Jim walked the old back road rather cautiously. It was more habit then needed cautiousness. There was almost no chance of the Enemy, that was what he called the zombies, being any where near him. Most of the people had been in the cities and these old back country roads were near deserted. He was on his way to a small town in Maryland called Hagerstown. He was planning to walk up to New York and then keep going to Bangor, Maine. Finally once there he would start going west again. This plan was based on nothing but whimsy and his need to keep moving. He carried his usual backpack, a big thing which carried all his food, water, and camping gear, and of course his hatchets, machete, and revolver. The crisp Fall air was kept at bay by a black pea coat with a generic college sweat shirt underneath it. Finally as he approached the town he pulled one of his hatchets from it's holster under his right arm. This was because he had seen a figure in the distance walking around the city. He quickened his step and got off the road so as to get a better view and to not be in view. I hope to God it's a person. I haven't seen a person in so long he thought.

Diana had been walking the deserted city streets for hours, cautiously scouring buildings for supplies. Thus far, she had come up with only a small amount of canned pears. Ugh. I hate pears. she thought bitterly as she plopped down on large piece of rubble.

It had been three months since "The Beginning of the End" as fancy politicians called it. She had been looking for her parents restlessly since then. She had traveled to "safe-zones" all up the east coast only to find them swarming with zoms. I guess they weren't so safe after all. she thought with as much bitterness as she had with the pears. She was looking for a group of survivors to join, but for weeks she had been without luck. She had been in groups before, but they always dissolved when one refugee shot another over something trivial. That didn't stop her from wanting to find another human being soon. She felt as if she hadn't spoken in weeks.

She sighed and dropped her heavy backpacking gear she had pilfered onto the ground. She unhooked her water jug from the side and took a small swig. "Ahh, refreshing." she said hoarsely. She dug until she found her can-opener and began to break open the can. Once the pears were free, she ate them with her fingers. With each bite, her face screwed up, but food was food so she ate until there was none left.

She heaved another sigh and looked around at the town. This was probably a nice town. Bet I would've liked to live here with a family.

Yashie trudged on through the deserted town, sighing and sitting down on a huge rubber tire to wipe his forehead. It had been hell, these past three months. He had started out well enough, what with him and a couple of the neighbors' kids who had guns setting out into the apocalypse, imagining all the Zombie-killing and living-life-on-the-run glamor, irrespective of what the Survival Guide had to say. It was literally Hell, with each of Yashie's friends getting infected from contact with contaminated food, or else being overrun by the Horde and eaten alive. He was the last, and he wasn't sure how long he'd last.

Sure, he'd kept well away from the Zombies, but there were less of them than when he had started. He had come upon some people, but they had been infected when he met them. He had to kill them, smash their skulls in and burn the corpses ... the nightmares he had. Every single night. His food supply was running low. Every so often he would come upon a supermarket or a departmental store that had been broken into, presumably by those Bandits who only seek to make a gain in others' suffering. He used to pick up some food from these shops and restock his backpack, now stained so badly that the original color was not distinguishable.

Yashie looked around tiredly, pulling a half-used roll of medical tape and began bandaging his new collection of cuts, scrapes and bruises that he had sustained the previous day. It was imperative that no open wound be left as it is, the danger of infection was too high. As he sat he kept his ears perked for any noise, Undead or otherwise. It was too long since he saw a survivor who was just that ... a survivor. Wearily he rose to his feet and trudged onwards, watching carefully, leaning heavily on his Monk's spade, something he had paid an arm and leg to purchase. In the distance, he perceived a person seated on what appeared to be a huge loose piece of masonry eating something from a container. Definitely human, then. He raised his voice and called out "Hallo!!" as loud as he could. The hoarseness of his own voice and the dryness of his throat surprised him. But it was understandable, he hadn't the need to speak in weeks.

Gabriel's legs dangled off the flat roof of a building. He didn't know what the building was; some kind of office building by the looks of it. Post office, perhaps? Regardless, this had been his home for the past two nights. A flat piece of concrete with nothing but the supplies in his backpack, which was growing lighter by the hour. Taking another swig of water from the water bottle he'd collected, he then sighed. The liquid felt good on his throat, but he knew it would only last for so long. Food and water was bittersweet these days. So great to have, but so dangerous to go out and get more. And sometime between now and nightfall, he'd have to go on a search for more supplies.

Suddenly a loud voice shouting, "HELLO!" made Gabriel jump, and nearly fall off the edge of the roof he sat on. His heart raced for a minute. Not only had he neatly fallen to the concrete below, but there was a survivor out there with so little wits that he'd attract the zombies by shouting! What was this man thinking? Gabriel had taken the time to talk to himself so he wouldn't lose his mind, but yelling was ridiculous! He wouldn't dare after these past three months!

Gabriel immediately placed the water bottle back in his backpack and zipped it up. Leaving it near the edge for a moment, he went around the building searching for the source of the shouting. He wasn't hard to find. He wondered how long it would take for any nearby zombies to form a mob. Standing nearly directly above the man who'd shouted, he called down in a mixed form of a whisper and a shout: "What the hell are you doing?"

Jim was safely off the road and was nearing the town when he heard a very loud shout. His first instinct was to run off in the opposite direction, but something stopped him. It was something deep inside him that told him to find out what it was. He holstered his hatchet and drew his revolver. Checking the barrel he saw that there were two bullets ready. He snapped the barrel and started running towards the town. He quickly got there and looked around the corner of a building. He saw that there was a man walking towards a woman who was eating out of a can. As he stood there he heard a voice come down from the roof of a building What the hell are you doing? he heard the man on the roof whisper/yell. Jim decided that he would wait and watch. It'd been a long time since he had seen fellow humans. However if they ended up being crazy or mean, he'd shoot the two men and then use a hatchet on the woman. He moved back behind the building and drew his hatchet in his left hand. Don't be crazy. pleasedon't be crazy!

