Milwaukee, WI

Dutch followed the group from a few yards back, his attention focused on the rear-guard. He was worried though, he wasn't sure if Brendon knew where he was going. Even more now that he had practically split his head open like a melon. He turned around and jogged past Tammy, patting her on the back as he passed.

"Watch our six for a minute will you?" He asked her, then continued up to where Olive was attempting what looked like field medicine on Brendon's broken head.

He looked the situation over. It wasn't good, at all. Brendon was losing blood fast, and just putting a rag up to the wound wasn't going to stop it. He had learned from survival television show that you couldn't deal with head wounds like you would a scraped knee. Brendon's heart would keep pumping blood to his brain, and it would keep pouring down his face until it could congeal. All this alcohol and water would disinfect it, but it also meant he was going to keep bleeding.

The thought suddenly occurred to him that he had never bothered to ask if Olive was a carrier or not. He cursed himself for his stupidity. But questions would have to wait for later, there was no time for them now and there certainly was no time to set up a field hospital in the middle of the street. Olive looked up at him as he approached. She was trying her best, and he thanked the heavens that she had cleansing alcohol on hand. But if Brendon was going to live, he was going to have to move through the pain for the time being.

"We don't have time for this." He heard himself say. He was surprised by how cruel his voice sounded. He pulled Brendon up so he could look him in the eyes. "You've gotta walk Brendon. You've gotta walk or you're gonna die."

Brendon's face was white as sheet paper, but his eyes were still cognizant. In his eyes, he saw the intensity of a man who would live at all costs. Without pausing, Dutch hoisted him up on his feet, draping his arm over his shoulder. He slung Vera over his other shoulder, and then steadied Brendon's weight between the two of them.

"Lets go!" He said to Olive. "Just follow me and Brendon and keep the walkers off us until we reach the tracks!"

He started walking, half carrying Brendon beside him. He only hoped they could reach the train station; and safety, before the man beside him bled out completely.

(( so are the people in the van at dellwood now? ))

"Who is going to lead us, I mean, once we find shelter for a bit, we're gonna need someone to take charge."

Olive had been dressing Brendon's head wound when he asked her the question out of the blue. In the middle of tapping a wad of alcohol-soaked cotton on the gash, she paused. Her empty expression automatically looked towards Tammy and Dutch.

To be honest, she hadn't even thought of that as an issue. But the more she thought about it now, it was true. Someone did have to take charge, or else unwanted conflict would take priority over actually trying to survive. Just imagining it, she shuddered. She desperately hoped that a stupid feud like that would never come up between them.

"Well, I don't know if this counts as an answer; I'll just say right now that I'm voluntarily out of the running for being leader, that's for sure." Olive answered Brendon humorously, and she gave a light laugh. It was true, if an argument over leadership ever did happen, she wasn't going to be apart of it.

Olive wrapped the bandages around Brendon's head and cut the remaining few feet with a small blade. Who knew how soon the next time they would need it.

Just then, Olive looked up to see Dutch rushing over to them in urgent exasperation.
"We don't have time for this."

Before she could object to his outrageous attitude, Dutch swept Brendon's arm over his shoulders and lifted him from the truck. Even after Olive's treatment, Brendon's fresh wound seeped blood through the makeshift head wrap, a large trail trickling down his face. Blood drops spilled onto Olive's lap where she had been kneeling beside him.

He had a point. Brendon had to see a doctor. Having a vulnerability like that would make him more susceptible to the disease than anyone else already was.

She stared, astonished at the sudden realization, until Dutch's command snapped her out of her trance.

"Lets go! Just follow me and Brendon and keep the walkers off us until we reach the tracks!"

There was no time for thought. Olive jumped out of the truck and followed the pair. Tammy stood far behind, so she turned to beckon her with an arm wave.

Olive pulled out the axe from her bag and weighed it in her hands.

She exhaled and put on her hardest-looking brave face. "Here we go."

Brendon attempted to chuckle at Olive's comment, but the best he could manage was a feeble huff of air, followed by a cough. He closed his eyes a bit, only to shoot them back open. The star's looked so bright to him. Brendon heard Dutch's combat boots making noise against the pavement. "He's going to abandon you. You're going to die on this tailgate." He thought to himself. He closed his eyes again. He was straining to keep them open. He was just cold, and sleep seemed so warm. That was when he felt himself being lift out the back of the truck. "No! Put me down!" He screamed in his mind. He just wanted to sleep.

"We don't have time for this. You've gotta walk Brendon. You've gotta walk or you're gonna die."

Brendon snapped out of it. What was he thinking? If he was going to die, he was going to go out fighting, not knocked out in the back of a truck bed.

He was being carried a bit by Dutch. Brendon fought for each step. After winning the battle to move his muscles, next came the fight to stay stable. He felt himself fall a bit every now and again, but he was moving. Each step intensified the pain. Each step brought blood to the ground. He was sweating bullets now, and he felt colder and clammier than he had ever felt before. He looked over at Dutch and tried to speak to him. "D-don't. Lea-. Me behind." He couldn't form a coherent sentence. Things where bad. He took a deep breath and swallowed his pain. Only a few more blocks.

