+dead..men..walking+

(We are not presently looking for new characters, but please feel free to watch. If a spot opens up, this post will say so. Please also see our ooc thread:
http://www.roleplaygateway.com/men-wal-kin-ooc-thread-t9203.html
)

--

(Be advised that this is an introduction, and is much longer than I generally post. )

--

"Valence Morgan Spencer," he signed, smiling as he handed back the autographed sheet to the non-entity across from him. In his mind, he saw flashing, bulbs in cameras lighting to imprison his being. There were no photographers. He was no celebrity. While he could dream of being some famous actor so much as he pleased, the reality was a hair more trite; Spencer was a notar. But his signature had, or so he mused, the weight of God. He had the power of a deity, could cause Chaos! with the flick of a pen. Or so to speak. In his own mind, Spencer was an -important- man. They -needed- him. He could indulge in fantasies of (in)famy for his 'public service' enough to be adequately blinded to the reality of his humdrum existence. For all that he thought he was worth, Spencer was a boring, unimaginative, uneducated, self important twit. He lacked the creativity to grasp that he grappled with an uncaring audience under a dead Heaven. So inclined was he toward his naivete, that he walked home, daily, under the impression he might be robbing pretty girls of the opportunity to meet the man of their dreams, if he did not. He was too dillusional to recognize that the world really was against you, and they really didn't care.

And so he walked, every day. On this particular day, after signing a death certificate (hum) of some anonymous, but no doubt grateful suitor, Spencer chose to go home early. He'd not brought anything to work, and so had nothing to bring home. Nothing to defend himself with. But that was ultimately irrelevant. It was his sense of self importance, and lack of creativity that would serve to damn him.

It was a chill evening, despite the vestiges of afternoon sun still spilling gossamer gold along the streets. Spencer had no jacket. it annoyed him that cool breathed so thick against the beauty, making the walk home surreal, uncomfortable. Normally he wore a suit, custom tailored, but he'd chosen to try something more casual for Fridays' tradition. Never again. Spencer raked thin fingers through cropped brown hair, a frown creasing his lips both for the weather and an article he noticed in passing a newsstand. One of the UFO chasers had some article about skeletal animals roaming the land. Of course, the headline was an interview with Big Foot. Rubbish. Even though the photos of the animals had a realistic cast, adding to their foolish allure, Spencer knew they were trash. He found it obnoxious that anyone could make money with such garbage. His step quickened in response to the annoyance that set in his jaw. He was no longer so jovial, so dreamy, as he had been at work.

Spencer turned a corner. And froze.

There was a body. A -corpse.- In the middle of the road. (And it had been such a gentle, quaint neighborhood.) Fear rippled in cold twitched along his spine, splicing his stomach with spikes of icy dread. Spencer gagged back bile that rose to his throat in response to the intrusion to his belly (there wasn't room for all that fear, and stomach acid, too.) Instinct told him to run, but his eyes were riveted to the body. Which twitched. Spencer gasped as the mans eyes flared open, yellow, sallow, -wrong.- But the man stretched a hand toward Spencer, and issued a low, hurt groan. Spencer started, stepping back, before inspiration struck him. He would help this chap, who had obviously had a heart attack and been left for dead (hence the pallor of his flesh) and then.. gnawed upon by some wild animals. Or a dog or. Something. The fellow was obviously in pain, and in need of immediate help. Upon saving his life, Spencer would be a celebrated hero.

A celebrity.

Thrilled, Spencer swallowed back trepidation, and fought forward to the man. He reached for the beseeching hand, unsurprised when the man pulled at him. It was apparent he needed help up, could not support himself. Spencer gladly leaned in to the victims needy arms, hoping to grasp him about the middle and lift him, carrying him to safety. (It had not occurred to him that an ambulance would be more proficient, and, anyway, the dramatics would add to his Heroism!)

Uncertainty of the conscious sort only began when the hand clutched into a vice, and hot breath, rancid with an unrecognizable odor, rang against his neck, gooseflesh rising awkwardly under the plume of stale heat. But Spencer did not pull away. He mused that the low moan that issued with the breath was a thank you. And when the serrated gray lips pulled away from discolored teeth, he imagined it was a smile of gratitude. (Perhaps he was a trifle creative...) It was when those teeth dug into his throat that Spencer realized his fear, and thrashed and flailed with sudden adrenaline at the pain and sudden warm moisture spreading from the (bite?). But the hands, such weak looking hands, did not relent.