New York. At long last, she had made it. With her gun and knife and some food. Namely, peanut butter cookies. Not those raisin ones, those should be outlawed. She hadn't met up with any zombie hordes, thankfully, only one or two single ones, just standing there. Ivy had to shoot them, in the end, but she hit them in the ankles so that they wouldn't be able to give chase. Although she had missed a few times, and wasted precious ammo. Few times were as terrifying as that. This would be one of those days.

Instead of eating one of her cookies, she had broken into some fancy restaurant. It was once fancy, at least, but the flashing neon lights were torn down and broken, and the inside was a battle field of chairs and tables and fallen food. Thalia didn't mind too much, the smell of food would mask her presence there, and she looted the fridge eating whatever she could, and stuffed the rest in a nearby plastic bag. Mostly fruits and vegetables, as well as a sushi roll that was untouched. She also brought some wine with her on her way out, after washing up in the Ladies’ room. Her mind had been in shock the first few days, but now that it's been the better part of a month, all this, it was normal. That was the hell of it.

No survivors, at all. I don't think I'm the only one left.

Thalia was ragged. Clothes slightly ripped and a bit dirty, she had lost her hair elastic in the first hours or so, her long black hair, unkempt, as it flowed down to her mid-back area. No injuries as of yet except for a small cut on her finger where she had tried to break a window into a gun store earlier on, and took whatever size bullets looked similar to the ones she already had. What little fat she had before this had all but melted off.

She could still remember her route, as well. Lived in Montpelier, started her journey there. Travelled along the highway to South Burlington, and crossed over the New York and Port Kent. She didn’t know why, she just thought it would be right. She had wanted to see New York before she died, nonetheless. And throughout her entire journey, she had met no one but two zombies, one just outside of South Burlington, and another on the bridge to Port Kent. Thalia had decided to sleep in one of the many hotels, just behind the bureau in the lobby. Terrible dreams, nightmarish dreams. That was normal. She always had dreams.

But she hadn't been woken up by voices in a long time.

"Hey, look. She's wakin' up."

"Pretty one, eh, Big Joe?"

Big Joe grunted, pleased with himself.

Thalia blinked, and her stomach knotted in terrible fear as the three men stood over her, leering, staring, looking at her in strategic areas. She blushed immediately, and was shaking when she stood up, and tensed, looking for a way to escape.

"Do you talk, girly?"

All the men were larger and older than she was, which was to be expected. Late twenties to early thirties. They hadn't shaved at all, their faces with heavy scruffs of beard. They were all big. They were all grinning toothily at each other. They were all staring at her, as if she was a piece of meat, and they were the vultures.

"I'm Dawg." One of them said. He pointed to his friends in turn. "Big Joe, and Richard. But we call him Dick."

Oh god. Oh, my God. God. God.

The one named Richard, or Dick, then approached, and Thalia took an automatic step back. She slowly reached into her back pants pocket, fumbling with the grip of her gun. Just as she pulled out her gun, she was too late, Richard had punched her hard in the gut. With a weak cry, Thalia fell to the ground, on her knees, as Dawg grasped at her arm, pulled her back up. Dick slammed his meaty fist into her stomach again. Thalia whimpered softly, pitifuly as the intense pain overcame her, she couldn't scream, all her breath had been knocked out of her. Then she heard a gun shot. With dawning fear, she had realized what she had done, as Big Joe's thigh starting seeping blood from a small hole. Her faithful gun was in her trembling hands.

A few minutes later, and they had her, right on the floor. Then she was taken with them, blindfolded, with her hands tied behind her back.

"MUCHACHO!" Ethyn yelled at the pitted man standing before him (man being used very loosely). "No! That is NOT how we do things!" A razor-sharp Kukri found its mark in the man's hand, pinning it to a small wooden table that Ethyn had dragged into the middle of the road. Cards were thrown about haphazardly.

"No cheating!"

This man, very counter-intuitive to what one may think was common sense of survival, was playing Black Jack-21, Rockstar, Tex'n'Jacks, et cetera-with a zombie. A zombie, it appeared, that cheated. "Restart again... When will you ever learn, Dave?"

"Dave" shuffled forward when Ethyn pulled his weapon back, knocking the table down. "Aw blast it, Dave! That was my favorite table!" Ethyn pouted and stood up. "Then again... it did have a very irritating rattle to it..."

There was screaming behind him. Likely some girl getting assaulted. None of his concern. He was busy playing cards. He waved and offered a friendly smile when the girl was dragged bye, though. "'ello! You fellars care for a ga-" and then they were gone. Jerks. No one ever wanted to play cards... 'cept David, WHO WAS A NO GOOD, FILTHY, LYING, CHEATING, JERK! "To hell with it..."

Ethyn pulled his table back up, an object over which "Dave" fell. His head collided with the concrete a rather too roughly, finishing off the poor creature. "Aww... Daaaaaave! You could've just told me you didn't like the gaaaame! Why does everyone dooo thaaat?!" Ethyn whined. Why did all of his "friends" die like that? No one liked playing with him :(

Think Whisper, think. You're alone. You have a wooden stick, your notebook, and a pencil. You're doomed. She hardly knew where she was by now, having wandered from between small towns for the past three months. For all she knew, she could be a few miles from her home in Los Angeles, or maybe a thousand miles away. Time seemed to be eluding her now, as she traveled at a slow and monotonous pace. There was no night and day, only movement and cautious rest. The world, what had happened to it?

