busy playing with the dog to notice. Vi rolled her eyes and groaned. "But we don't seem to be able to trust each other very well." She raised her hands. "Yeah, I know I'm probably the main offense." Running her fingers through her hair, she looked at them, then at Blair. "I really don't like the idea of sharing everything, though I think it's a good idea to start with names." She gestured to herself. "I'm Violet Fairbanks." She pointed to her sister. "That's Heather, my little sister." She pointed to the drunk man, "This is Wesley." Realizing that she knew no one else's names, she looked at Heather, who was still pplaying with the dog. "Bee." She hissed at her sister, somewhat annoyed. "Think maybe you can pay attention for once?"

Her sister looked up and rolled her eyes. "Oh please Vi, like I'm the one with the attention problems." Still, she sat up and looked at everyone. "I'm Heather, but as I explained to these two girls earlier, don't call me that unless you have a death wish. Bee, Nikki, or Nicole." She gestured to Sparrow and Blair. "That's Sparrow, and that's Blair." She then looked at the girl with the dog. She was the only one left who hadn't shared their names.

Violet, satisfied, hopped off the bar on the other side and grabbed her black duffel, tossing it up on the counter before hopping up next to it again. "I really don't think we need a leader..." She mused, thinking about what Wesley had said. "But what we do need is a general location and a plan on how to get there. As much as I'll miss this place, I really don't think we can just wait out the infection in this bar."

At that moment, the corpse that Penfold had brought in started moaning and Violet wasted no time in whipping out a knife and throwing it. It lodged itself firmly in the woman's skull, shutting it up. Everyone looked at her and she just shrugged and hopped off the counter to retrieve her knife.

Back at the bar, she used a towel to wipe it clean and looked at the others. "Oh! That reminds me..." She gestured to herself and her sister. "I'm Immune, so there's no risk in getting me sick, or me giving the virus to you, but..." She gave her knife a flick towards Heather before slipping it into her duffle. "Bee over there is a Carrier. The virus may not be airborne anymore, thank God, but she can still get you infected if you have any open wounds." She looked down at the glass in front of her, still half full of her abandoned drink, and ran her finger around the rim. "We learned that the hard way. Our Uncle owned this bar, hence the name. He had a splinter and Bee got it out for him. Not too long afterwards, the place the splinter had been in started swelling, then he got sick, then he died. We waited until the third day to kill him. Tonight." She gestured to a knife wound on her arm that she'd gotten in a scrape with another survivor. It was bandaged now, but at the time, it hadn't been. "Anyway, I've had this for quite some time, and Bee's been around me so we figured I was immune." She looked at the others. "Just thought you guys should know. Cover your wounds if you intend to stick with us. Oh, and also." She gestured to the now dead woman. "If you do get infected, I'm not afraid to kill you." Figuring she'd done enough talking, she lifted the glass to her lips.



Heather listened to everyone absently while she played with the new girl's dog. She spoke up when asked of her, but nothing more. She was tired of talking and... Tired just in general. Officially, she hadn't had more than two hours of straight sleep in three days. She'd been up all night with her Uncle, taking care of him, trying to make him comfortable in his misery. Then, earlier that night, before everyone had showed up, he'd attacked her and Violet had ended it. Absently, she looked at the clock, pulling away from the dog. 2:30 in the morning.

Heather rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned, listening to Violet retell their story with Uncle Jack. "If you do get infected, I'm not afraid to kill you." The words repeated several times in her mind, having an eerie effect. Even me? Heather's tired mind wondered. She knew she was immune, but if she did happen to get a new mutation of the virus, would Violet be able to shoot even her?

Breaking her morbid thought, Heather stood and looked about lazily. "We need a plan now." She said with a yawn. The gun in her hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and her shoulders drooped slightly. She looked at each member of the group. It was good to be around people again. People she could trust. Violet might not trust them, but Heather did. She didn't care what Vi thought, if these people had wanted to kill her, they would have done it already. She just hoped they liked her as much as she liked them. She just hoped they wouldn't baby her too much. She liked feeling cared about, the best excuse for a parent she'd ever had was Violet, and she wasn't exactly the warmest person, but she really hated being treated like she was five or six.

They all looked towards Kaylie and her eyes widened a bit as Bosco was rolling over on his belly for Heather, and happily panting away. She listened to the introductions and nodded, Sparrow, Blair, Heather, Violet and Wesley... Everyone seemed to be awaiting her answer.