And he would have been a hero.

He was not so unimaginative to suppose he would be so lucky as to survive. He was just sufficiently uncreative enough to ignore the true nature of the man he'd been, in his mind, calling a victim.

He did not understand the true horror of the bite. But he did realize, in the same fashion of stupid last words, that he had maybe been reduced from Mr. Spencer, as they called him, to Valence, a frightened young boy, who may have, or may have not had complete control of his bladder. He did not know, because the world had taken an interesting black hue before the thought had been fully formed.

--
The disappearance of one Mr. Spencer went unnoticed for perhaps two days (which he would have thought impossible); no bodies were found. The notar was recognized as missing by his cousin, when he did not arrive for their lunch Sunday afternoon. Liam Tenor knew his cousin to be meticulously precise. When he did not surface by Monday, a report was filed. Liam had been uneasy to learn there had been four other such missing persons reports filed in the last week. As Tuesday succumbed on the horizon from a dark bruise to a baleful pale dawn, Liam woke, under the chirping of an alarm. He expected no news. These things never ended so quickly. He was not disappointed.

Liam readied for work reluctantly. His car was in the shop. He dressed, artfully, black slacks and black dress shoes, with a top three degrees warmer, albeit without the finishing jacket and tie. He enjoyed the partial formality, and casual air it employed all at once. It was important to look professional in his line of work, without being overtly so. He was an apprentice, of sorts, for a psychiatrist. A secretary, when he was not learning. Liam finished dressing with a glance in the mirror, pushing his glasses up his nose. Hie eyes held some secret fear, foreboding. He looked away, and hurried out, gray lies in slate eyes. He did not brood over it. He had a bus to catch.

Outside, the wind stirred, fingers of livid air murmuring through raven locks. Liam crept like a shadow, lost and uncertain, under the impression that something was off. The bus chortled, issuing a dark puff, and stopped for him. He boarded, and was rewarded with the slender traces of a medium populace; besides himself and the driver, there was but one other occupant, a short, balding man, with almost as much girth as height. His skin looked like wax, illness leeching his color. His eyes danced wildly with fever, a sky blue against the crimson tint of angry veins crosshatching the open space. Wire framed glasses magnified the mans wild gaze. He mumbled to himself, and Liam shivered despite himself, under the guidance of a soft symphony of, "The hospital, hospital," his voice harsh, grating. Liam traced his figure with morbid fascination. The mans pudgy fingers were fixed to a wound on his shoulder. And all the while he cradled his injury, his free hand ran against his arm, nails biting into the flesh until it piled underneath. And was he bleeding? The red streaks were obvious, but it looked gummy somehow, looked --

The bus lurched, and Liam was forced too seize a hand bar, to remain seated. One hand moved to press his glasses back into place, and his eyes shifted toward the man, his pulse beating a tattoo in his ears. Something screamed at him, wrongness ripping through his mind. When he looked again, the pudgy little man was doubled over on himself. His stop came, and Liam found himself quelling an uncertain terror. He all but fled the bus as soon as the doors opened for him, guilty for the pleasure he got when the vehicle spasmed, and died in place. But outside of the bus, he felt little better. He'd anticipated relief when the bus reanimated and crawled away. But instead, his fear intensified as he was left stranded, leaving his palms damp, but his mouth dry.

Something was wrong. The silence told him so. Even early morning, when few were even awake, the silence was thick, and heavy. It draped about the sleepy town as if it had always been there, with a weight like death. Liam wondered what was happening in his small Willow Creek. He tried to convince himself it was just worry for his cousin, but the idea faltered, and died in his mind. If he wasn't so early for work, perhaps he could have quelled the notion, and hurried off.

But he stood in place instead, staring down well lit streets as if they ought to be obscured by fog. Shaking his head, Liam finally dragged himself away. He glanced over his shoulder one too many times on his way to the office.

It was a lonely walk.

Zach awoke to the incessant buzzing of his alarm clock and looked at the time. It was six o' clock and he got up, rubbing his eyes, He went to the kitchen of his small one bedroom apartment and put some water on to boil.