Whisper was terrified, being alone here in who knows where. The blue haired girl looked around carefully with watchful eyes. She held her breath nervously, then proceeded to let out a heavy sigh. Walking had made her exhausted. Dark rings circled under her eyes and her body was thinner than before. She needed to find another grocery store soon, or she was at risk of starving to death and becoming one of the undead.

Taking another glance around, she noticed what appeared to be a large grocery store about half a mile away, on the edge of yet another deserted and nameless town. It's better than nothing, she thought, forcing herself to keep moving. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. It was a simple pattern, but her legs ached from months of travel, fleeing from the larger cities in hope of less zombies. The only comfort from Los Angeles had been the skyscrapers, but even then, she never felt safe.

People were dying each day and kept coming back. Whisper knew well enough that she may as well be the next one, though she prayed she wouldn't. She had come this far, and she sure as heck deserved to make it farther. If she found others, she'd have a better chance of survival.

Ah, survival. Such a simple word, but with such a large meaning. Life was survival. Survival was life.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. She kept walking until she reached the abandoned store, noticing a few smashed windows. She climbed through carefully, looking around. Her shyness and overall fears prevented her from calling out to see if anyone or anything else was in the store. She readied her pathetic weapon-a wooden staff she'd picked up within the first month. It wasn't useful for killing zombies, but rather just for keeping them away long enough to find an escape route. But luck always ran out.

Confined to a small bathroom, with a lock on the door, it was the perfect place to pray. Though Solamon didn't have the key to the gas station bathroom, a chair wedged against the door, suficed as always.
He took off his bag, wasn't as big as a camping bag but big enough for the essentials, he grabbed one of his water bottles and poured it into the cup of his hand. With this little water, he dipped his caloused finger from his other hand into it, and brushed his teeth. After brushing, he cupped a small bit of the water and washed his forearm covered in hair, then the other. He clasped what water was left and threw it up into his face, cleansing it. He took off his dirty running shoes, socks, then ran a wet hand from the back of his head to his forehead. The same hand ran up his feet and ankle, while the opposite hand did the same. Solaman stood erect now, eyes facing the tiled wall, and spoke under his breath in prayer. "God is the greatest" He spoke loudly in a foreign tongue before dropping to his knees, with arms spread out on the tiled floor, speaking the words of the Koran as fluently as he did his own language. He sat with both knees on the ground, more words of memory, then stood back up speaking the last words of the motion of prayer. The last motion of the Rakat as it was called.

Then he did it three more times. Through out the day he would do it four more times in four to three intervals of Rakat

.....

Solamon walked the streets of New York with his bag on his back, a pizza paddle in his hands, and a gun pushed down from the waist of his pants. He wasn't scared of the zombies that had possibly roamed about but was only slightly nerved by them. Matter of fact this was all such a nice change of pace for him. At least he wasn't working like a dog. Now he just walked. Walking was nice.

Though the murderers and zombies of New York just had to get out and walk too. They liked walking too much and took all happiness from it.

Those gentlemen dragging that woman across the street were an exact point in Solamon's ideals. No apocolypse makes people do sick things like this, take woman from the streets, and most likely, rape them in the shadows. This world now, shows the true character of the mailman, the stock broker, the boy across the street, and the pizza man.
"Hey!" He shouted from only a few metres away, persian accent heavy, walked his way towards them, grip tightening against the pizza paddle and a scowl scrawled across his face. People like this made him sick and before he would have just wished them away. Now he can make them.

No, these dirty men were pridefull and laughed at the immigrants intimidation. With a swing of the polearm, the flat of the paddle collided with Dick's face, a ringing in the air for the briefest of a second before his body hit the pavement. Solamon dropped the pizza paddle on top of the withering body of Dick and hand outstretched to grasp the flesh of Dawg's neck with an iron clad grip. Dawg gagged at the tightened grip and already had two futile hands grasping the strong arm. Solomon's stoic face twisted to Big Joe, who was stunned in light of the last five seconds, and the gun that was pointed directly at him.
"L-look!" He said, lips and beard wavering, hands raised up as he spoke. "W-W-We can just leave you with the girl. Alright? Let s just leave!" For that speech Carlos dropped the gun from Big Joe's face. He grinned toothily, hand coming down for the HK P7 that he delightfully "borrowed" from Thalia, but a deafening shot rang into the air, bullet travelling straight through the knee of the burly man. Solamon was slightly deaf because of the grenades and gunfire of the war he had served so it didn't startle him as much as the girl. So he sqeezed another round through Big Joe's other knee as he blood curdling screached in pain, rolling around the ground like his body was set with a fire.

Dawg's eyes were rolling to the back of his head, body unable to provide blood to the brain and air of the lungs, and the gagging sounds were dry and quiet until Solamon pulled him and pushed him onto the ground with the rest of his gang. Dawg gasped for air and was helped up by Dick, the two a good metre away from Carlos, who had the gun and naturally, had the power. Dawg and Dick helped Big Joe up, arms wrapped their shoulders, subjected to look down the barrel of the gun.
"Get the fuck out of here!" He shouted at them with a commanding voice of hatred and they did, slowly but surely, their friend hobbling along with them, leaving a trail of dripping blood.
"If I see you again, I'll kill you!" Was the last words of the same immense command Solamon had for the scum until they drifted from sight.
"Shiranara hurigada de ruhe!" He swore under his breath, turning to the woman on the ground, and untyed the blindfold that they wrapped around her eyes and then untied the rope.

