Silas hated June. To be fair, he hated every month spent in the zombie-infested hell Earth had become, but he hated June in particular. June marked the beginning of summer in Virginia, and summer meant trouble. The heat, humidity, and bugs Virginian summers brought were less than desirable on their own, but add reanimated corpses to the mix and summers became a new kind of misery. Warmer weather meant more zombie activity; the z's tended to become more active in the summer months and slow down in the winter. The biting insects and sweltering heat that made travel so difficult for humans had no effect on zombies, and many exhausted survivors fell victim to the undead under the baking heat of the summer sun. Vigilance was more important now more than ever, but Silas knew the group was on its last leg. Rations were low, and just a few short weeks ago the group had lost one of its own to a vicious zombie attack. The remaining survivors were strong- Earth's extreme conditions left no room for the week- but still, there was only so much a group could take...

The sun was already up by the time Silas awoke, and it took him a minute to adjust to the bright light of its rays. The group had pitched camp in a thickly wooded area, but the unrelenting sun had somehow managed to find it's way through the dense foliage, dappling the forest floor with golden light. Silas looked around at the other survivors, making out the indistinct lumps of sleeping figures through his bleary eyes. It didn't seem anyone else was awake yet (save for the survivor on watch), but in his groggy state he couldn't be certain. Rising from his bedraggled mat, Silas stood and stretched, listening to his bones pop and crack as they adjusted after yet another long night spent on hard ground. If there was one thing that struck him about the whole zombie apocalypse thing (aside from how quickly humanity had fallen apart), it was how old he felt. Though in his mid twenties, Silas often felt like a much older man, both physically and mentally. The only person who seemed immune to the exhaustion the apocalypse brought was Boris, who had the energy of a man half his age (and a brain twice the size of anyone Silas had ever met).

A quick pass of his hands over his body confirmed all his weapons were in their proper places, which was at least some comfort. He drew his knife and walked the camp's perimeter, ready for any starved z's that might come stumbling out of the forest. They'd set up tin cans on a string as a makeshift alarm, but still, you could never be too prepared. After he was satisfied the surrounding forest was clear and the group faced no immediate danger, he returned to his mat and grabbed his canteen, taking a few moments to quench his first and splash water onto his tired face. Just another day in the apocalypse. Fucking brilliant. Today they were headed Northwest, which was the general direction they'd been traveling for most of their journey. The plan was simple: walk as far and as long as they could without getting killed. When it got dark, they would set up camp and go to sleep so that they could wake up and do it all again the next day. Sure it was monotonous, but it was as close to a plan as they were going to get. For weeks they'd been making their way towards Washington D.C., and now they were finally getting close. On that note, Silas decided he had better wake the others. They weren't doing themselves any favors wasting daylight, and it would be good to get the group moving before it became unpleasantly warm. "Rise and shine," he called out, his voice carrying across the camp of sleeping survivors. "It's another beautiful day in the apocalypse." Deadpan humor was Silas' preferred coping mechanism, and it was how he got his kicks in a world otherwise devoid of any sense of fun. He began packing up his things as the others slowly roused themselves, listening to the disgruntled protests from the tired survivors. He already had a feeling today wasn't going to be easy...but then again, things in the apocalypse rarely were.

(Mis-tagged James)

As of now, it was still cool. The lack of direct sunlight into the area and whatever coolness the ground retained kept the warmth away for the moment, and the insects with it. Boris didn't like the insects. They were always there during the day, biting exposed flesh to sake their hunger without any consideration for what the humans felt. Quite rude of them, he thought. Thinking about it, he decided the zombies were rude as well seeing as how they took no consideration of what humans felt either. Why were they so rude to people? Everything was always better if you helped and respected those around you. Maybe they had some grudge. He hadn't exactly been kind to them either. He felt sorry for them. Almost. For some reason, they always tried to grab him and take Natalya without permission. That was enough reason for anyone to be hurt. Nobody touched Natalya if he didn't say so.

Turning back to the piece of wood he was working, he strained to make sense of what he was carving. There was no discernible shape, nothing that he had seen before. Lucidity slowly seeped in through the shroud of insanity, granting him realization of what he had just been saying to himself. Laughing, he reflected on the absurdity of considering zombies as rude. He was crazy, but sometimes it could be fun. Other times it wasn't. Grimacing as he thought back to the fellow survivor that had died a few weeks ago, he berated himself. He was destined to save humanity. The spirits had told him so. Yet he couldn't save one person. Had he done something to displease the spirits? Maybe this figurine he was making would work to appease them. Examining it closer, he saw it was a fairy of some sorts. Yes, the spirits would like it.

As Silas began to wake up, Boris was reminded that he was supposed to be keeping watch, not talking with himself. But as long as nothing got through, everything was fine. No sense in saying anything. What never happened could not hurt you. Picking up Natalya- a spiked bat with electrical wiring running along the body- he nodded to Silas in greeting. Despite his young age, the man had led the group well throughout the apocalypse. There was something in him that lent itself to leadership. What hardships had he experienced in these past three years? Worse than his? It was only due to his currently lucid state that he remembered what had made him go insane at all.

Returning to where his bedroll lay packed, Boris finished storing the rest of what equipment he had left. Leaving it there until they were actually leaving, he returned to where he had been sitting for watch. There was something special about that place. Looking to the wooden figure in his hand, he lay it at the base of the tree and said a brief blessing over it. Rotating to face the group again, he asked, "Where do we hope to end up today, Silas?"

Colin had taken up watch for the past few hours along with Boris though he didn't tell Silas that, on alert for any sound out of place and any movement not meant to be. By now he'd already gone through his daily ritual, caring for his rifle that had served him well for the past couple of years. Even though he hadn't heard or seen anything for a while he was still on high alert, so when he heard the sound of something getting up behind him, he spun on his heel, bringing up the Sako whilst doing so. He tensed for a few brief moments before recognizing that it was Silas that was getting up. Colin lowered his rifle and went about his rounds once more before settling down to a more relaxed state. He settled down next to his pack, opening it up to get the half full bottle of water that was inside. He pushed his clothes aside and took it out from the bottom of the pack. Already it was starting to get hot, and he didn't want to survive for this long to die of dehydration. When he looked up again, Silas had gone.

Probably to go do the rounds. Silas always did like to make sure.

Colin looked over the ragtag bunch of survivors that he'd joined for a long time now. One less face then he was used to seeing, another dead body that he blamed himself for. Too slow to pull the trigger, too late to save a friend. He shook off the memory. Amy Prior, probably the youngest of them all. She was quick on her feet and served as the group's scout. Only female in the group. Bronislav Anisimov, probably the oldest of them all. Short, insane, but brilliant. That baseball bat had saved their lives more than once. Pretty good at everything really, even gave him a small wood carving. Got used for firewood, though he'd never tell Boris that. Silas, though he was gone for the moment. Older than Amy, but younger than both himself and Boris. He was one of the first people Colin had met when he went away from Norfolk. Had his crosshairs over his head when he didn't know it, but decided not to shoot. He hadn't told Silas about thinking to shoot him, since he didn't know how he'd react. He took up the role as leader and he made most of the decisions, like now, where they were heading up to D.C. Colin was broken out of his thoughts when he saw Silas coming back in to the clearing.

"Rise and Shine; It's another beautiful day in the apocalypse."

Colin raised an eyebrow, getting up and shouldering his pack. The weight of the steel plate was noticeable, but comfortable.

"The smell of rot is in the air! The sounds of death fill our ears! Oh what a wonderful day!"