Sydney had been paralyzed in fear, watching the others fight. He analyzed what was happening, as more and more infected marched towards them out of the woods. Dillon, Rohan, even the little girl, all were fighting the loads of infected but had realized that they were outnumbered. In the rush, Rohan and Katie began to make their way away from the infected. Dillon was still attacking, Sydney thought quickly to himself and how he could help. He took an Ice pick from his belt and prepared to use it on any infected that came in close range of him, he didn't know how to use a gun and he sure as hell wasn't going to try to learn in a dark forest filled with blood thirsty mindless walking meat sacks.

The infected drew closer and closer with every thought that raced through Sydney mind. And then an idea hit him, but before he could follow through with it, a groaning walker can charging at him - snarling with broken teeth and a blood soaked chin. He reared back his Ice pick and waited for it to get closer, it sprinted at him with determination. Right as it was about to land a blow on Syndey, Sydney swung his Ice pick in full force directly into the bridge of the infected nose - splitting open it face-bones as if Sydney was breaking ice and rock back in Antarctica. This was something he could relate to. my climbing rope! Sydney remembered his idea. He quickly unraveled a roll of climbing rope and began tying it to trees with haste while Dillon still help some of them back, he quickly made a trip-wire across a few trees behind Dillon to attempt holding the horde back.

"Dillon! I've set up a trip wire! make you way around the tree to your left and make a run for it! c'mon, there are too many of them!" He shouted as another infected came sprinting towards him. Sydney wasn't expecting this, but this infected wasn't expecting the makeshift trip wire, Syndey quickly dashed underneath and behind his trip-wire and watched the mindless thing run right into the rope. The infected went flipping over the rope in astonishment and hit the ground in a thud. It seemed startled but not affect to much, but this daze it was in gave Sydney the change to swing another hit of his Ice pick into back of the thing's skull, cracking it open and shattering the thing's head. Even though he could apply his climbing skills in the situation, it didn't change the fact these were infected humans trying to kill him, not rocks and ice that sat still while he broke them apart with picks. He shook a little bit from the realization of killing something. He began running behind Rohan, hoping Dillon would follow.

James Walker

James wouldn't look back once, as he weaved through the buidlings. The sun was now completely set and James couldn't see more than 20 yards ahead, and that was because the street lamps were helping him out. He had heard that extremely ear-splitting shriek come from the bar, but didn't know what it had come from. The only thing he did know, was that the noise surely didn't help James escape without the zombies noticing him. One of the few things James knew about the infected was that they followed loud noises and light. He wouldn't look back to see if he was being followed by walkers, and he would sprint away from bar as fast as he could, for as long as he could.

He had been running for what seemed like atleast five minutes, and he finally gave in to his instinct and turned around, and when he did, he quickly regretted it. Behind him had to be atleast fifty walkers, all quickly pacing in a mob, and all going after James through the dark street, the ending point unknown to James. He had to keep running, and hope that eventually he could get rid of them. After he had been running down the same street for nearly half a mile, he was growing tired, and he quickly darted to the left into a smaller alley. He quickly turned again into another alley and again back into a seperate street. He continued this twisted path until he was sure he had gained a great amount of distance from the zombies, but he could still hear that annoying scream following him, and with that scream probably came the horde of zombies.

Where am I even going? thought James as he continued to run in the same direction. He couldn't just keep running and never stop. He had better endurance than most, but he'd eventually grow tired. He had to stop somewhere...somewhere where the walkers couldn't get to him. He looked at his surroundings. Buildings, buildings and more buildings. This wouldn't help him get away. Zombies knew how to get into a building. James decided to continue running, not wanting to stop in a building. He'd for sure be doomed if he did that.

He was now back on the outside of the city, with fewer buildings. The screaming had stopped, but James could still see figures lurking around a ways back. Suddenly, James reached a tall, wrought iron fence. It was probably about ten feet tall, with sharp ends at the top twisted together. He looked past the fence to see what was behind it. He couldn't see much, but he knew that there was some sort of slope or cliff about ten yards past the fence. Whatever was on the other side of this fence, James was sure that it was better than a horde of zombies. James made the quick decision to climb it and threw his backpack over the fence, using all his strength, and about five tries before he finally got it over the tall fence. He then took his rifle and held on to it as he climbed the fence, and leaped over onto the ground of an unknown land. He didn't care, because he was away from the zombies now. If they were going to get to him now, it'd take them a while to knock down that fence.

Tammy looked back as everybody rushed to help Brendon, but she stayed put. If she went back, they would all never get anywhere. So she stood there, waiting for them. And thankfully, soon Brendon was walking with help of Dutch. When they got nearer to her, she looked at his head wound. It wasn't pretty. She could probably stitch it up if she had the supplies, saying she had gotten a few years of medical training from school. He would just have to stick it out for now.

"Dutch, any chance there's a doctor's office or hospital around here? I can help him, but I need supplies." She said, looking over at him, hopefully. He seemed to know where everything was. After all, he was giving commands like he was in control. Actually, he should be in control. She brandished a blade and stabbed it into the heads of all the zombies that came near enough to infect Brendon. She herself had a big gash on her arm, which was done bleeding but was still open, saying she didn't have enough gauze to dress it. After all, she didn't seem to get infected yet. Maybe it would stay that way.