He took two small energy drinks from the fridge, glugging down one and pouring the other into the pot. He grabbed his work clothes off the floor and sniffed them "Damn these smell like shit!" he exclaimed. He grabbed the bottle of febreeze off the counter and gave the garments a good spraying. Looking around he opened his thermos and grabbed a hand full of coffee grinds from a small bucket, throwing them in.

Zach looked at the clock. "I guess I better get goin' now." he said to himself as he put on his work clothes and poured the hot water into his thermos. Zach shook the thermos a bit and began his long walk to the aluminum foundry.

He looked around at the streets, the few cars driving by. He liked it this early, when the sun was just coming up and the town was dead silent. The silence was broken by a low groan and Zach looked to his right to see a partially decayed man shambling towards him. "Ohshi-" was all Zach said before taking off, running as fast as his legs could take him.

Mike's alarm buzzed at him until he hit the snooze button for an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. Then again a six it rang again this time he slowly sat up turning the alarm off as he rubbed his face. His two bedroom apartment was a mess stickers and paper strewn across the floor.

Mike walking into the bathroom to take care of natures calling as he finished he glanced at the mirror looking at himself. He was average height and had broad shoulders. His light brown beard came down to a point just below his shoulders which looked funny when paired with his shave bald head.

Now dragging his feet into the kitchen he set two pop tarts into the toaster and as he waited for them to heat up he checked his e-mail for skate demo's and a few fan letters. Mike turned off the computer and pulled a Monster Energy drink out of the fridge and grabbed his pop tarts as he walked out the door.

Now in the car Mike turned up his music and drove to his morning skate session as he munched on his breakfast. Mike drove down the street and he saw some people running down the street terror in there eyes screaming, crying. Then limping around the corner came a man covered in blood.
" Zombies, wait there's no such things as zombies. What the f!*K is that." Mike never would have imagined this day in his wildest dreams. The beast drew closer.

As Zach ran he saw a zombie desending on a car. Still running full speed he tackled the zombie and proceeded to beat it upside the head with his thick metal thermos, finnally after breaking the skull in many places and destroying most of the brain the zombie stopped trying to eat him and went limp.

Zach stood up and looked at his thermos, it was bloody and dented. "Son of a bitch, you dented my thermos." he said as he kicked the zombie to make sure it was dead(er). "Hi, my name is Zach Mixduerm. I just saved your ass. Now can I get a ride?" Zach said to Mike as he wiped off his thermos.

Jameson Toliver
Early Tuesday Morning
His House/KWCT Studios

Jameson looked at the open carton of Marlboro Smooth cigarettes sitting on his dresser as he opened his eyes for the morning. James rolled quickly over and plucked a fresh pack out of the box, as he walked from his bedroom James stretched, trying to shake the morning fog.

James tapped the un-opened cigarettes against his palm before scratching open the cellophane in a few quick motions. As James made his way through he kitchen he snatched up his now signature KWCT Zippo off of the table and flicked it once while opening his balcony door.

This was how James greeted every morning, a yawn and a cigarette. Of course, that was the life of the morning radio producer. James took several long slow drags of the mentholated cigarette before putting it out in an ash tray that mysteriously never seemed to be knocked of the railing that surrounded his balcony.

James was showered, primped and dressed rather quickly because it took very little work to get ready to be seen by no more than six people in the course of his day. James pocketed his cell phone an extra pack of cigarettes and his Zippo before headed out the door.

It was a quiet morning, but then again it was no later than four in the morning. James removed his cell phone from his pocket to be sure; satisfied that the time was indeed 3:57 James replaced and continued his one block stroll to work.

James arrived at the door to his work and entered his employee number on the keypad to the left to get it to open. Strolling past the most of the first floor, James did notice on his way up the stairs that Vern, a man who James wasn’t sure had a real purpose at WCT was not present as he was most mornings. Shrugging it off as he entered the control room of KWCT James looked to his left and in the news booth stood, Bob, who had been with the WCT family 52 and half years.

“Morning Bob, what’s the lead?” James said down an inter-studio line, used for planning and technical communication.

“Don’t ya know, those weird people walking the street, saw one on my way in. Didn’t seem really harmful if you ask me, but I just report what I see.” Bob said as he pushed a few buttons on his own control board.