"Phoenix...And this is my dog, Bosco." She says, scratching her head a bit and then flicking her bangs out of her face.

Kaylie listens to Vi and shivers when she makes the statement, "If you do get infected, I'm not afraid to kill you."

Flashes of her having to kill her brother shot through her mind, almost making her knees wobble.

"No, Kaylie... listen..." Her brother's crystal blue eyes wide, where she could almost see the reflection of the gun in his eyes. Kaylie shook her head no and closed her eyes. The rock of the gun seemed to pull her whole body backward and forward. She dropped the gun right there, stumbling back.

Heather stood up with a yawn, shaking Kaylie out of her memory, "We need a plan now."

Kaylie nods as Bosco rolls back over onto his front and sits up.

Wesley was sloshed, he knew that for a fact. But two people just walked in with out a fucking problem. More so was the dick wearing the fatigues drinking his scotch. He saw the insignia and the rank emblem on his shoulder. The man was a deserter, no doubt about it. Even in his drunken state he had a mind to clot the guy in the head. He had dealt with deserters before. He often reported them to the brass and have them deal with it. Now there was no brass, no reports, just a lawless world. He grabbed the bottle out of his hand and said, "That's my bottle, find your own... Sir." His words were filled with hate.

He hated doing this to good liquor but it was the only way for him to stop drinking. He walked over to the sink and poured out the bottle. A tear fell from his face and into the sink mixing it with the scotch. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes before turning back around. He had blatantly ignored the girl that had walked in. The sarge drinking his scotch was a little bit more important than her. He knew that drinking that half of bottle was a terrible idea, he wondered why the hell he did it in the first place. Oh he knew why, he wanted to find God.

"Now, if people would stop interrupting this meeting of the minds. I would like to get the fuck out of here." He said. Wesley hated sitting around doing nothing. He hated being stationed on base. He preferred it when he was on his tours of duties. "Just to be perfectly clear, all need each other and we all don't trust each other. So until we get to Dellwood we are going to act all buddy buddy. Then we can all hate each other there." He said relighting up his smoke, 'stupid fire safety smokes' he thought before he continued, "I'm guessing the way, Jarhead here walked in without a care in the world the infected are at least gone for the time being. This is a good time as any to get out of Dodge." He walked over to his stuff and picked it up, he strapped his shotgun back to his back and made sure his pistol and his knife were secure in there appropriate place. He walked over to the window and saw that the horde was over by the gas station where he had came from. It was in flames, he groaned silently as the fire would draw every single infected in a 5 mile radius.

"So are we gonna do this or what?" He said with his non-dominate hand on the handle of the door. He was ready to go down fighting, Wesley had a warm stomach and a light headed feeling. 'Today is a great die to die,' he thought to himself as he looked out the window one last time.

Hayley held her head. She was dizzy and couldn't stand from the hit she had taken to the head when a full sized, well used to be man, pushed her and smashed her to the ground. She suddenly jumped at the sound of a mans voice. Something that she had not heard at all for about a month since she returned. She thought that it was her imagination, after all she only came to the city to find other survivors. Being a normal regular human made her survival even more difficult, let alone the fact traveling alone and not being very strong or aware of the things that were happening/had happened when she had left.

She mumbled back to the man, "W-who ar-are you?" She looked up and saw him kneeling over her in the street. He then proceeded to shoot the infected's that were slowly emerging from their pathetic little hidey holes. She heard gun fire and tried to stand but only got to her knees from her disoriented state of being at the present moment. She could feel the man start to her help her up but was getting hasty and urgent and just decided to drag her to a building, probably the bar she had fell in front of. He laid her on the ground softly and left. Hayley shook her head wildly and lifted herself up with the help of a chair and table. She stood up and shook her head some more, batting her eyelashes in a dizzy way and finally regained for her focus. She had a horrible pain in the back of her head and softly touched it. She was bleeding and the blood staining her blonde hair. She cursed at herself and looked towards the door. She held her bow tightly in her hand wanting to keep moving. She suddenly noticed that there was a lot of other people in the bar besides her and the man. "I suggest you all find a new spot...this city isn't safe but the outskirts and wilderness surrounding the city is. Or as far as safe as I've seen." She said in a serious tone. She sat on the bar counter top and took off her bag. She placed her bow beside her and took out a bandage. She took out rubbing alcohol and rubbed the wound softly. She clenched her teeth and let out a groan in pain at the stinging. She then wrapped the clothe around back of her head and around her forehead to help stop any infection and other diseases, and tied it. She put everything back into her bag and spread her legs out leaning back on her elbows on the counter relaxing. She looked at the man who had helped her and said, "Sorry if I caused any trouble. If you want I can go take care of them...?" She asked even though her head was still in pain, but the real reason was she wanted her arrow back. Hayley hates it when she looses anything.