"D-don't. Lea-. Me behind." Tammy looked back at him again. He was only getting worse with every step. She wanted to yell for everybody to stop walking, because the expression on his face every time he took a step was killing her. Still, she knew she couldn't. They would get overrun by zombie's in minutes. So she turned her attention back to killing the things in front of her.

"We're not leaving you anywhere."

Dutch grimaced as he helped Brendon stagger along. There was no way they could reach a hospital now; they were already moving in the opposite direction of St. Mary's, which was the only one within a reasonable distance. Besides, there was no way Dutch would go inside a hospital in this hell-hole of a city. The disease, 84k, bred in such places. The first cases were always brought to the hospitals, and as such the first infections spread from hospitals. He remembered how bad it was still, he had broken into one on his way north from Cincinnati. The walls were lined with beds down every hallway. Most of them had been put down by the military, but a number had been left behind, screaming and straining against their restraints until they died and turned. They were still there.

Dutch had hated hospitals before; something about the white sterile walls, the smell of disease covered with the smell of chemicals, and the wallpaper that he supposed was meant to be comforting but instead only created a mockery of comfort, something about it all had created a deep seated fear and hatred for them. He had always tacked it up as an unreasonable fear, now it wasn't so unreasonable.

No, there was no hope for Brendon in Milwaukee. If he was going to heal, he was going to have to heal naturally. They had to get well clear of this hell-hole before then though. If they could just get to the woods, if they could just get out of here, Brendon might be able to make it. If they tried to make it to a hospital, Brendon would die, Dutch decided. One way or another, from blood loss, or from the infection. Every second Brendon stayed in the city was another second closer to death. There was nothing left in Milwaukee for them but death.

Now he wracked his mind, trying to think of a way to deal with the situation. It was difficult to concentrate while hearing Tammy and Olive deal with the undead around him and Brendon. He felt utterly shamed at being defended by the two women, but the clinical part of his mind reminded him there was no recourse. He didn't understand why they were fighting for Brendon, or him for that matter. Dutch and Brendon would make a nice decoy right about now, and any sane person would have utilized them and made a break for it. But they stayed and swung gore-stained weapons in their defense. Dutch decided he would think more about that later. The shambling horde's calls and howls had brought more undead to the scene. Younger, fresher, faster. They raced out into the night towards them. Dutch slid his entrenching tool out its pouch and readied it in his hand. Tammy and Olive were able to fend of the majority, but Dutch felt his blood turn to ice as what was once a woman suddenly leaped off the roof of a car at Brendon.

A hunter.

Its demonic visage seemed to burn itself into Dutch's mind, its claws extended and about to tear into Brendon's flesh. He quickly spun the man out of the way in an adrenaline fueled grip and swung out with his sharpened shovel. The hunter's hands shattered and snapped with a sickening crunch. Undeterred, the creature continued to rush forward, and pushed Dutch and Brendon to the ground with its inertia.

He felt Brendon slip from his grasp as he fell. For a moment, he thought he was about to die. He expected it. He could feel the disgusting thing pushing itself against him, trying to tear his mask off with its broken appendages; could see its bloody face through the glass eye-pieces. He realized his shovel was still in his hand and, taking it in a reversed grip, hacked the sharped point again and again into thing's face. For what seemed like an eternity he hacked at it, until it finally went slack and still. For a moment he lay there, the bloody corpse of a pretty young woman sprawled across his body.

Brendon.

He shoved the rotting piece of filth off his camouflaged parka and staggered to his feet. He looked around desperately, fearing that Brendon had been dragged off by one of the demons. He found him though, struggling to crawl forward and away from the death that was coming for them all. He slid his shovel back into his belt as he ran over over to him, and lifted him up in adrenaline fueled arms. He was surprised by how light he felt at that moment. He had no idea if the girls were still alive, he didn't have time to look over his shoulder to check. Vera was still with him, slung across his shoulder as he had left her.

"Don't try and fight them!" He screamed. "Just run! We're almost there!"

He ran. He ran as fast as he could ever remember running. Brendon slack in his arms. Then he saw it, they had almost missed it, almost run right past it. The thought sickened him, but by sheer luck the last seconds of light from the setting sun illuminated the chain-link fence. He sprinted the last few yards and leaned against the fence; sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath. Past this fence lay the train yard, the tracks, the wilderness, salvation. He knew he couldn't get Brendon over by himself, his arms were already starting to fade from the sustained carry of his weight. He looked back, hoping beyond hope the girls were coming up after him.

"Just hold on a little longer..." He gasped in-between breaths. "We're almost out of this..."

He wasn't sure if he had just spoken to himself, or Brendon.

Dillon stayed until his weapon was out of ammo, watching as the infected piled over the trip wire and and continued to jam each other up, making it even harder for them to resume chase. Dillon followed Sydney's instruction and went left, he could hear the others ahead of him but not see them. He turned out his lights and ran blindly in their direction, luckily they were still headed in the direction of the safehouse. Which was only about 16 yards ahead of them. Dillon stopped for second in the darkness and reached into his pack, pulling his radio out quickly he turned it to a channel of static and then turned it as loud as he could, being a military radio the thing was meant to be loud enough a whole platoon could hear it while under fire. He then chuckled the the thing as hard as he could as bait, knowing the mindless corpses would be draw to it. After that he ran as silently as he could.