As Bob mentioned weird people walking the streets James automatically jumped to one thing, “Probably just homeless folk, Willow’s been known to have ‘em around.” James paused, smiling “I’m glad they are finally making the news, maybe now the police will do something about them.”
Bob laughed, “Yeah, that’s true.” Though James thought he heard something in Bob’s tone that had the old man convinced they were more than hobos.

“Show time” James said as the two host of the morning show entered the studio across from him, in truth he enjoyed working for Dick and Ross but one day hoped have his own seat in the ‘talent studio’. ‘Talent Studio’ James thought looking down at his control board with disgust, that’s how they labeled it for the seven years James had been working here but it still made him sick. Like his job didn’t take talent, if it weren’t for him Dick and Ross wouldn’t know what to do.


James pushed a few buttons and adjusted a few levels as he prepared to start the open music for the first news cast of the morning and even though he and Bob had talked about it a bit earlier it still seemed eerie to hear.

“I’m Bob Richmond with Willow Creek’s First News; KWCT is receiving reports of unresponsive, unaware and sometimes violent creatures walking the streets of Willow Creek this morning. While these creatures may appear human upon first glance you are urged to stay away from them at all costs. Willow Creek Medical is still trying to place the source of this outbreak. KWCT will be the first to let you know when more information becomes available.”

James a little at the actual words, but what was more disentitling than the vague words coming out of Bob’s mouth was the fear that seemed to crawl over his face as he read. Jameson knew he had to find out more by mornings end.

5:34 AM. David Houston's Apartment

The pleasant sizzle of eggs filled David's kitchen as he worked through his morning ritual. Chopped peppers of all kinds were on a cutting board next to the stove, and David had just put some coffee on the pot. Culinary manuals from his father's book store littered the small apartment kitchen. David reached over the counter and clicked on his radio to pass the time while the eggs slow cooked.

"--edical is still trying to place the source of this outbreak. KWCT will be the first to let you know when more information becomes available.”
"...Outbreak?" David thought to himself. "Must be a repeat from earlier this morning...where's my music?" KWCT was David's favorite station. The news was always relevant, and the music wasn't that bad either. They usually played news at the top of each hour, and hearing it now was slightly unnerving.
David scattered the peppers into the pan and neatly folded the egg before sliding it onto his breakfast plate. "Perfect." he thought, before taking the first bite.
One well-cooked omelet later, David was out the door. In front of his door there was a note:

David,
Your father is feeling sick today, so it's just going to be you at the store until he starts feeling better. Remember to bring back the books you 'borrowed' so we will know what to order when we run out! Also, David you HAVE to remember to unlock the front door! We can't sell books if all of our customers think we're closed!
Love you,
-Mom

David sighed as he folded the note and stuffed it in his back pocket. Then the word 'outbreak' rushed back into his head, as well as what the note said about his father. David hustled down the stairs and got started on his short walk to work. It wasn't light out yet, and the air was cool as ever. David wasn't afraid of the dark, but the silence of these mornings always gave him he creeps. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, 2 blocks to go. Almost there...

Mike watched as the man brutally beat the brains out of the nearly lifeless creature limping towards him. After the man said his name mike held out his hand.
"Names Mike, I'm heading for a skate session but hope in."
Mike tossed the skateboard that sat in the passenger to the back. As soon as Zach shut the door mike was off towards his demo.
"So what the hell are these things? Zach and how do I know you didn't just burtally murder some innocent person."
He drove past several more zombies on his way towards the indoor park were his demo's were held.

"What kind of innocent person has blood all over them and are partially decomposed?" Zach said. "Well, if this is what I think it is, I'ma hafta get some stuff from my work. Meet me at Willow Park at five pm" he said right before opening the door and rolling out of the car. He got up quickly and began walking into the aluminum foundry.

Inside, Zach grabbed a couple backpacks hanging from the wall, one labled "Jimmy" and the other "Bill". He walked around, grabbing a few hammers which were scattered across the floor. Finnally he found what he had been looking for. A small propane welding torch. He shoved it into his pack with the hammers smiling.

Suddenly a scream pierced the stagnent air. "Jimmy!?" Zach exlaimed as he ran towards the source of the scream. What he saw was a horrible sight. Zombies scattered across the floor with various holes in their heads from what looked like a hammer, and there in the middle was Jimmy. He had been bitten and had slit his own throat. Zach rushed to Jimmy, holding his hand to the self inflicted wound. "I got em Zach....." Jimmy said "Ssshhh, Don't talk, save your energy you'll get out of here." Zach assured. "You allways were a bad lier." Jimmy said as he faded out of existance.