Heather watched the others tiredly. In a moment, a man on a motorcycle came rolling in and nearly hit her. Though exhausted, she reacted quickly, stepping backwards. Why were so many people attracted to the bar? Dead an living? Was it just human instinct, in times of trouble, to migrate together. Or had her and Vi's little duo really picked up to nine just randomly?

Wesley then stood and started rambling about getting going, and, though she could barely get her feet to move, Heather nodded her head and yawned in agreement. "I agree with Wess." She said, hoping the nickname was okay. She liked giving out nicknames, and she hoped doing so would encourage them to use hers rather than her full name. She hated the name Heather. It was her mother's name and her mother had been nothing but a whore.

The next two things that happened shocked her. First, a female police officer pulled up, just outside the bar and slung open the back of her police van, telling them all to hop in. Heather couldn't help but laugh. Before the infection, everyone would have looked at the woman like she was a serial killer or a rapist, but now, hopping in the back of that van seemed like the best idea anyone had ever had. Despite her exhaustion, her blue eyes lit up brightly and she smiled a genuine smile, looking at Violet with a child's excitement. "Violet! Maybe we can make it! She has a van and all of us will fit!" She was well aware that Violet could see for herself, but being only 11, she felt the need to state it excitedly.

The next thing that happened, was the man with the motorcycle dragged a girl into the bar. She was badly beat and Heather watched her inspect her wounds. Instantly, Bee stepped backward. She was a carrier. Best not to infect the girl by accidently brushing up against her while she bandaged herself. "Sorry if I caused any trouble. If you want I can go take care of them...?"

"No." Heather said, shaking her head with a sigh. "Just join the club." She gestured towards the back of the van. "I don't know about you guys, but this is the best break me and Vi have had in weeks. I'm not questioning it." With that, she crossed the bar, and grabbed her and her sisters black bag off the counter. It was heavy and she had to put her gun and knife away to carry it, but with two hands, she managed to hold it down in front of her and half carry, half drag it to the van. Using all her remaining strength, she hefted the bag in and hopped in, pushing it all the way to the back.

Once inside, she lay down with a sigh, placing her blonde head on the bag, and using her arms as a pillow, she closed her eyes. It was extremely uncomfortable. Like laying on a pile of cans, but it would have to do. She was tired and not about to pass up a free ride and an opportunity for uninterrupted sleep.

She was asleep before everyone was even in the van.



Violet looked at the van with suspicion. Seemed too good to be true. However, she was not one to turn down a good offer and watched at Bee grabbed their bag and hefted it across the bar into the truck. Vi couldn't help it. She chuckled under her breath. It was a funny sight, seeing a skinny eleven year old struggle with the bag.

She sighed and hopped off the bar, slipping her gun away and looking at the others with a shrug. "Sounds like a pretty good deal to me. Come or not. Whatever." She shrugged and hopped in the back of the van.

By the time she got in, Heather was curled up on the bag sleeping already. Her body twitched and she moaned almost painfully in her sleep. The nightly nightmares. Vi winced and sat next to her sister. Gently, she pulled the little girl off the uncomfortable bag of canned foods and other, various not-so-soft items, and placed her head on her thigh instead.

She sat Indian style and gently stroked Bee's blonde and pink hair, wishing she could stop the girls nightmares without her waking in a scream. If she were to nudge her, that would most surely happen, however, if she acted as if she didn't hear the moans and the crying, or feel the twitching, it might stop after a few hours, and she would wake silently.

Hayley was unsure if these people were ok to be trusted. But it wa a rather difficult choice to differ from one side to the other. She jumped off the table and listened to the 12 year old say,"join the club." Great well she achieved her goal, but he was hoping itd be smaller and get bigger by the time she would gotten there. Now she would be like the loner no one knew or much less would care about. She walked next to a big man. Did his name start with a W maybe the two blonde girls called him Wess or something like that oh well. Hayley held her bow tightly and followed the others into the back of a van.

