Diana watched as the mad man made his way out of the destroyed department store. As he passed she lowered her bow perceiving that he was no longer a threat to her, the indian girl, and the priest. He muttered to the priest about God no longer being present in this world as well as his warning of the town in the north teeming with zoms.

She had never been one for religion. She was raised in a mixed-religion family and she saw no value in either Buddhism or Christianity. She had a scientific view on the world and she considered herself correct in her theory when the population began rising from the dead and devouring one another. What else could it be but a deadly plague spreading through dead hosts? Surely it wasn't a divine plan by an almighty being looking to purify the human race.

She shook her head to clear her mind of the confusion of religion and science and watched as the man climbed into a car she hadn't previously noticed as there. She turned as the one-armed girl stepped beside them. She watched the young girl holster her pistol and listened as she spoke. "T-Thanks you..." she said looking at both her and the priest "Thanks you a lot. I'd hate to have thought that the fella'd get violent, but hombres get paranoid 'round zom-bres." she said while wiping the dust and sweat from herself. The girl looked cautiously at Diana and the priest again and asked "So... uh.... What exactly brings you here, out of all places?" Her eyes wandered to the man in the vehicle. She looked as if she wanted to go out and help him. "W-well, it doesn't matter anyway... I-I went and shot... and so did... uh... t-that guy.... So we shouldn't stay here long. We should get going, actually..." She said in a hurry. "Otherwise, we might find a few of the... deceased. The Wind tells me so - It brings me their stench." She shook her head as if to clear the stench of the dead from her nostrils. "We shouldn't stay here long.... We can introduce each other later, though!"

Diana nodded her head and looked back at the mad man in the vehicle. It was more than obvious that he was of an unstable mind, but she had this overwhelming sense of wanting to help him. Maybe if he had just had companions to keep him sane... I mean anyone would go insane if they're alone for too long. she thought with a squint at him. She looked to the priest and then at the young girl and then back at the man in the vehicle. It couldn't be more obvious that the priest and the girl would stay with her if she asked and the man could be useful. She went to talk to the man.

She walked up to the car and tapped on the window. He seemed almost catatonic sitting there and for a second she feared that he may be infected but her conscience would not rest if she didn't speak with him. He looked as if he wouldn't be rolling down the window so she spoke through it hoping that he could hear her. "Excuse me, I know you're a little....upset right now, but I think that if we work together we could find a better way to survive. Humans are meant to be together. We're social creatures and if you join us, I think you'll feel better, don't you?"

"God ain't here, padre. Maybe he was, but I tell ya, I done looked everywhere. Sure as hell ain't shopping for tanktops in that place."

He laughed. James wasn't sure if it was so much the sarcastic jab the man made so much as the fact that he didn't know anymore. He was a Seminarian, the bookish over-educated type that spent his days before the plague learning catechism and pondering theology, but the fact was that with one swift stroke, his life broken into thousands of little pieces and he really just didn't know what to say or do. He didn't know what his purpose was.

"I doubt He would be shopping for anything. Someone once told me that God was in a lot of places He didn't want to be either," he announced when he was finished laughing.

"So... uh.... What exactly brings you here, out of all places?"

At the Indian girl's words, he paused for a moment, turning to give her a weary smile.

"We heard a gunshot and that meant there were people and people in trouble at that. You should thank her," he told her, pointing at woman wielding a bow and arrow, "She was the first to head for you guys. I just followed."

He sighed, watching the older man head towards a car, but not staring it. Maybe it was naivete or desperation for everything not to get even worse, but James didn't think the man was dangerous. At least, he didn't think he was anymore dangerous than a normal person would be in this situation. The man could have shot at them or the girl a long time ago, but didn't and he didn't threaten them. His words didn't betray anger, only.... despair? James frowned at that. Luckily, it seems that the woman he was with was thinking along the same lines.

"Excuse me, I know you're a little....upset right now, but I think that if we work together we could find a better way to survive. Humans are meant to be together. We're social creatures and if you join us, I think you'll feel better, don't you?"