Within five minutes the group would come up on a small house with the windows boarded up and garage sealed. Outside was a row of graves marked with with make-shift wooden crosses. The house's former residents Dillon had come across, all infected. He soon ran up to the door and pulled a key off his belt and opened the door up, motioning the group inside. "Stay away from the windows." He murmured as they passed, sweat dripping off his face under the mask. As soon as they were all inside he came in as well, closing the door, locking it and then moving a sofa in front of it before dropping his pack on the ground. He then removed the mask and threw it down next to the pack. The hallway was sealed by a pile of furniture and the living room was the only open place in the house with a couple cots on the ground. "You can all rest... I'll keep watch incase they come along and try to get in. However, I left some bait for them." He gave a nod and then sat down leaning against his pack.

Tork... something horrible. She shook it off,reminding herself to stay tough. It was then that she felt the pain. Bliss grabbed at the back of her head and felt a large plum sized bump that ached. "What the Hell?" Carefully, she took in her surroundings and found she was in some sort of basement. Large tile walls stretched out in the empty room and Bliss found she was sitting on a dirt floor. She felt herself stand up and and brush herself off checking for wounds. She discovered a minor gash on her calf, but that was it. How did i get here? she thought to herself. Then she remembered. The men. "Damn!" She had let her guard down, asked for help. She didn't need anyone, she was stupid for thinking she did. She sat back down and let the fuzzy memory play through her head.

She had found three men sitting in a circle in the woods.One with a long dark beard, one with blonde hair and a large nose, and a bald one with a large scar down his cheek. They were talking, but she couldn't care less what they said. She had foolishly barged in there with her gun, and if that wasn't enough, she had weakened and asked for help. Then they had asked her to sit down as they gave her some bread and water. Then the man with the beard had smiled as she was knocked unconsious by a fourth man.

What did they want her for? Suddenly,she heard a noise. something had fallen off a shelf in the corner of the room. She gingerly walked over there and, low and behold, her cat Bear jumped out. "Bear! She scooped him up and looked down...and discovered what had made the noise. The item that had fallen was a silver picture frame, ornated with waves and fish. Inside the frame was the three men, along with a big black guy. That must be the one that knocked her out. But it was the background that frightened her. A large warehouse with bleachers all around. And a red flag in the middle, that Bliss knew all too well. This was no common kidnapping. These men ran a SFR. A slave fighting ring.

The horde of infected was drawing closer. Behind him, he could hear Dillon had run out of ammo and was coming after them. He jumped the barricade of the highway into the forest. When he tried to help Katie over she had already jumped lithely over herself. She was clutching the knife so hard her knuckles were white. An infected tried to scramble over the barrier, before Rohan cracked its skull with the barrel of the shotgun. The walker snarled, broken teeth hanging out of its mouth, and met suddenly with a boot in its face. Katie almost screamed, but she bit her tongue and kept silent. With Dillon’s light turned off, the forest plunged into complete darkness. She ran into the general direction of the safe house: away from the menacing sound of the thundering horde, tripping over an unmarked gravestone and scraping her knee on the rough ground.

Rohan helped his daughter off the ground and pushed her through the doorway of the small, shabby house. The moaning of the infected was growing more distant as they went after the military radio. That was a clever move, he had to admit. Breathing heavily from sprinting for so long, he checked over his equipment, making sure he hadn’t dropped anything crucial. Then he grasped Katie, checking her over for bites, scratches, anything. “Did any of them get you?!”

“No. No! I’m okay.”

“What about this?” he said, pointing to her now knee. The scrape wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding considerably.

“It’s nothing. I tripped.”

He glanced at Dillon and Sydney warily, hoping they didn’t catch anything. It occurred to him now that he had ever bothered to ask if either of them were carriers. After scouring through the house, he found some medical gauze in a cupboard that had been used to block up a window. It looked like Dillon had been set up here for a while. Katie had dropped down exhausted on one of the cots, dropping her pack on the ground. She winced slightly as Rohan used the bottle of vodka to disinfect her knee and dressing it with the gauze. He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her, after which she sank into an uneasy sleep. She looked so peaceful there, Rohan felt a pang of regret. No child should have to live like this. He knew that he would get no sleep himself that night, and paced restlessly around the room, gripping onto his shotgun. “You’re not bad with that ice-pick,” he said to Sydney to try and pass the time.

"Willa? We should get moving again." Willow's sister's voice woke her gently from her sleep and she blinked her eyes open. That was the first real sleep she'd gotten since Tammy had had to kill their mother. With an unintelligible groan, Willow rolled to the side and threw up in the can that was placed next to the couch. Her pain was always the worst right when she woke up, after the pills had worn off.

She placed her hand against her flat, injured stomach and reached into her pocket for a small baggie. Inside the baggie, there were two other baggies. One containing little white pills, the other containing yellowish pills. One was an antidepressant, the other was a pain pill. She grabbed one of each and downed them before glancing at her bag. She was starting to run low.

