((Note to all players: Check the OOC periodically for "checkpoint" updates. For now, the 'player objective' for everyone is to link the characters up with at least one other character. :) ))


The first thing that the cab driver saw on a cold and dusky morning in November was a large fur-lined sweater, checkered like a lumberjack and hooded in a tight circle as to fend off the harsh winds that staked their claim on the townspeople. The man in the coat was gaunt and bearded, a haunted look to his eyes that the young driver didn’t care to think about. Any other day he would’ve dropped the poor sucker off, but it was going on three in the morning, and by the looks of his large knapsack, two canteens, and a curiously dirty baseball bat that looked like it could’ve been aluminum at one point hanging off of it had him feeling sorry for the traveler.

Joe had just been back from dropping a few kids off at a bush party, something that had made him smile whimsically, and was nearly twenty minutes out of town when he offered the traveler a ride.

“I don’t have much,” the man had said. Quiet.

“Ride doesn’t cost much,” Joe replied, leaning over to open the passenger side door.

Those were the only words exchanged on the ride.

Joe couldn’t help but glance in the rear-view mirror every now and then at the traveler’s bag. It was a game he often played with himself on the late shift when he was out and about picking up the shadier and seedier of America’s citizens. He tried to identify the people’s personality traits, put a name to a face that he only saw for as long as his hands were on the wheel and his tires were moving forwards. He had gotten quite good at the game. He noticed that there was a small Canadian flag pinned to the man’s coat, he had a second pair of boots tied to his oversized backpack, itself lumpy and uneven. Joe could only guess what was inside of it.

When they pulled into the small, sleepy town, Joe dropped him off in front of the little motel. The man seemed friendly enough, but by the way that he was wincing as he grabbed his gear out of the back seat, the ease of which he handled the baseball bat (which looked a little more red than anything else, now that Joe thought about it) - it all made Joe feel distinctly uncomfortable. Joe accepted the man's fare without a word exchanged, getting a good look at those ice-blue eyes and grizzled beard.

Without a word, Joe drove away, his hands shaking slightly. He had the urge to call his wife. And he didn't know why.

--------------------------------------------

On the corner in which he was dropped off, The Canadian took a moment to open his layers, reaching a hand in to touch the spot that was causing him so much pain.

A neat little bite mark, oozing blood gently onto his fingers. Warm to the touch.

With a wince, he headed indoors.

---------------------------------------------



The light was sprinkled with particles as it shone through the living room window, amplified and changed by the cracks and splinters that spread, like a spiderweb, across the glass. Mark Santos had his eye right up to the dusty pane, through the boards and blankets that had been thrown across it. The barricade would hold, as it had for the last day. They had enough food to last a little while longer, but he had to start thinking about rationing.

It had worked like this, the last six days. Find a fortress. Lay low. Scavenge for food. Repeat. It had gone on and on, dragged for days, until he thought that he and Rachel had had enough. Last night, as he listened to her sleep - the only time she made any sounds, anymore - he thought of an idea.

Escape.

His plan was simple. Gather all those he could, any survivors still in the town, and push towards the outskirts of town. He would use the small highway where the groceries were delivered - maybe there was a truck that was crashed, something, anything with food on it. After an extensive resupply, they would head east, and keep walking until they found other cops, government officials... anyone to explain what was going on.

He heard them, sometimes. Crying and screaming, the sound of a desperate gunshot here and there. He even swore once that he heard a wolf howl. Today's mission was to find them, gather them together, and bring them back for planning, explaining.

He put his sunglasses on and turned towards Rachel, his little girl. He bent to one knee, smiling at her. "Hey, Rach. I'm headed out. You know what to do when I leave, right?" He pointed to the hammer and nails on the ground beside the door, placed delicately on a pile of wood scraps he had found on day two, when they had discovered a door couldn't hold in the horde.

At her response, he smiled, placing a hand on her head, mussing her hair slightly. He checked his pistol, hefted his roofing hammer, and walked up the stairs to the second story. It was there that he had built his entrance, safe from the... whatever. Zombies. In order to bypass the barricade, you had to climb on top of an old abandoned fridge, scrabble up the side of the house, and crawl in through a second story window.

The bedroom Mark had to leave through once belonged to a child. He could tell by the pink wallpaper and the abundance of cutesy, large eyed and very creepy stuffed animals. Mark didn't like looking at it for too long, or else he would get incredibly sad, washing over him like a wave. He stepped around the room, careful not to disturb anything, opening the window with a care not to make too much noise.

Noise and light. Things he'd learned quickly would be not-good ideas.