"She is right, you know," James told older man with a sad smile, "We are all human and we need to stick together to survive. That's how God, evolution, society, or any combination of three made us. We need to stay together and take refuge somewhere safe."

He paused for a moment, looking down the avenue that showcased American consumerism at its height, "There should be a bar or restaurant somewhere down this street and if we are fortunate, then one might not be cleaned out and can hide us for the night."

Yashie closed his eyes and leaned backwards, resting against a huge piece of a broken wall. He knew the woman was thirsty, it was quite evident from her voice ... hoarse. He was wondering as to how long they could last, all four of them in the open with supplies running low. He didn't know how much the others had, if any, but he only had very little and that wouldn't even last if he was on his own. Now there were four of them. Of course, it wasn't that he regretted his decision to team up. He was just calculating.

He reached for the water-bottle when he was given it and took two careful sips before closing it and stowing it away into his pack and looked her over once. She seemed ... soft. He was not sure she would have the fortitude to actually kill. Granted, dispatching Zombies was not technically killing since they were dead already but it was close. Her not checking deeper into the random figure she claimed to have seen, and her reasons were worrisome.

He looked at her. "Hrmm ... if it had been a person in need of help, is it not our duty to provide it? After all who can we fall back upon except ourselves, in this troubled time?" He sighed and stood up, using his oriental weapon for support. "But if he had been bitten by a zombie then it is all the more imperative that you should have checked on him. Once bitten, he will definitely turn. That can be prevented by destruction of the brain, right? You ....err ... bash his head in, so to speak, maybe then burn it. That leaves one less monster to worry about."

He shouldered the pack, pulled his weapon out of the ground and looked at the other three, and then down at himself. A rag-tag assembly of barely alive humans. "Well, then, shall we? Oh, and ma'am? If the injury is the bite of the Undead, rest assured that I shall behead you. Anything less severe is curable. Your outlook on post-apocalyptic life is rather bleak!" He tells Amber and chuckles to himself.

Amber watched him as he chuckled on her outlook; kiss my ass. she thought bitterly. Her arms rose over her head, stretching as she watched them. “Well, you can check it out, but I doubt it’s a live human.” Her eyes scanning over the boy as she spoke. Amber then turned towards her right, watching the horizon, trying to hold back an incoming yawn. “Well then, I think we should get a car. It makes things safer and easier.” She rested on her right hip, acting almost as if she was a bit bossy.

“Anyone know how to hotwire?” Amber said, knowing that she could hotwire, but it took her a long, long time to do it- plus, she always got burned somehow or another. “Also, does anyone have a map…?” She asked, thinking it would be a good idea to have.

((Sorry for the crappy post, I’m in a rush and won’t be able to post till Saturday.))

Amy pranced carelessly through a maze of trees, the sun barely shining through the canopy of leaves above. A soft light lit the small forest, creating a feeling of safety, like home. Amy exclaimed in fits of laughter and deep breaths of fresh air. She was young and she felt radiant in her four-foot, nine year-old body. Her tiny cream, floral dress twirled around her legs and her long, silky hair trailed behind her as she weaved deeper into the forest.
As Amy progressed past the numerous clusters of trees, the branches slowly crept into the way of her path. They began tugging and tearing at the fabric of her dress and her delicate skin. Her pace slowed with every new scrape and cut, and soon she was taking reluctant steps to avoid further pain. Her dress wrinkled and was torn in several places, and her skin was covered in dry blood and dirt. The sky had taken on a dark glow and Amy became frightened.

"Amelia?" A voice called from behind.
Amy turned reluctantly. She was uncertain of who or what beckoned her, and her smile had already, long ago faded into a nervous glare. She stared into the mass of trees, her view lit only by the weak light of dusk.

"Amelia!" The voice revealed concern and subdued panic. Amy immediately recognized the voice.