Not wanting to think about what would happen if she ran out, Willow shoved the bag back in her pocket. Traveling with the pain pills was hard enough. Honestly, there wasn't a day that Willa didn't feel guilty for holding them up. Because of her stupid injuries, the girls couldn't travel very far for very long.

With a sigh, she sat up and looked at Tammy. "Did you even sleep?" She said, and caught the answer in her eye. No. Of course not. Willa rolled her eyes. "You have to sleep sometime, you'll be no use to me dead on your feet." She said with a gentle smile before standing and swinging one of the bags onto her shoulder, picking up her baseball bat. She twirled it in her hand and looked at it. It used to be white with a purple handle. Now it was covered in bright red stains.

"Where to captain?" She smiled softly.

Dillon sat in the corner of the room, now oddly withdrawn from the others. He tilted his head quizzically and watched as Rohan paced back and forth nervously. "You should sit down." He commented as he fiddled his mask. "If the more sensitive infected come and notice us because your pacing I'll be irked." He then shrugged nonchalantly. Dillon was still in his full military gear other than his pack, helmet, and mask. Without the cynical face piece covering his visage Dillon looked young, it was easy to tell he was younger than twenty-five. Though his face also showed a great deal of stress and mental weight, his eyes were dull and few of his eyebrows were white on closer examination. In the dim light of the survival lamp Dillon had on, it was easy to see a strew of claw marks that covered his chest armor and one bite mark below the neck piece. None had actually gotten through the skin through added to that tucked underneath his uniform was a full sterilized compact De-con suit, which is how he avoided becoming a carrier. His gloves were also abnormal, not normal cloth, instead they were some kind of sterilized rubber with grips on the bottom so they wouldn't slip on metal. "If your hungry, there are a few Ready to Eat Rations in my pack, just don't touch my journal or anything else." His eyes were still following Rohan around the room. He then snuggled back against the corner and sighed a bit. He was restless too, paranoid of these newcomers but he didn't show it. His eyes however would move to wherever movement in the room would occur.

“You’re not bad with that ice-pick,” He heard Rohan say to Sydney, he had to agree the scientist proved himself rather handy in the escape of the infected a little while ago. However, he made no commit and just preceded to mind his own business, thinking about their situation. He would wait until morning to mention it but he thought they should stay here for a couple more days, or atleast until more survivors had wandered by, for days he left signs, notes, ration caches, markings, and signals for fellow survivors around the area, from the highway to the side of the woods that bordered Milwaukee. Doing whatever he could in all reality to ensure as many people could live and make it south or to this safehouse as possible. Added onto that, he had to find a route on his atlas that would bypass any major cities and as many towns as humanly possible. Population centers meant infected people. Or that's atleast what the Commander told his platoon, he remembered his Platoon's first task, during some of the earlier stages of the outbreak right after they were brought back from overseas his platoon was in Detroit. They were tasked with an attempt to slow the infection. Sent to the city's central hospital which was a 'safe zone' in the city they were ordered into the building and then ordered to kill all the doctors, patients, and 'infected prisoners'. He just remembered as the lined the Doctors up and then bang, watching them fall down. Then after that they 'purged the area' burning the building and surrounding city block down. Tears began whelling up in his eyes as he then snapped back to reality and from the gruesome memories. Obviously the attempts to slow or stop the outbreak failed. Shaking his head he stopped and brushed some tears from his eyes. Your so soft... He thought to himself, a slight scowl on his face. But that didn't bother him, he felt relieved he was still soft, the world hadn't sucked his humanity and morals from him. He then looked back up at Rohan, the man had become so cold it seemed, all to protect his daughter. Didn't he realize that he was just dooming her by acting that way? And dooming himself? He was willing to throw their humanity and emotions away for the simple luxury of survival... What was the point if survival if you became less than human?

Dillon's mind kept wondering about these three he had managed to find, his little group no seemed to consist of a man with a shotgun, a little girl, scientist, and misfit soldier. He almost chuckled. The way the apocalypse brings people together, eh? His mind pondered, a small but sad smile making its way across his face as he remained entwined by his thoughts.

Tamara looked up at her sister as she took her pills and started getting ready to leave. She frowned knowing that they wont be able to travel to far once again. "I got enough sleep to get us by." She said smiling. "And I promise we will raid the next hospital we come across for your meds."
She sighed taking out her map looking over it carefully. "Alright, so you can't walk for to long, so it would really help if we had a car that wasn't destroyed." She said putting her finger on a spot on the map. "Best place to get a car is the dealership. They keep keys inside and plenty to choose from. This is the closest one I could find." She said showing Willa the spot on the map.
"It's a long walk and i need to know your able to handle it. And once we find a car we're going to need gas. So once we get there i'll leave you in the car while I scout some of the gas stations close by and see what I can get from them." She said looking up at Willa.
"It shouldn't be to hard." She said standing up as she lit another cigarette waiting for her sisters opinion.