Zach looked around and walked up the steps to the HAM radio in the managers office. Zach still didn't know why the manager had insisted on installing one in there, but now he was glad. He tuned in th the local frequency and click the talk button. "This is a call to anyone out there, Willow Creek has been infected with a plague of some sorts. It seems to turn people into zombie like creatures. If you are still alive at five o' clock PM meet at Willow Park." was all he said before clicking off.

As he walked down the stairs he spotted Jimmy, now up and shambling. Jimmy turned to face him, groaning, and began to walk towards him. Zach kicked Jimmy down and crouched. "I'm sorry Jimmy." he said before putting a hole in his head with a hammer. Zach then walked down to the break room and smashed the coffee machine's lock off, exposing it's inner workings, Zach merely grabbed the jug of brewed coffee and stuck it in his other pack. He then smashed the cigarette machine and finished filling his pack with them, taking a pack out for himself. He then began walking out of the foundry and towards Willow Park.

David shut the door behind him and checked the clock. 5:59, about an hour before the store would open. In the cafe section of the store, David started brewing some coffee for the early crowd. He started unpacking his satchel of books and placing them on their appropriate shelves, a task that took the better part of his morning before opening time.
At exactly 6:30 David turned on the interior lights of the store. He raised the metal screen in front of the glass doors out front in preparation for opening time.

David walked to the back of the store to open the register and straighten up the sitting area. Someone knocked at the door while his back was turned. David sighed.
"Who really wants a book so badly that they have to bother me at 7 in the morning for it?" He thought. Looking at the clock, the store wouldn't be open for another five minutes. The impatient customer knocked again, this time almost violently.
"What the hell..." David thought. "I guess it can't hurt to open early." He turned and headed for the front of the store. As he approached the glass, he realized just how empty the streets were. Not only that, but the impatient customer had given up on trying to get in. There was no one in sight.
David unlatched the glass door and thought to himself about how slow things would be today. He poured himself a mug of coffee, grabbed a book on car maintenance and sat behind the counter.

Jameson Toliver
Late Morning/Mid Day Tuesday
KWCT Studios/ Taco Brothers Restaurant

Jameson started the last set of commercials to end the Dick and Ross Show or as he and some hardcore fans of the stations referred to it, DARS. Next up was Glenn Beck but James didn’t care, it was his job from now until about noon to help his hosts prep for the next days show.

“Nice show this morning boys.” He said as he met Dick and Ross in the hall on the way to the conference room.

“You kept it smooth as always James, nice work.” Dick said and Ross gave a nod as if to second the statement.

“Anything new I should know about before we get down to show prepping?” Jameson asked as he took a seat at the table in the conference room before removing a cigarette from his half empty pack from this morning.

“Only this…” Ross said speaking through his own cigarette pursed in his lips, sliding what appeared to be a type of palm pilot to James. “…Boss man says you’re far too unavailable and they’re going to foot the bill to reverse that.” Ross laughed.

“If you know anything about me Ross, you know I like my unavailability.” James echoed Ross’ laugh pocketing the device. “Anyway…” James said, lighting his cigarette, “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Well, I’d like to get a caller topic on these Zomb-“ Dick made to say before the Morning News Anchor and News Director Bob Richmond stopped him by entering the room.

“Let’s hold off on the Zed word boys, Remember, we want to uphold credibility and a large portion of our listenership don’t believe in Zombies.” Bob took a seat at the head of the table.

“Right, thanks Bob. Creature Call-In Sounds better anyway.” Dick finished sounding slightly defeated.

“Speaking of these creatures,” James chimed in blowing a large smoke ring in the air, “Has anyone gotten a picture of one yet?’

“Not that I know of,” Ross conceited, “Though I wish they would I’d like to get one up on the web. Bob can you put one of your reporters on that?” Ross said, ashing his cigarette before looking in Bob’s direction.

“It’s a little iffy but I’ll try…all for radio as they say.” Bob gave a forced chuckle, but his apprehension was noticeable.

“We’d appreciate it Bob.” Jameson snuffed out his cigarette.