"Mom?" Amy responded, in a questioning but eager shout, back at the silhouette, which crept closer from a distance away. Amy was puzzled, however, at the unfamiliar feeling she felt at the presence of the being approaching her. It slightly resembled her mother of what she could see; the shadow of her beach wave curls, her thin figure.. But something was off about her. Her movements were unnatural; she jerked and twitched as she approached. Amy couldn't help but take a step back.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" The figure spoke in exerted breaths, as if unable to breathe. It's mechanical speech set off a warning bell in Amy.

"Who are you?" Amy retorted in a hoarse voice. She struggled to swallow, to clear her throat. She didn't take her eyes off the figure as it continued to approach.

"WHAT are you?!" Amy asked in desperation, as if begging. She wanted an answer, she wanted to know where her mother was.. her REAL mother. What did this thing do to her?

"I AM your mother!" It finally responded, stopping abruptly a bit a ways from Amy. The shadow of a nearby willow tree obscured the figure's face from view. The sound of it's labored breathing filled the surrounding air.

"And I asked you a question, young lady!" The creature seized Amy's hand, finally revealing itself in the gloom. Amy could see it wasn't her mother. It was one of them. What were they called again?
Where it's eyes were supposed to be were depressed black holes, and trickling from them was deep red blood, running down it's pale, sunken cheeks.

"Why are you leaving me?" It wailed sorrowfully. In that instant, Amy felt guilt, sadness, and grief overwhelm her all at once instead of the intense terror she had felt immediately before. Her eyebrows, once portraying frightened surprise, sunk down above her eyes... and she began to cry.

"I'm sorry.." Was all that Amy could utter before the zombie yanked her hand up towards it's gaping mouth and ripped through the skin, flesh, muscle, and tendons in her wrist. Amy howled in pain--

With a jolt, Amy awoke in a cold sweat, instantly sitting up with a box-cutter gripped in her hand, fully extracted and extended, and on the offensive. She was breathing heavily from the scare, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. As soon as she was certain she was safe, she lowered her weapon and calmed her breathing. Before she had realized it, she was 18 year-old Amy again. She wasn't a child anymore like she was in her dream. Amy remembered ripping open boxes with the box-cutter and resting on the floor of the post-office. She knew she would be able to find valuable things from the packages that were meant to be sent out and delivered, and she had found a few canned foods and bottled sodas. She was lucky this time. Most of the trips she had taken to grocery stores, gas stations, and restaurants had all ended in failures, ending in unwanted encounters with the flesh-hungry undead, and with the desperate living. She was able to scavenge a fair amount of goods when she happened upon one of many of the torn open letters littering the post-office's desks and floors. She began reading letters addressed to loved ones from loved ones with messages of bittersweet goodbyes. Amy had fallen asleep reading them and she suspected they were directly responsible for her dream. She knew this because she hadn't dreamed in a very long time, at least not since her family died.

Amy sighed.
"I can't miss them. I'm not allowed to.." She thought maybe if she told herself this, she'd stop thinking of them.
She wiped away the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater and took a deep breath to collect herself before getting onto her feet. As routine surveillance, she inspected her surroundings. She walked around a bend to the hallway entrance and began to yawn when she spotted a zombie outside the building of the post-office.

"Great." Amy commented grimly as she exhaled exasperatedly.
It stared at her through a window with it's empty gaze for a few moments before walking her direction towards the barricaded door in front of her. It began it's signature zombie door-banging and Amy picked up her bag, now stuffed full of supplies, slung it onto her shoulder, and across her chest.

"I can never catch a break, can I?" She mocked sarcastically as she gripped the handle of her fire axe, lifting it off the floor.

With the priest acknowledging the danger that was about, as well as the girl joining him, she smiled slightly. She had at least come across rational survivors, not the 'gun them all down' type. The priest proposed that there might be an eatery of some sort, and the one-armed girl only was left to think about it. She hadn't eaten at all today, and the thought of food delighted her to no end. But she tried not to expend her rations without seeing if there was a local food source. Hopefully, the Holy Man was right.