Rohan took a long, deep swig from the bottle of vodka. The heat spread throughout his chest and soothed his burning headache. He had stopped pacing but he didn’t sit down, partly because he was unwilling to admit that Dillon was right about attracting the walkers. He was at least ten years his junior, perhaps more, he couldn’t tell, and Rohan refused to accept the man as an authority figure. He had detracted himself to the corner of the room, sitting down with a look of visible distress on his face. What he was thinking was anyone’s guess. Turned out there was a human being under that military charade and his protocols after all. Their eyes met for but a second; Dillon’s eyes were glistening. After that Rohan turned away so that he wouldn’t be tempted to crumble too, under the crushing weight of loss and emotion and all that had happened to the world. Good grief, what had happened to the world?

There was a small gap in between the boards that covered the window, providing a glimpse of the forest outside. The forest looked dark and forlorn but empty of walkers, gratefully. An acute silence had fallen between the trees. It unsettled Rohan. Like calm before the storm, he thought, and wondered if Dillon prayed to his God to keep the walkers away. It hadn’t done them much good so far. Katie stirred in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. He hoped she was having lovely dreams. She deserved them. Rohan sank slowly to the ground near Katie’s cot, running his hands through his hair. He had been on his way home the day the bombings started; struck in traffic on the highway to Wilwaukee. You could hear the bombings miles away. First the broadcast, crackling desperately out of his car radio, then communications went down. Yet still, he was too late. Katie had been hysteric on the phone: as she told it, her mother had simply fallen down one morning, her heart stopped. He warned her not to go to the hospital, for the stories had come loud and clear from the survivors. The army had rounded up everyone, and shot them all. When he arrived home, she seemed to have come back from the dead, though she was feverish. Rohan recalled the feeling of the cold pistol, and her dead weight in his arms, the little one in her belly. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? “What the fuck was I supposed to have done?” he murmured softly.

He laid the shotgun across his knees, and took off the silver chain around his neck, tracing the gold wedding band that hung from it with his fingers to cure his idle hands.

Dillon heard Rohan's murmuring and sighed. He knew he had gotten the man all wrong now... Rohan wasn't the cold monster Dillon presumed he was, he was a man trying to stay strong in a different manner than Dillon was. Someone trying to protect a loved one. Rohan was lucky... That thought crossed his mind soon after. Rohan still had family, a little girl but atleast someone in this world he shared a blood bond with. Dillon was sure his family was gone. His mother... His Uncle that was the closest thing to a father... Then his cousins who were basically his siblings. Looking at his hands he thought. If I hadn't joined the army... I'd most likely be dead too... It was a chilling thought. That if had chosen to stay and go to college it was more than likely he wouldn't be able to walk right now. He moved his hands around in a symbolic manner before looking back towards Rohan. What about him? Where did that man come from... Where did Sydney come from... How and what moments lead to their survival. It was odd, strange really, to think one choice on that hellish day this all began could have shaped one's outcome immensely.

He then looked down a for a second, mind withdrawing to think. Soon he came up with another logical idea. Get to know Rohan... Dillon felt he could already rely on the scientist. But the man he knew nothing about who was protecting his daughter was a wild card. Deciding it would increase their chances of survival, he looked up and spoke softly. "Where'd you come from?" The question came off genuine sounding, as it was meant to. He needed to know more about both Sydney and Rohan, though he figured Rohan needed fixing more. The man seemed to have more troubles. He then noticed the word fixing came into his thoughts. He was now trying to fix people? That was for shrinks and Doctors, not a mechanic who specialized in fixing military vehicles and weaponry. Had he really become that withdrawn in these events that he considered people could be fixed like any other common object? It was a scary thought to him but he pressed it away quickly, needing to focus on what would come next.

"I'm from Denver..." He said, before Rohan had a chance to answer the question Dillon had proposed to him. Trying to gauge what Rohan's reaction would be to Dillon attempting to socialize with him, he couldn't help but get the feeling the man disliked him. Rohan repeatedly did and said things that opposed what Dillon had done and said. Maybe he had an authority problem? Dillon guessed that because he was a soldier Sydney and Rohan would automatically assume he wanted to be in charge... Dillon in all reality could care less about leading, he had no interest in power... Maybe fame but not power. This would also be a view he would need to correct, that he was not some big bad soldier. But rather someone just doing his job and sticking to what he felt was morally right and wrong.

Olive didn't hold back her scream, but all that managed to come out was a throaty, dulled shriek. There was a woman infected-- not much different than the ones she was so used to seeing-- that plunged from the hood of a car at Dutch and the incapacitated Brendon.

Her first instinct was to run. Run as fast as she could. Run as far as she could. But Olive was terrified, her feet glued to the ground in paralysis. The undead woman was a menace, clawing at the pair, oblivious of the blows she was taking herself. All Olive could do was watch the struggle until Dutch abruptly ended it with a finishing strike.

She released a quivering breath as Dutch pushed the now inanimate corpse off himself and hoisted Brendon back up. She was a coward, and she knew it. Before, she really had no reason to defend herself; there were only a few desperate situations where she actively went on the offensive, and that was rare. Her stealth and speed made up for the fighting strength she lacked, but now that the group had slowed she had more to think about than running. She had given up that option when she chose to stay with the group.

Dutch continued to lug Brendon at his side when she thought to help, urged more by wanting to ease the guilt she felt at not having reacted quickly enough in response to the attack. Her view of Dutch's unwavering strength summoned a pang of envy within Olive. More than anything, it compelled her to whisper a silent promise within her mind: 'I'll be sure to do anything to keep this group alive, too.'