Other than the Creature Call-In James would have to say that the meeting was pretty standard but there was something about those creatures that brought eeriness to the room. James refused to admit it, at the very least it wasn’t going to ruin his lunch.

James left the Willow Creek Talk Studios to go to a local taco shop that he often had lunch at after work. James walked in and he was greeted with a wave and a friendly smile.

“Give me the usual Betty, extra lemon today. Also if you get a minute can we talk?” James said, swiftly passing the counter to his preferred seat packing his cigarettes against his palm as he awaited his large glass of sweet tea.

Mike watched the strange man jump out of his car and walk off to his place of work. Mike made his way to the demo place and back up his car into the parking spot. When he opend the door he noticed a few large cracks in the glass.
"Probably from an angry skater." He told himself.
He walked the front lobby receptionist area was empty so he let himself in to the skating area. He opened the door to a horror as a the demo crew were cornered by two of the rotten flesh creatures they defended themselves with anything they had skateboards, video cameras, light stand, and anything else.
Seeing David his video manager bring pulled off a quarter pipe by these things he ran over to his and beat it over the head with his skateboard. He continued to bash it's head even after it fell to the floor.

Zach arrived at the park and sat down on the side of the fountain. He pulled out his thermos, pouring a cup of the luke warm coffee inside. Looking around he spotted a zombie shambling towards him. "Damn these things are slow." he said, taking a sip of his coffee. His eyes were suddenly drawn to a flash of light from the zombies chest. "OOoo shiney." Zach said in a cartoonish voice. He picked up the metal pipe he had set down and threw it at the zombie. The zombie caught it straight in the head and it fell over with a sickening thud.

Zach set down his coffee and went to see what the light had reflected off in the zombies pocket. Reaching in his hand clasped around a zippo lighter. "Bingo!" he said, pulling it out and making sure it worked. He pulled out the pack of cigerettes from his pocket, tapping it on his palm before unwrapping it and taking one out, holding it limply between his lips. "Thanks buddy." he said, patting the zombies chest and lighting his cigerette.He walked back to the fountain and finished up his cup of coffee, looking around at the city.

Liam employed the building with a casual stealth, light to step but not flamboyantly so. He moved with something like grace, dodging simple superstitions in his elevated uncertainty, simple things like cracks and ladders, though there weren't many in the egregious building. They kept it immaculate, from opalescent marble floors that shimmered and shined, casting the ceilings reflection as you passed upon them, chandeliers supported upside down in the dreamscape phantom mirror. Liam payed little heed to the opulance as he drew through it. The building, though spacious, was quiet, unnervingly so. He passed through the warm light searching for signs of life, but.. There weren't many. Not that the morning frequently yielded several workers. And he was significantly early. That in mind, Liam hurried toward the stairs, heels clicking a tempo that seemed to measure out the seconds as they passed.

The air seemed obnoxiously frigid in the stairs, as if the ambiance was wrong. And it probably was. Despite the fine decor of the "Family health" centers' lobby, the stairs were cement, with iron bars twisting from them to guide those who were wold enough to make the attempt. Liam was under the impression he could hear dripping. Distaste claimed his lips. His fingers brushed through his hair. Level one, the lobby, reception desk, and waiting room. It also house pediatrics and care for the elderly, obviously in place for those who might not last the duration of the climb, not that there wasn't an elevator.

Level two chambered Dentistry, Three was medical, and four was psychiatry. He climbed unthinkingly, almost disappointed when the door to hive level was unobscured, and the hall beyond equally deserted. He pattered along to his own desk, and sat and waited, and was addressed by the good doctor and patients as he had expected. And life had not ground to a stop, as he had supposed. In fact, it seemed more or less normal. The irrational fear twitched idly in his chest, but Liam didn't acknowledge it. He worked a short shift, as he always did, sat in for one session with a guest who did not mind, and then found himself dismissed. It was midmorning.

Outside again there was a hubbub of life, gentle and naive. Despite himself, Liam stared through the hollow streets, animalistic need seizing him to condense the disbelief that, apparently, nothing was going to happen. The man on the bus had just been a man on the bus. A little sick, perhaps, but.. He'd had a real hospital to go to, it would seem, rather than a health center. The idea drove a wedge between his lips, cracking a smile upon them. Just sick. Liams fear had certainly been the reward of a night too late studying, and his subconscious desire not to get sick himself. He was no germophobe, but there was so much he needed to get done.