"Are you okay, my dear?" He spoke, much kindly then, accent heavy and wondered if she was actually okay.

Thalia was blind. Incredibly sore in her stomach area. Crippled by her bonded hands. And the sound of the three voices ringing in her aching mind, taunting, leering, derogatory comments she couldn't bear to hear. Their big arms hustling her along forcibly, and she tripped once or twice. Their sewer-drought breath as they spoke, filling her nostrils. But worse of all, was knowing the inevitable. Even an idiot would know what was going to happen. And Thalia didn't consider herself to be an idiot. Hopeless. That's the word. Utter hopelessness. The feeling bogged her down completely.

She was torn out of her thoughts by a rough hand caressing her head, and flinched.

"Well, pet?" Dawg. "We asked you if you like Dick. Do you?"

Her heart pounded.

"No." She mumbled. It was the truth, after all.

Big Joe laughed his voice the deepest of the three. They jeered at her for being a lesbian, for being psycho and a bitch and thousands of other petty insults. If that was all this was going to go, well, Thalia was okay with it. Better then what she thought was about to happen. But Dick, or Richard, was silent. He didn't join in with the other two's game of breaking her. His silence scared her the most.

"Hit her, Jim." Dick growled his nasal voice surly and threatening. "She said she don't like me. Hit her good."

Thalia tensed herself, a lead weight dropping into her stomach. She struggled, but firm hands grabbed her shoulders and held her still. She wouldn't scream again, however. That would only give them satisfaction. Her legs were rubber, her feet scratched and sore, but she tried her best to hold her ground. Then the punch hit her hard, but she wasn't given the mercy of being allowed to flow with the blow, instead she was held steady, taking the full might. She heard a definite crack in her chest area. A broken rib. Thalia couldn't help but cry out, weakly, but bit her lip to not let out any more.

"Do you like Dick now?"

"I will say no!" Thalia spat in a pitiful show of defiance.

"Hit her again."

They did. This time, Thalia was able to wriggle herself out of the hands of the man holding her from behind, and fell to the ground. She hit her head on something hard, or perhaps someone kicked it. She couldn't know. Then she felt hands on her, and heavy breath. Thalia was almost on the verge of crying, but forced herself to keep it in.

Please, no, not like this.. please...

"I'll do her first." Dick declared. "I'll make her like me."

Then, almost immediately, Big Jim made an exclamation. Not too far away, other side of the street, was another girl, with red hair. Short, kind of like Thalia herself. Jim then told them his plan on what he'd do with her in great, excruciating detail. Thalia winced, and although she was agnostic, she prayed that the girl wouldn't be caught. Prayed that she'd get away, this anonymous girl in her head. Thalia felt herself be pulled back up forcibly, as they told her to wait, wait until they got the other girl tied up like she was. Then the party would start. But, already, the party was starting. A tall man, even older than the men assaulting her, had noticed what was going on. Thalia didn't see him, but he saw them. Within a few moments, yells, cries, and Thalia struggling furiously with her bonds, in a futile, desperate attempt to free herself. Perhaps it was a zombie attack, but there was a fourth voice in the chaos. Before she knew it, another man had freed her form her restraints, and the potential rapists had disappeared. She opened her eyes tiredly, but couldn't make herself look into this man's face, her savior, not even when he asked her if she was alright, holding her gently.

[i]Why'd he jump in to save me? It has to be a trick."

"They.. I think my rib... broken.. maybe..." Thalia mumbled, still not daring to move her eyes up, and she was rubbing the red markings on her wrists form the tight bondage. "Just... give me my gun."

She paused again, still terrified to look up. Which was terrifying in and of itself, she never was a shy girl. Quite the opposite. But she saw that he had her gun, and she had the craziest feeling that this man might have saved her so he could have her all to herself. But she tried to force the thoughts away. Not doing much good now.

"I... thanks and all. Okay?" Thalia said, with a little more force into her voice. "Now. My gun. Then I'll just... leave you alone.. I guess."

Yashie limped closer to the person standing on the roof, dragging his feet in his weariness. He raised a hand and showed the man four fingers, then pointed back the way he came. After which he beckoned furiously to the man to come to him. Yashie waited a second before realizing that his gesture probably made no sense to the stranger. He jumped onto a pile of rubble, scrabbling for a handhold so that he would be closer to the stranger on the roof.

"Departmental Store, that way. About 150 meters. Quite stocked, been protected by owner's family. -wheeze- But ... four zombies. Eating the owner's family. Come help, please. I can't kill them alone. You help me, we share the non-perishable food there. Come, please." Yashie entreated the man thus, in a wheezy voice, licking his dry lips often. He then jumped back to the ground and raised one tired arm, pointing back the way he came once more in order to emphasize his point and also to show him wherefrom. He leaned on his monk's spade and waited for the man to decide. He then added, as an afterthought, "No other Zombies in this sector ... from what I have seen."

Diana jumped as the man shouted. What is that idiot doing she thought He's going to get us killed!She got off of her little piece of rubble and packed her things away. She walked cautiously to the man that yelled. You never know, he could be insane and kill you so she had to be ready. She had no idea what weapons he had, but she had her bow out and a hand next to the quiver strapped to her leg.

She arrived as she saw him climbing up a building to another survivor she hadn't noticed. She kept her guard up seeing that this other survivor was a male. She had heard stories from others she had met about what some men did to young women. She didn't intend to be a victim of that. She tried climbing up, but the only way to do so was blocked by the man that had yelled. She strained to hear what they were talking about, but could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Giving up on climbing, she hid behind an abandoned car on the road. She decided that she would tail them to see what they were up to.