At that moment, she started at multiple movements in the peripherals of her vision. Olive swept her head across the scene just in time to witness a horde forming right in front of her. They were right on Dutch and Brendon's trail.

'Oh no,' Olive though in sheer panic as the green glow in her eyes turned hollow in fear. She felt she was frozen in place again, like just a moment earlier... but she knew better now. She literally shook herself to snap out of her horror-induced trance. She had to do something, and quick. The horde was gaining quickly as Dutch reached the chain-link fence with Brendon in tow. The two men seemed to slump against the gate as if in resignation.

There had to be something she could do, and it had to be rash enough so that it would take the attention off of Dutch and Brendon, and onto her. She had no time to think, so when she turned her head to an abandoned car beside her, she seized the perfect opportunity. With the axe she already held in her clammy hands, she gripped the wooden handle until her knuckles paled. She lifted the axe above her head and swung it down into the windshield of the car. Along with the crashing sound of glass breaking, the car alarm went off in unison.

A prideful smirk curled the edges of Olive's lips, a mental 'Yes!' shouting in her mind. The walkers that had their backs turned in pursuit of Dutch and Brendon clumsily stopped in their tracks. They all slowly began to turn.

Olive slowly tread backwards before she turned and bounded into a jog, then into a full-on sprint. Not only was the horde taking interest in her, but so were the stray infected that loitered around the empty cars and buildings. But this time she wasn't worried. This is what she was used to. Running.

She successfully ran the span of two blocks before she turned a corner into a small alley. 'This way I could circle back to the group,' the girl thought as she slowed her pace in the narrow, dark space. She became alert. Her vulnerability was at its highest now that she was in the shadows where the monsters could easily blend. She kept her speed with agile steps.

Olive had just reached the end of the alley when she let out a relieved sigh. She made it. But looking back behind her, the alley was no longer secure as the zombies crept into the confined gap. Keeping an intent eye on the impending danger, she squeezed her way out and back into the street.

Finally out in the open, Olive took in a breath only to feel even more exhausted than she had before. The lack of sleep was catching up to her at the worst time ever. She had to keep going, though.

However, the pause was was one second too long. From behind her, a zombie took hold of her with a dead grip on her arm. The surprise and exhaustion she felt overwhelm her impaired her to the point where her thought process slowed at a snail's pace. The monster gaped its mouth open to sink its rotting teeth into Olive's upper arm. The pain came like thunder shooting through her arm, and she whimpered weakly in response. Olive writhed away from its clenched jaws as it tore off a piece of her jacket with it.

"Shit!" Olive managed to breathe out as she whipped around to face her attacker. Besides the pain, worry and disappointment began to seethe through her. She had been bitten... again. This hadn't been her first time, but it was always a hassle to have to bandage herself up with the scant resources she had. And after having used most of her bandage supply on Brendon, she only had enough barely for herself. The infection obviously wasn't a worry for her, but the reaction she expected to get from the rest of the group was.

Being vulnerable at all sides, she figured she didn't have the luxury to just stand there and think before she could potentially get bitten again. She turned back to the direction of where the group had to be waiting, hopefully over the gate by now. She held a grip on her bloody, ravaged arm before she sped into a sprint once again. She was half way there.

Rohan sat with his head bowed, staring at everything and nothing in particular. He listened to Katie’s slow, methodical breathing; Dillon’s fidgeting; Sydney’s coughing. He worried about that – he was starting to regret not checking if he was injured earlier and worried if his mistake would catch up with them later. He didn’t wish to pry into the man’s business now, and even if he was infected, Rohan didn’t think he had it in him to fix that now. He would never let Katie near the gun, so the task would fall to Dillon. No, he would have to do it himself. He was the eldest; it was his responsibility.

Even in the dead silence there was always something to listen to. Human beings could never be fully quiet. “Where’d you come from?” said Dillon, out of nowhere. Rohan let the words hang in the air. Where did he come from? He had lived in many places, never taking root anywhere but floating in between jobs and friends and houses. He wasn’t sure it really mattered. “Ohio,” he lied, without raising his head. His wife had been from Ohio: it wasn’t an unfounded lie.

There was shuffling and snarling outside. Katie sat up, suddenly alert and awake. “Walkers?” she said, with a rising panic in her voice. Rohan told her to be quiet. Moving slowly, he got to his feet and peered out the window. There stood a walker, its rotting outline illuminated by the moon. “Just one,” he said, relieved, but he had spoken too early. It had sensed them, somehow, and sat back on its haunches and let out a roaring scream. “It’s going to bring the whole horde here,” he snarled.

“Walkers?” Dillon jumped as he heard this word fill the room and then grabbed his gear, slugging his back pack on as he heard the screech. And soon afterword, he donned his helmet and mask before moving into the kitchen as briefly as he could, off the counter he grabbed a smaller pack as well as massive cutting tool. 'The Jaws of Life' it was a firefighters favorite and Dillon was bringing all his tools or not leaving at all, the tools meant something to him as an Engineer. They were his life blood and hope, also his most valuable possessions in this mess. He grabbed one more thing off the counter, a small metal box and clipped to his belt and secured it into place.