Shaking his head at his own fancy, while whimsy pressed in on him, his mood elevated by the sheer.. Normality, Liam decided on breakfast..Or.. Lunch? There was a taco joint near by.. It would be a decent enough venture. He passed a bookstore on his way, some small family opperated place, by the look of it. After his meal, he'd venture in for a look. But he found himself at the resturaunt before he could really think too much on it, glass doors yawning to invite customers. He was invited to take a seat at a table behind a man who looked vaugely familiar, though he wasn't sure why.

And Liam placed an order for something he didn't know, forcing his mind to different subjects beyond the man on the bus, and the gummy viscera that had run from under the scratches in his arm, scratches that-- Liam shook his head. "Stupid.." He murmured to himself. He waited for his food. Perhaps after lunch, he would adjourn to the park with the book he might want from the quaint little store he had passed. With the sun gracing the streets so sweetly, it wouldn't be so bad an idea, perhaps.

---------------------Willow Sky Hotel - Kitchen------------------------------

"Did you hear the news Byron?"
"News?"

Byron swiftly sliced off the skin and, without error, separated the bones each with a single cut.

"You're joking right? Apparently there was an outbreak of some sort. That Bob guy was talking about it on radio. Supposedly we are to stay away from them at all cost."
"k"
"k? Just, 'k'? You're so cold. Don't you even care? What if its like resident evil and there is a zombie outbreak?"
"You're watching too many movies Zack."
"Whatever man, I'm keeping my santoku bōchō and my Chinese cleaver with me just in case."
"Pass me the onions"
"We can just slice them up like we do chicken right?"
"Tomatoes"
"I mean..."
"Vinegar"
"...we Are chefs."
"Bring over that beef for me will ya?"
"Are you even listening?"
"Ya. Now pass me the pork."
"You aren't listening."
"I heard you, we're chefs and we can cut zombies right?"
"but you don't believe me."
"Think about it this way. There is no zombies in reality. kapush. Done. So suppose there is, they were once normal people as well, what makes you think your motor skills are better than theirs? Plus, if they really are mindless, wouldn't they just feed on each other and wipe themselves out? Let them eat themselves and kill each other off. Just kill the last one standing. Consider it grand prize for wining the zombie tournament."
"wow, you're genius!"
"no, I just used my brain and its only hypothetical. Now quit yapping before the manager sees you."
"Hey Byron, why'd you choose to be a chef anyways?..."

David helped Mike up the quarter piper. Mike nodded in appreciation.
"So what is going on, I come in for work and my receptionist try's to eat me." Asked David
"I don't know but I heard on the radio to avoid them. We need to help the others. Go grab a new full board from the rack and two decks, then get in my car."
Mike handed him the keys, and watched him sneak off back out of the skate park and into the store. Mike watched as the zombies payed no mind to David, then Mike threw his skateboard as hard as he could at the two zombies. The two zombies turned and limped towards him. "Run" He yelled to the others, just before he sprinted out towards his car.
David followed Mike instructions he grabbed a new skateboard just like Mike old one, two of the heaviest decks he could find, and a small tool set. His thoughts raced back to earlier in the day when his life was being threatened by his receptionist zombie, then to when Mike saved him by beating it down, he felt nauseous and light headed. He unlocked the car tossed the stuff in the back and threw up out the window, just before Mike came out and hoped into the driver seat.