Gabriel stared at the man below, trying to hold back laughter at his strange signals. What was he trying to tell him? Could he not speak? He'd heard there were people like that out there; people who chose not to speak in these hell-filled days. Couldn't say he blamed them, though he'd never take up the challenge himself. Zombies, he smirked internally. Dumb as rocks, and they haven't gotten him so far, despite all of his talking and snoring goodness.

Gabriel took a small step back as the man tried to get closer, still haven't not said a word. When he realized he was getting closer to speak, Gabriel stepped back to where he had been standing. "Departmental Store, that way. About 150 meters. Quite stocked, been protected by owner's family." Wheeze. "But ... four zombies. Eating the owner's family. Come help, please. I can't kill them alone. You help me, we share the non-perishable food there. Come, please."

Gabriel smiled. This was his sort of mission. Though somewhat weakened from his low supply of food as of now, he already felt pumped up to get into action and start killing. The man jumped back down and spoke again. "No other Zombies in this sector ... from what I have seen."

He nodded in agreement. "I've yet to see one around here either." He turned away from the man for a moment. He walked across the roof and threw his backpack over one shoulder; something frowned upon, seeing as it made it easier for a zombie to grab onto and drag you back or steal your stuff. Gabriel had always shrugged off their warnings, along with many other pieces of advise he'd received over the past three months. He returned to the man and scaled the ground below before jumping off the roof of the one-story building. "Let's get this show on the road." He began walking in the direction he'd pointed the department store to be. "What weapons do you have? I'll be honest with you, buddy. All I've got in my backpack is some water and a mallet. But the mallet hasn't screwed me over so far. It's a better blunt weapon than most people would think. I'll need a gun sooner or later though... Their numbers are growing. One of these days not even a roof will be safe."

Solamon looked at the girl questionably. She looked scared and tired but what surprised the old man the most was how young and thin she was. Not in a good way either. It made him wonder why the girl was all alone and whether she was hungry. Solamon was polite enough to stay quiet while she talked, saying something about her rib, and a gun.

Of course the order for her gun had confused him. Was she referring to his gun? That gun was his. His only. Solamon wasn't going to give up his own power to this woman because she had asked him so. He thought of just leaving the ungratefull bitch behind.
"This is my gun." He said, pointing his glock in question before he turned around, about to walk away until his eyes beheld the sight of the handgun that had slipped Big Joe's hand in the scuffle.

Did she mean that? Great. Now Solamon, cursed himself for his bad thoughts and went to retrieve the HK P7. He stood over Thalia again and held the gun by the barrel, grip extended towards her. "Here." He said. She took it and with one hand grasped around her arm Solamon helped her up from the pavement. He retrieved his pizza paddle up from the ground, a splatter of wet blood still printed on one side of the metal, and held it casually with one hand.

"My name is Solamon." He decided to speak again and with one more look at the woman, had an idea.
"I know a supermarket just a few blocks with good food. Good family living there. You look hungry." He added, noticing the skinny frame of the woman, thinking her to be actually starving, and walked ahead. If she wanted to come along, there was no stopping her, but if she didn't she didn't.

Thalia felt a little better when the familiar shape of the gun's grip was safely in her hands. Now she could defend herself somewhat if this man made any questionable movements. He might, and he could. Always keep your guard up. That's what she had always been told, and yet she was caught and almost had terrible things done to her. With this man to thank. But if he meant badly, would he have given her the gun? Would he have saved her at all?

Be careful. Never again. That'll never happen again.

She had almost screamed when he brought his arm out, but it was only to pull her up from her vulnerable position on the ground. Now she had a chance to run. But she was so hungry, and so exhausted from being a prisoner of those three men. He seemed polite and gentle mannered. The one who called himself Solamon. With that thick Persian accent, and the rugged look of someone who had always worked themselves too hard. Incredibly hairy, but he had an honest looking face. Strange, because there's not really a quality, a facial feature that exactly makes one's face look 'honest'. Maybe she could trust him. It would be okay to have a companion. Better than being alone.

He then spoke of a supermarket, with food and a family living there. Families usually wouldn't be bad people, especially if they had banded together. He had called them a good family, but was he telling the truth? He also remarked that she looked hungry, and Thalia was. She really was. But she was still trembling from her ordeal, and she just wanted to cry. And to be safe.

Solamon then turned to leave, and Thalia knew he had given her a subtle invitation to join him. She timidly thought about killing him and taking his stuff, but then changed her mind. She wordlessly ran to catch up with him, breathing softly to not upset her rib bone. But she still couldn't look at him. She just couldn't do it yet. But she walked close to him, somewhat feeling slightly better from the security he gave. Whether or not he was tricking her is still up for grabs.

Yashie waited patiently for the man to make up his mind. It appeared that he hadn't long to wait. The man jumped down next to him. Yashie smiled uncertainly, nodding his head to express his gratitude.

"What weapons do you have? I'll be honest with you, buddy. All I've got in my backpack is some water and a mallet. But the mallet hasn't screwed me over so far. It's a better blunt weapon than most people would think. I'll need a gun sooner or later though... Their numbers are growing. One of these days not even a roof will be safe." Yashie stared at the man for a good 15 seconds without speaking. A mallet? Blunt weapons, he had heard, weren't much good in the long run. Sure, they could crush in skulls but they took a fair amount of damage themselves. But, he supposed, if it had served him well, no need for anything more to be said of the matter. "No, nowhere will be safe. Nowhere in what used to be human settlements. We must all leave ... or die."