Hayley had once gotten forced into a mans van once and the things that happened in there she would rather want to keep to herself forever. Beside it was long ago when she was about 16 or so and it didn't affect her anymore nor would it help her survive or help to give her knowledge of hunting tracking and survival in the wilderness anyone else any good. She remains quiet and only spoke when she was given an order she felt anxious about everyone and who was or not immune to the disease. She was worried that she could catch it from someone and that she would die a horrible fate. She decided that if they needed fighters and survival help that her primitive way of living and knowledge ofthibgs could very well save he new group or whatever you'd like to call it.

Wayne watched the girls pile in the back of the van and turned to the cop, I'll try to find a hose. It might not be much, but it's better than none. He walked over to the infeced, put his foot on it's chest and ripped the arrow out. He walked back into the bar, looking it over. Not cracks in it; It can still be used. He said and tossed it to the girl on the counter. He walked behind the bar and looked around for a hose. He searched behind the counter and checked the back room. Shit.He thought to his self. He'd have to go some where else to find a hose. He walked back out into the bar room and looked around; looking at everyone's faces. He looked at the drunk and then at the officer. He walked back towards her and gently grabbed her arm, Give me three minutes. I'll find you a hose. He whispered. He looked back inside, slung his rifle over his shoulder and took off running. He looked everywhere. In the office building, the holtel; Nothing would work. He saw one lying on the ground and when he ran over to pick it up, it fell apart. Damnit! He hollared and squated down. He whipped the sweat off his face and rubbed the back of his head. If he couldn't find a hose, these people were screwed. What do I do now, Ash? He whispered to himself and looked around desperately. He saw something in the distance. Is that a .. He started to say and smiled. He dashed back to the bar and mounted his bike. He backed out of the bar and tossed his pack inside and layed his rife down, doing his best to not disturb the sleeping girl. He looked at the cop, 2 minutes; I'll be back for those. He said with a serious look on his face. He kicked down as hard as he could and the bike roared to life. He backed up more and spun the bike around, heading back out to the highway. He zoomed down the street and approached the broken down truck. He skidded to a stop and jumped off; running to the truck door and yanking it open, a body fell out. He ignored it and pulled the lever for the hood. It popped open and he ran back around to the front of the truck.

The hurridly searched around the engine for the air hose and yanked it out. Fuck yea. He said and hopped down. He looked around and saw no infected, so he mounted his bike and headed back to the bar. He was turning the corner and the bar was in sight when suddenly arm came out of no where and close lined him of the bike. He flew off and the bike fell over; skidding into the tire of the van. He moans and withers around on the ground for a second before he slowly starts to get up. He got to his knees and put his hand on the back of his head. His head throbbing, and his eyes blurry, he gets up and stumbles towards the bar. He keeps holding his head when a pouncer jumps on his back. The pouncer starts to claw at his back Wayne covers the back of his head. The pouncer picks him up and throws him up against the wall of the office. He withers around on the ground and tries to get to his feet. The pouncer watches him and growls. Wayne get's to his hands and knees and puts his head to the ground; His breathing's heavy and staggered. This is it Ash .. He mumbles to his self. The pouncer growls once more and jumps for him; Claws out and teeth ready. Wayne closes his eyes and stumbles with the straps on his chest. The pouncer is about to land when he rips a knife out of his pocket. Everything kinda goes blank from there. He opens his eyes to see the pouncer in front of him; Waynes hand on it's shoulder and knife in it's face. His pushes the thing off of him and tries to get to his feet. He falls back to his knees and stays there for a second. What a pitiful sight. He say's to himself and gets to his feet. He staggers over to his bike and pulls the hose out of one of the bags and sets it upright. He unscrew the gas cap to his bike and unscrews the one to the van. He sticks the hose in the tank and puts the other end to his mouth. He sighs and then takes a deep breath. The gas starts flowing and he fills up the tank. He leans his head against the van then turns and throws up on the ground. He wipes his mouth and screws the caps back on. He leans the bike up against the bar. He takes a step the falls down to his knee. He sits and puts his back to the bas; leans his head back and sighs.

Blair didn't even stop to look at anyone the new people, she swiftly packed up the empty space of her bag with alcohol (not for the reason you'd think) and followed after Heather and Violet and into the Van, hauling her bag with her. Blair sat beside a sleeping Heather, who she didn't bother even when the nightmares took over her small sleeping form, Bree could understand, if she ever slept again she would have nightmares as well, no doubt about that. Once she was seated well enough in the van she turned to the blonde girl, "Hayley right? Come here, if you don't want that to get infected." Blair said as she pulled out her small first aid kit, one of the bottles of alcohol and some gauze.