David scoured the shelves for a book he had not read yet. This day was particularly boring so far. Not a single person had come by, save for the weirdo from opening hour.
With no luck at the shelves, David opted to stretch his legs a bit. Normally he would get breaks every couple of hours, but with nobody to help man the store, he had to do without that ritual. On his way to the front of the store, David saw young man walk by the front. He glanced at the store, but didn't stop to look inside. Just as quickly as he appeared, the man was gone, fleeting out of existence just like everyone else today.
As David approached the glass doors, he couldn't help but notice an unusual residue on the windows.
"I swear I cleaned them when I got here..." he thought to himself. The sickly colored fluid had dried on the glass in an unusual pattern, almost as if someone had rubbed back and fourth. Taking a step back, David noticed more marks on the glass. Hand shaped prints flanked the unusual deposit, as if someone had pressed their entire body against the door. David made a mental image of the body language it would take to produce such strange marks.
Chills ran down David's back, drying his mouth and bringing a cold sweat to his face and neck.
"What the hell is going on?" he said aloud to himself.
David snapped himself out of it. He went to the back of the store to grab some cleaning supplies. The grotesque shapes on the door would only serve to cloud his mind and drive away customers. He stepped outside and sprayed the window off hastily. The smell of the fluids was a sickening combination of bile, sweat, blood, and a myriad of other unsavory scents.
David threw the soiled paper towels into a nearby trash bin. As he opened the door to head back inside a piercing scream filled the street. David was paralyzed with fear. The buildings reverberated the sound in a way that made it almost impossible to pinpoint the source.
"Do I go check it out? Maybe I should call the police...or my parents. Oh God...dad." thousands of thoughts rushed through his head as he headed back for his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed his parent's house.
A generic operator recording interrupted his attempt. Apparently the lines were tied with more important calls, or maybe something else was blocking the call...
Almost instantly after hanging up, the phone rang. It was David's mother. They had tried to call eachother at literally the same time.
"David, are you alright?" she asked, her voice quivering.
"I'm fine mom, what's going on? The store has been empty all day...and I just heard someone scream outside."
"David, I want you to stay inside. Something awful is happening. There's a group of people trying to break in the house, and your father bit me when I went to take his temperature this morning."

"He...bit you? Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, but I locked the door on him in our bedroom, I don't think he's in his right mind. I've called for an ambulance, but there are so many cases that the hospital is getting overloaded."
"What about the people outside mom? What are they doing?"
"It's hard to say..." she said, looking out the second floor window. "They're just pressing themselves against the windows and doors trying to get in. I locked the doors and I'm just sitting up here with your father."
Suddenly, David heard a sharp cracking sound on the other end of the line, followed by several voices...groaning, yelling.
"Mom?! What the hell is going on? Mom?!"
The sounds he heard were indescribable. Screams, crunching, a flood of moaning and footstep sounds, sickening ambiance.
David hung up the phone. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't believe what he just heard. Whatever had just broken into his parent's home had paid him a visit that morning.
"The streets aren't safe." he thought. He quickly gathered his things into his backpack and threw it all behind the counter. He shut off the lights to the store and sat himself down out of view of the windows. The sunlight still filled the store, but maybe having the lights off would attract less attention from those...things.
An hour passed, boredom began to rear it's ugly head. David needed to take his mind off of the situation; he needed a good book with relevant material. David carefully ventured up one of the aisles of the store to pick up a book on survival in stressful situations, being careful to stay out of sight of the front door. Just as he grabbed the book, he heard the front door swing open. David froze, his throat closed up as he realized that he forgot to lock the front door.

---------------------Willow Sky Hotel - Kitchen------------------------------

"psss"
"What?"
"psss"
"If you have something to say then say it out loud!"
"Is that so Zack?"

The voice thundered from behind. It belonged to Josh, the manager. Rachel made a harsh expression and her message was clear enough. 'I was trying to warn you the manager's here idiot.' Quickly, she got back to her duties.

"Damn."
"What was that?"
"Nothing, I was just getting to 'them'. The ingredients for today's 'chef special'."
"..., come to my office when your shift is over. I need to talk to you."
"shit."

Byron continued to work in silence waiting for Josh to finish his patrol. The hotel was not extravagant but it sufficed for the few of them working there. There was Rachel, the only girl in the crew. She was the newest and joined only a few months ago. There was the loud mouth Zack, nicknamed seven eleven - cause his mouth is open 24/7. Then the head chef, also an old geezer maybe in his late thirties or early forties.

"Haha lad, looks like I win. I guess it would be impossible for you to get the manager to drink with us tonight then."

He was a gambler and a heavy drinker. But he has his contributions to the entertainment industry within the kitchen. Every now and then he'd think of some crazy idea to bet on. And Zack would always fall to his tricks. By the looks of it, he already has.

"Double or nothing."
"Done."

Then there was himself, Byron. His family had rejected the idea of him becoming a chef. However, it was his life. He was going to live it the way he want to. He got them their degree and sends money home regularly, what more could they ask for?

"Two more orders for the new york steak combo."
"Lets get to it."