Yashie hurried after the man, his Monk's Spade clutched in his left-hand. The blades of the weapon, though not quite as shiny as he would have liked it, were strangely blood-free. Strange for such dark and dangerous times. It was apparent that he took care of his weapon .. more care than he saw fit to take of himself. But maybe it can be justified, since he had an inordinate attachment to his weapon, given the amount of hard work he had to do in order to save the money to buy it in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, he began to speak in a rushed voice that sounded as though rehearsed. And indeed he had been rehearsing this for the past five minutes, just so he would have enough courage to say it loud before a stranger. "The zombies were busy eating the owner's family. There are five of them, all inside the shop. The walls and door frames are intact, but the doors are gone." As he spoke, he used his free hand to gesticulate and mime as much as he actually spoke. "One of us takes the back door, the other the front. We make loud noises, the zombies smell fresh meat and come to eat us. The doorways mean they can only come out one at a time. We could stand there, take them down easily."

He looked at the other man and then smiled, a big eager smile as he thought about the food he was hopefully going to get. He then added, as an afterthought, "If all zombies just go one way or the other, then the one who has no undead coming outside his door, waits for 20 seconds, charges in, attacks from behind" This too, he spoke all in a rush.

Sorry Yashie posted at around the same time I did.

Gabriel glanced over at his weapon with a strange look. Sure, Gabriel's was basic and would need replaced with something else, but what was wrong with that? He thought. This man's weapon was surely useful, if he could handle it well. Gabriel could never wield a weapon like what he was carrying. He wondered how skilled he was in using it while his boots made quiet footsteps into the concrete of the seemingly abandoned road of the town.

The zombies were busy eating the owner's family. There are five of them, all inside the shop. What? Gabriel could have sworn he had heard the man say four zombies before. This made things trickier... Two zombies taken on one at a time could be wiped out easily, but if three managed to gang up on one of them, they were goners. The excited feeling Gabriel got quickly mixed with fear, though he'd never admit it. He kept the confidence in his walk while this other survivor went through the game plan. One at the front door, the other at the back, should be able to take them out one at a time. No problem. Gabriel was about to ask what happens if they all go for one door, when the man told him a backup plan in case that happens. "Perfect," he said. He kept his voice down now that they were close to the store; it wouldn't be good if they attracted the zombies before they were in position.

With the department store looming overhead, Gabriel sighed. He never would have guessed four months ago that today, visiting a department store could mean life or death. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, not caring how he looked to the other survivor. This world was truly insane.

"I'll see you inside," he shrugged a salute while he turned to face the direction the back door was in. "Give me half a minute to get in position," he requested, feeling like a character in one of his war games he used to play before the sound would attract zombies or distract you from the death standing behind you. He missed that game.

Once the back door was in sight, Gabriel did a quick search of the area. Good, no zombies had wondered outside. He set down his backpack and pulled out his mallet. Leaving the pack there on the ground, he took his place on the side of the door. If all went as he planned, they would immediately run straight out into the open. Zombies weren't smart enough to look to both sides before crossing the threshold. Gabriel could already feel the adrenaline coursing through his system, a mix of childish courage and fear. He impatiently waited for the second the other survivor would start shouting, so he could begin his yelling as well. He tried to focus on keeping his breathing quiet. He had no idea how far into the building the undead would be, or if they could even hear him now. His screams were already in his throat, ready to be released as soon as the second survivor's did.

Ethyn sighed. So now another friend was dead...

Time to make some more!

Ethyn pulled out his Book and cleared his throat noisily. As clearly and strongly as he could, he quoted:

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, from the Earth we came, and to Earth we shall return."

Well, that was a little contradictory...

From a mostly burned out building shuffled a haggard figure with sky-blue eyes (the eyes only that color as the once dark-blue eyes were scratched and fainted from lack of moisture; a "Walking Dead" didn't shed tears).
"Oi, 'ello lassy! Care for a pint?!" Ethyn pulled a canteen from his bag and unscrewed the lid, then offered it to the creature. The creature, unthinking as it was, simply set about flinging its arms at Ethyn, who spilled his drink all over the body that was now dissolving.
"DAMMIT! Not again! That wasn't meh whiskey! Sonfabitch..."

Ethyn had recently ignored a "Do not enter," *skull and crossbones* sign and found strange-smelling liquid that was apparently acidic to organic matter... Oh well! Off to make another friend, if he could.

Adrien yawned and stretched.
The tree she was leaning against was becoming uncomfortably scratchy and making her back stiff after hours of resting there, and she hadn't even been sleeping. She'd barely closed her eyes the last months, constantly jumping at every little sound or growing faint at every wisp of wind, but the activity had calmed down significantly. That or there were millions more of Them waiting to jump out and attack when they were ready and if they did now she had no doubt in her mind she'd be dead for she simply had no strength left to do anything with. Reaching inside her bag, she stretched her long legs out on the branch and pulled out her bottle of juice. It was half empty now, a small ration she'd purchased before the outbreak and now the only ration she had remaining. Adrien swallowed a few sips and threw it back in, groaning. Her clothes were torn and dirty, covered in dried blood and grimy, and her thin coat barely provided protection for the new fall breezes. She pulled it close as she finally managed to jump down and get moving. She needed a suitable shelter, some food, and time to think about what she was going to do.

Adrien moved through the path with excessive apprehension, staring up at the sky and remembering to seemingly distant times where she'd be in bed right about now, reading a book or writing. Now she stuck in her own horror story, one that lit with hope as she entered a town. A store had to be around, maybe an abandoned apartment building for sleep. She observed her surroundings, frowned when she saw a figure walking in the distance. It sank inside a building cautiously and she as she neared it she almost lept for joy. It was a store! And she knew the person who'd entered wasn't a zombie because they didn't have that much body control, nor did they look that way. Adrien could have cried right now.