Then walking back into the living room. "Rohan, I know you don't want to listen to me, but I have a plan incase this happens. I need you and your daughter to head into the basement." He pointed to a door near the kitchen. There is a cellar door that leads behind the house down there, when you hear a car alarm head break the door open and run as fast as you can North, towards the city. You'll find a small back pack hung up in a tree suspending by a bungee rope. Wait there. If we're not there in ten minutes take the bag and head east, once your about 6 miles east you'll find a road. Follow it." He then turned to Sydney and spoke. "Stay with me and help set up the distraction." With that he walked back into the kitchen with Sydney on his tail, praying Rohan would listen to him for once. He had been here long enough to scout the area out and prepare this plan.

At the edge of the kitchen was the door to the small garage. Dillon walked into it at a brisk pace and then moved his pistol up and fired two rounds through the garage door, seconds later Infected were clawing and bashing into it. He fired a couple more rounds and then slid the pistol away, praying plan would work. He then paced over to a truck in the garage and bashed the window in, causing the methodical alarm to buzz off. Now here came the fun part. Drawing his shotgun, he fired more rounds through the garage door. Outside the infected continued to pound on the garage door. Knowing it wouldn't be long till they got in, Dillon walked through the kitchen door, signaling Sydney to remain on his flank, he then pressed the garage door opener, letting the infected into the house. He saw Sydney's look on his face, he knew the man thought he was crazy. He grinned lightly under the mask. Yeah, he was very crazy. But that was part of his plan. Behind the edge of the kitchen doorway he aimed for the lid to the gas tank in the back of the truck, he planned on igniting the whole garage. With a long withdrawn breath, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, however, luck conspired against him. The slugs missed and the infected soon were upon them. He soon pulled away from the door, jumping away and towards the living room yelling at Sydney to follow. But then to his horror, behind him he heard the screaming of a man, he turned to see the infected swarming over a figure on the floor, feasting. Sydney... Dillon knew it was too late, the infected got the older scientist, so he darted into the basement and luck or God or whatever decided to save Dillon again. He quickly slid into the basement, locking and baring the door with a piece of flat wood before sprinting down the stairs, hoping Rohan and Katie had gotten out in time.

Rohan looked to the door, and back at Dillon. He had to make a decision and he had to make it now, for Katie’s sake. He had long lost interest in preserving his own safety, but he knew Katie needed him. There was a horde gathering outside of goodness knows how many, and it would take more than a shotgun to take them down. Let him play the hero, he thought, it seemed to make him happy. The awful screams started up again, shooting Rohan back into action. He’d made his choice. He slung his pack across his shoulders and ushered Katie through the cellar door, whilst loosening the pistol in its holster. He had a feeling he would need it before the hour was out.

The basement was pitch dark. Katie looked back desperately at the two men who remained in the house, before her father swung the door shut and told her to keep going. They found the door leading out of the house after some fumbling around in the dark. Shots rebounded off the walls above them. “Hurry,” Rohan told her. He knew Dillon had some sort of plan, and he doubted it would do them much good to be around to see it. He worried not for either of the other men’s lives, but felt a pang of regret for all the fine weapons that would perish with them. They came into the area behind the house. Dawn was breaking through the trees, casting long shadows onto the ground. “The sun rises in the east,” he mumbled, “North is this way.” Breaking into a half-hearted jog – Katie struggling to keep up, still groggy from sleep - he set off into what he deemed what the right direction. There was a deafening explosion. Glancing back, he found the garage had burst into flames, quickly consuming the rest of the little house. There went their short-lived safe house.

“Dad, look!” Katie said.

“I know, I know, the house—”

She shook her head. “No, you’re not looking. In the tree.” He followed her pointed finger. There, up in the tree, was the backpack Dillon mentioned. There was no way they survived the blast, however; it was useless waiting here. Katie’s voice was pleading. She had no love for the army man, but the ageing scientist had meant something to her. She wanted to wait for him, at least. There was noise behind them. Rohan pivoted around rapidly, aiming the shotgun square at the intruder, but stayed the trigger. It was Dillon, not an infected. He was alone. Rohan didn’t bother ask what happened to Sydney. He trusted Dillon little - for all he knew he could’ve used Sydney as bait to get away unscathed himself – but bringing his honour into question wouldn’t help any of them now. Katie’s face was struck with grief, though she kept her gaze to the ground and did not show it.

“I know you said there was a road east from here,” Rohan said to Dillon, with his shotgun in one hand and the other on Katie’s shoulder, offering some sort of comfort, “but there is a railroad track not far. I think it is a safer way south than the road; there are all sorts of things none of us want to deal with on the roads. What do you say?”

((so whats going on with the people in the van or has this RP just stopped? ))

((Seems like it, I'm waiting for the rest to reply still... We two could keep it going though, but what about the others in the van?))

((I got a PM to slow things down so everyone else could catch up, but the one's that were behind still haven't said anything.))

((I got that as well, so now what? We should maybe move this to the OOC though, and not make a mess here...))

(Ahem, just putting this out there for those who do not read the OOC thread, are still active and interested in this RP. You guys should all go to the OOC tread and use the link there to go to my reboot of this whole thing. Old and New characters accepted. Thank you. ^^)