But meanwhile, as she followed the group out of the clothing store, it seemed they were quite interested in the man that she'd almost gotten into a firefight with. Instinctively, she slightly hid behind the priest, keeping her only hand on the grip of her pistol. She looked around - and in that short distance she could see, there were no yet zombies... but the tension was definitely rising. The Wind brought her no birds singing, and the dark, uneasy feeling she felt inside her from looking at the overcast daylight.... She began to move away from her compatriots, moving towards her own vehicle. She looked in the back, making sure that all of the things were still there... confirming that her Jeep hadn't been looted. She quickly pressed a dirty palm to the top of frame, and hopped into the driver's seat. The vehicle shook gently with her weight, as she reached around inside of her right-hand pants pocket, which bulged with things.... and retrieved her keys. Sliding them into the ignition, she let her little Wrangler jump to life, beginning to drive back to the other car, pulling up beside it.

"Come on, Amigos." She said out the window. "We don't got us all day for this. I don't mean t' rush, but I really don't wanna run into those dead guys." She said, looking around again.

Down the street from the group Diana and the others are occupying was a bar with the windows and doors boarded up. Inside where over-turned chairs and tables. Broken glass, bloodstains, and a ceiling fan hanging of it's hinges. The scene looked like the victim of a hurricane but in all of it's stillness was a man sitting at the bar drinking from a bottle whiskey. He is skin is a pasty white and his hair made up in shaggy dreadlocks as his reddish hair hanged above his shoulders. He slumped with his elbows on the bar as he had a bored look upon his face. The only thing given him light was dimly lit oil lantern as he took modest swigs from the bottle. Only so slight lifting his head up when drinking only to proceed to place the bottle upon a dirty coaster. Troy sighed as he took his father's trench knife. He used this in the IRA in his day but once he and the rest of them moved to America he put up in his study. When he died though his mother gave it to him saying, "Yer Da wanted you to 'ave dis." she said as he handed Troy the knife. "Tank ye mom." Troy responded as he held the knife in his hands. This was the last thing Troy had to remember him by. He missed his father sometimes but he was glad he didn't have to suffer through this shit like the rest of humanity. As far as he knew his mother was still alive he would need to find her or at least know what happened to her.

As of now he was stuck in this town with no mode of transportation since he had to abandon his car when the engine died. All he had were the clothes on his back, an musty old tan backpack, a pump-action shotgun, and his father's knife. Unfortunately he was running out of shells and soon the gun will be just about useless in a fight. So Troy sat there still drinking form the bottle as his gaze tilted from side to side, up and down. He would have to leave here soon, there isn't much in this place. Most of the alcohol was looted or drained. He was lucky to find a half empty bottle of whiskey. There were no kegs of beer down stairs since most of the barrels were busted. As for food there wasn't much of that either some moldy bread and cheese but that is about it. This bar wasn't the greatest place to be holed up in but at least there were no Zombies, Troy sought to that when he killed the ones lurking upstairs. There weren't that many only two or three. He killed them using the gun he was lucky the noise didn't attract more of them but he did firmly secure the area. All though the windows were boarded up the door was left naked. So he barricaded it with some tables and chairs and a couple of empty barrels. The back door entrance was more secure at the time since the lock wasn't actually broken unlike the front door. So he kept the door locked and carried the keys to it in his pocket. So he had an exit when he was good and ready to leave.

Troy went for another drink when he noticed the bottle was nearly dry. He shouldn't wander too far tonight considering he is feeling tipsy. There were some beds upstairs were the owner lived and not all of them were down right ruined. Some of them were overturned and ripped apart, others covered in blood but one or two of them were in fair condition. It was there he had been resting the past couple of days. Yet this would be his last night and then he would be moving on. Although the bread is stale and the cheese moldy, it was all he had for food and it would have to do for tonight's meal. Troy grimaced when he thought he had to eat the rotten food but it is a matter of survival. Troy knew this and therefor he couldn't complain as he knew it would at least keeping going for another day.