She jogged up to the entrance and peaked inside. The coast was clear. She stepped inside slowly and carefully, making sure her heels didn't make to much noise, and looked around and she made her way in further. A minute later she finally spotted whom she'd been looking for. The survivor. She knew she shouldn't be so trusting but at this point she'd be lucky if she could find anyone to help her, and she'd take him out if tried anything. Besides, he looked incredibly preoccupied. Her fingers were light as she tapped him.

"Hello?" Adrien whispered.

Yashie nodded as he walked, feeling the tightening in his stomach region, the thrill that anticipation brought with it. He'd known it all too well in the past three months. Fear, too. He was afraid, he was always afraid. But fear was good, fear saved his life. Because he was afraid of everything, he remembered everything. He forgot nothing, and hence, he had lived. He'd seen other men .. survivors always banded together, it made for better chances of survival ... other men, men who had been 'brave', men who had not remembered to be afraid. Men who had been eaten, slowly, as they screamed with each bite of the undead teeth, each scratch of undead nails. How they had screamed! It shook his nerves to even think about it. He gave his head a little flick as if to clear his mind of such thoughts, they were the last thing he needed right now.

Yashie heard the other man say "Perfect." and if he had said anything else, the former had missed that. He nodded his head slowly, turning his face away from the man. He did not want his face to betray the fact that he had hidden a crucial ... maybe even vital piece of information from the stranger. He did not want that. He sighed softly. As they neared the Departmental Store, Yashie shrugged off his pack and hid it inside of a telephone kiosk so damaged and now rickety that it was a wonder how it still stood. He raised his head as the other man said "Give me half a minute to get in position" and nodded his head in approval, shooting the other man the thumbs-up. He would not speak, he would not trust his voice to stay tremor free, even if he was willing to take the risk of it being overloud, of catching the attention of the Walking Dead.

Yashie moved slowly towards the front door, holding his weapon in front of himself like a lance, the end with the spade pointing towards the door frame where he expected the Undead to emerge. He liked his weapon, liked the weight of the blades that made decapitation all to easy. It cut through the rotting, Solanum-infected flesh and the bone beneath with equal ease. Whether he crushed the skull or otherwise destroyed the brain on the first strike, decapitation meant that he rendered the body inanimate, the head could be destroyed at leisure. This was what he was aiming for as he waited and counted down the seconds to half-a-minute. He knew the zombies already knew they were here. The zombies always knew. But they were slow, they could take but a step in about ten seconds.

Yashie waited forty seconds then shouted hoarsely "Go! Death to the Undead! Kill them all!" as much to give the stranger the signal to move as to attract the attention of the Zombies and make them walk out the door. Some did, shuffling slowly and on rotting legs ... or in the case of the first, on one leg which had no foot. His head bobbed up and down with each unsteady step he took. Yashie detachedly wondered if it had been eaten off when the man was still alive, or had just rotted away after reanimation. He raised his weapon and waited, timing his strike and watching for the Zombie to step outside the door. He darted forward and struck at its neck with an action appropriate to one making a snooker shot, and no flashy showiness involved. He got lucky and the Zombie's head fell to the ground a few seconds before its body did. The second zombie kept coming, stepping over the body of its fallen comrade. Yashie stabbed forward again but his blade embedded itself into the face of the Abomination, spraying Solanum-laced blood around, the very thing which he had sought to avoid. Yashie jumped backwards smartly and tried again, this time finding his mark.

Yashie stepped further away from the door, as the third Zombie emerged. It was scarcely three feet tall and its face spoke of childishness ... but it was only a travesty of childishness. There was nothing childish about the decaying skin, the one empty eye-socket, the sinews beneath the face being exposed, sometimes even the bone. There was nothing childish about the way its mouth opened, giving the impression of a maniacal grin. There was definitely nothing childish about the low moan that issued from its throat, chilling the blood and wracking the nerve. The moaning had begun ... if there were other zombies except the ones in the store, they would come. Slowly but surely they would come. But there were no others left. Not as far as he had seen. Yashie somehow couldn't bring his weapon to strike the death-blow. (Of course, death being used loosely here.) He just kept walking backwards, away from the reach of the arms which in life must have been chubby and cute, even. He just moved away, dodged and evaded.

He hadn't wanted to tell the stranger that one of the five was a child in life. He would have been refused. Morals and emotions, those were necessary evils. Yet he himself couldn't do it, couldn't put an end to this abomination, this corpse that walked. He just kept walking away, walking along the perimeter of the shop, and he felt his tears begin to flow...

Diana had followed the two strangers along the roads, doing her best to keep out of sight. She crouched behind another car as they came to a stop in front of a department store. She could just make out them speaking about flushing out the "Zacks" that were in there. She wanted to join them, but wanted to see what skills they had to offer first. She saw the bigger looking bloke go around the back, presumably to block any other entrances.

She jumped as the man with the glasses suddenly started shouting, trying to draw the Zacks out. She saw the shuffling of the Zacks and smelled the rotten decay. She hated that smell. She observed the man take one's head clean off with his strange weapon. She began to rise as his blade became embedded in the second Zack's skull. He eventually rid himself of that one too. Then came the third, a child that couldn't possibly be older than two. She could feel her eyes well up with tears and glanced at the man again. He seemed to be having a dilemma. It was obvious he didn't want to harm the child, if it could be called that anymore. He was dodging away from it. He refused to take up his weapon against it. I have to do something. He'll become exhausted if he keeps it up. she thought

She made her decision and took up her bow. She grabbed an arrow from the quiver and aimed for the little Zack. It was never hard to take a Zack down with an arrow. They were never fast-moving and had a predictable pattern of where they would go. Always after us. and with that thought she let the arrow fly. The arrow embedded itself into the child's temple and it dropped. She went to retrieve the arrow back from the now permanently dead Zack. Arrows were few and far between, even more so than gun ammunition and she didn't have many resources to make her own.