When the girl gave her a funny look Blair couldn't help it, she was getting annoyed. "Look kid, I served two terms in the army, I can sew up that cut on your head and properly clean it so we don't have to shoot you later and you just deal with a crappy headache and worry about getting infected. You choice." Blair said holding up the alcohol and give it a little shake. All she really wanted to do was help the girl, and really there was no way she'd be able to make it to far with a cut like that.

"Well hello there, ladies. I'd much appreciate it if you could place that scary gun on the desk, I'm liable to act rashly if I'm frightened." Tammy had her gun pointed at him by the time he said hello. Already, she had fished her knife out of her duffle bag and was pointing it at the girl, so she didn't have a weak point. What the hell was going on here? Two survivors, staring at her. She wanted to ask a million questions, but decided her best bet was to remain silent. It's worked for her so far in this mess. She looked at the girl as she turned her accusation to the man. It was, after all, him who brought those monsters to the door.

But she was still aware that the girl hadn't given her a name. Flicking her eyes to the man before her for a second, she realized this people were probably the ones she would either have to stick with, or kill. For some reason, killing them made her feel a little uneasy. But that could always be the best option. She frowned and furrowed her brows for half a second, a habit she has had when she was thinking since she was a child, before returning to her mask of showing no emotion.

"Okay, I know we just had a nice meeting and all, but I want to know names." Tammy's voice was rather sarcastic, but was once again curious in the end. She looked at both of them, but her eyes settled on the girl. She had been here longer. And the only thing she had done was apologize.

"Maybe if I tell you my name, you'll be less shy. It's Tammy. Tammy Jones." Although she had said her name, she said it so quietly they probably couldn't have heard her anyway. And after she spoke, there was a silence. At least, in the bar. She swore she could hear other people talking. No, she was imagining it... But she still found herself walking towards the door. She was quite aware of the zombies that were crowded at the door, moaning as they pushed against the glass and tried to get in. If you looked over them, however, in front of that bar, was a van. That was full of survivors. Her blue eyes widened slightly at the thought, and she blinked a couple of times, to make sure she wasn't making it up. But there it was, solid as ever. With a small girl in the back seat, sleeping with her head in the lap of an older girl. And an injured girl, with another girl speaking to her. And many, many more people. Too many to think of.

Turning around, Tammy regained her stance of having the gun pointed at the man, knife pointed at the girl. She then gave a small nod of her head towards the door, and looked at both of them.

"Come look. There's more of them."

Wayne let her help him up and mummbled, Thank You. He leaned his head back against the seat as the police lady pulled a U-turn and got the hell out of dodge. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was feeling a bit light headed from the gas, but it was slow starting to fade. He just wished the headache from hell would fade too. He turned and looked in the back of the van; what a sight they were. Here was all these people crammed into the back of a van with the hopes that they would be okay. Ironic isn't it? There was a big burly man in a trench coat, a drunk, and chick with a big ass dog, the girl who was quite a good shot with a bow and 3 other girls. Then there was a girl who couldn't be older than 12, asleep on her sisters lap; just a tossing and moaning. Wayne looked at her and a sadness flooded over him. She would never have childhood; forced to grow up too quickly. Her dirty blonde her rested on her face and it made him think of his girls. She looked just like his girl Roselyn. Wayne turned around as he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He looked out the side window and the baren landscape before them. Everything just looked so .. Bad. He looked at the woman next to him driving and tried to figure her out. When he couldn't he looked back at her and quitely said, My name's Wayne, by the way. Thank you for what your doing for these people. At least I can die knowing there's still some good left in people. He said and looked out the window. He rested his elbow on the window ledge and cradled the gun in his lad. He rubbed the back of his head and thought to himself; I wonder when she's going to ask why I'm here? He sighed and shook his head. He turned back to the lady, When we get to the outskirts of town and I'm feeling better, would you stop for a minute? I'm going to ride my bike. You could use someone on the outside to help cover you. He said. All of what he said was the truth and honestlly, he just wanted to get out of the van. It would be helpful when we came upon another town or city. I could go in first and I could watch from the back and sides down the back roads. Also, If you need it, I have a map to Dellwood in my pack. Ask and it's yours.