After plucking it from the child-Zack, she looked at the man with the glasses. "I don't like to kill the small ones. It always breaks my heart when I have to." she said with a small sad smile. Turning away from him, she said "I'm Diana, Diana Tanashiba. That's a handy weapon you have there. I don't think I've seen one outside of old Kung-Fu movies." She didn't sound cool like she hoped. Her voice was shaking along with the rest of her body. It always rattled her when she had to kill a Zack.

Whisper let out a squeak of terror as she heard a voice from somewhere else in the store. She quickly scribbled the word 'hello' down on her notebook, just in case she came across this person. Cautiously, she proceeded to travel through the store, peering down each aisle for both humans and zombies. Each aisle she passed within the store remained the same- ransacked.

A mess of everyday items lay on the floors everywhere, just like in the movies. Whisper desperately wanted to call out, but she found that her lips were sealed, her tongue frozen in an invisible block of ice. She held her pathetic weapon in a tight grasp, ready to strike anything that so much as blinked. It was then that she spotted somebody on the other side of the store, an odd orange haired girl who looked to be a bit younger than her and about the same height. She smiled happily, hopeful in having found a friend in this desolate world.

Gabriel's heart raced up until the very second he heard the survivor start screaming. He was close enough to the zombies inside that he could hear them. He could hear their ragged, labored breathing. He could hear the sounds of their wet eating as they chewed on the flesh of the recently deceased. To this day, that last sound made his stomach turn. But there was nothing he could do now. Readjusting his grip on the mallet, he exhaled and then began to shout.

He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say. Being the immature college kid that he still was, he said the first anger-fueled thing that came to his mind: "Come out, come out, pieces of undead SHIT! I'll ring your necks, every single one of you!"

When he was done, his heart beat harder and faster than ever against his chest. He couldn't hear anything past it. Then a moan came, right at the door frame. It sent Gabriel's body shivering, but he kept his focus and his grip on the mallet. A hand and part of an arm latched onto the door with a weak grip. Most of the arm was covered by a long-sleeved shirt that had been rolled up to a little below the elbow. The skin visible had taken on a sickly yellow and green hue. Bones were poking out in various places of the hand, and the skin around the dry open wounds had turned black. Gabriel let his adrenaline run as the undead continued to limp its way through the door.
As soon as its head was in sight, Gabriel prepared to swing. The creature's eyes looked surprisingly normal, instead of the white he was so used to seeing, with the exception that they rolled around in their sockets and never truly seemed to focus. Before this could unnerve Gabriel, he swung the mallet right over his head and onto the skull of the undead. He could feel the skull break through the vibrations of the hammer, and if he wasn't dead then he was getting there. Gabriel quickly brought up his foot to kick the zombie aside before the second one arrived. It couldn't be far behind.

Gabriel remained in position with his mallet raised, waiting for the creature to limp through the door. He heard or saw nothing, though. For what seemed like minutes, he stood there. His arms were growing tired. Had this second zombie joined the larger divide and gone after the other survivor? He was too afraid to peek his head around the door frame to look. It was during this time of eerie silence that he saw the first zombie he'd killed wasn't dead. Close, but not quite. In agonizingly slow movements, it was trying to use its arms to drag itself to Gabriel. He wouldn't get anywhere close. By the time it would, Gabriel would have already left.

Out of nowhere, the second creature burst through the door frame, a more frantic moaning ensuing. Gabriel staggered two steps back, in shock. This zombie was brand-spanking-new! Its strengths were still damn near human! The only thing that wasn't in tact was one of its arms, which was completely missing from the shoulder. With fully in tact legs it began sprinting towards Gabriel, grunting and moaning all the while. He shouted an obscenity at it. Several, actually. Gabriel ran in the direction of the woods behind the store, trying to gain enough ground to face the undead. He finally seemed to, and he blindly swung the mallet as he turned. Gabriel stood there trying to catch his breath as the zombie fell to the ground, completely brain dead.

Gabriel couldn't help but start laughing. It started out with a chuckle, and built up to a fullblown healthy laugh. For a moment he couldn't stop himself. He placed his hands against his knees and bent over. By the time he stopped, he had to take a few deep breaths. Standing up, he sighed. What a life today's world had forced him into. He kicked the corpse in the stomach before stepping over it. "You haven't gotten me yet, you won't get me still."

Walking back to the front of the department store, he gave the other survivor a thumbs-up, still too winded to shout anything. For a moment he thought there was another zombie after him, but it seemed he had found another survivor. Gabriel paid no attention to the third zombie corpse, smaller than the rest. He automatically assumed it was a little person, it never crossed his mind that it could be a child so it never bothered him. "Another survivor?" He chirped up as he approached. A woman, this time. It'd been a while since he'd seen a woman that wasn't undead. "I'm Gabriel," he introduced himself. He didn't bother smiling. The blood from the zombies he had just killed was still wet on his shirt, and it didn't really put him in the smiling mood. Gabriel shut up when he realized that he had interrupted a conversation between the two. He cleared his throat and looked back to the building, ready to find food to put on his stomach.