A quick scrabble of shoes on roofing tiles, a thump of the refridgerator smacking against his boots, and the thud of soft grass, and Mark was on the ground. Roofing hammer firmly in gloved grip, he set out into the early morning, the sun peeking out of the treeline and reflecting the glow of his digital watch, proudly bearing the numbers 7:32, with two things on his mind.

Food and rescue.

Alexander Greenhom
Day 6
Downtown – Hotel Room

Breathe. In, out. In, out. Inhale, exhale.

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Alex didn’t know how much longer he could stand listing to the moans. He knew for a fact that it would drive him mad if he kept listening. He collected his thoughts, and tried to push the moans from his brain. “Alright, Alex, think about what you know. What the guides told you.”

Being a dork-ish guy, Alex had read a few zombie manuals. Right now, his priority was finding someone else. Someone that could help him. It was dangerous to go alone, and he knew it. Getting out of here would mean having to fight the zombies. He wasn’t risking jumping out the window, and the Hotel hallways were the only way of escape. The close corridors meant certain death if Alex got trapped.

He went over combat rules with the undead in his head.

1. Avoid direct unarmed hand to hand combat at all costs.
2. The mouth should remain closed during fighting, as zombie fluid can turn a person just by getting in your mouth.
3. A lethal strike to the brain is the ONLY thing that will kill a zombie.
4. A decapitated zombie head can still bite If the brain is intact.\
5. Eh…..

Alex had been saying all of these out loud without realizing it. He couldn’t remember anything else after number four (he had also said the numbers out loud).

“All I had is my guitar and a pocketknife. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna hit a zombie with my guitar…..” he trailed off. His guitar was precious to him. While he couldn’t bring it with him, Alex couldn’t force himself to use it to bash zombie heads, either. Not that it would matter. It wouldn’t hurt the zombie in the slightest. Alex stood up. He had been sitting in the corner of the room, planning a way out. There was literally nothing useful for zombie fighting in his hotel room. Frustrated, he punched the wall. Not hard, but enough to satisfy his moment of rage.

Sighing, Alex made his way over to the door. Taking in a deep breath, he went against everything his gut told him, and turned the door knob.

Breathe. In, out. In, out. Inhale, exhale.

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

The hall way was clear. This surprised Alex, as the moans seemed to be coming from outside the door. Making as little noise as he possibly could, Alex made his way to the stairs. His room number was 504. He stopped in front of room 507. That’s where the moans where coming from. The door was slightly ajar. Quickly, Alex shut the door, hoping to not alert the monster inside. Alex listened. There was no movement. “Phew…” he uttered, and made his way to the stairs.

Natalie Whittle
Day 6
Downtown-Library

Jacob was pacing nervously. Nat was doing her best to smile and stay happy but the fact remained they hadn’t been sleeping and they had finished the last of the mouldy sandwich. Nat sitting cross legged on the floor she played with one of her curls. She really wanted to shower. Washing up in the sink of the girl’s bathroom just wasn’t the same as a full shower. “But it’s something.” Nat inwardly smiled. It’s true it could be worse.

Jacob stopped moving and turned to look at her. “Nat I think we need to leave here. There is no food left. We need to find some food. We can come back...it’s secure here but I think we really need to leave and find food.”

Natalie smiled, standing, “Sure. Besides if we are stuck in here how will they know to come get us? If we go out we can find others that are okay and then when the military or whoever comes to help we will be out in the open.” Jacob shook his head at her. “Nat for all we know there isn’t anyone else alive and no one is coming to help us.”

With a nervous laugh, Nat shushed Jacob, “Nonsense. We can’t be the only people smart enough to find shelter or to fend off...whatever they are.” The prospect of leaving cheered her up immensely. It was a bit nerve-racking to be stuck in the same building for six days, all barricaded in with no contact with the outside and no idea what was going on.

Jacob picked up his fire extinguisher. “We go out now, while there is still daylight. Take the fire extinguisher with you. We might need it. I am thinking we start by finding the closest store or cafe.” Nat gave him a smile and nodded, curls bouncing slightly. Picking up her extinguisher she followed Jacob to the door.
He started moving items from the door, Nat helping when the furniture was too heavy to move on his own. They had a door free and the two stood for a moment, almost hesitating to take the first steps out the doors. Jacob, trying to protect Nat opened the door first and stepped out. Nat, annoyed that he was being so overly cautious pushed past the man and out onto the side walk. There was nothing out there.

Well, there was the smell. Nat’s mostly empty stomach lurched. “Jacob what is that smell? It’s like...” Jacob cut her off. “It’s rotting bodies.” She turned to look at him but he was staring at something lying in the street. It was approximately where Nat had seen her friend eating the man. Her eyes went wide, no it wasn’t approximately it was exactly and that thing was what was left of the man.

“Jacob?” He turned to see her face, ghastly white. Jacob moved to stand beside her. “Let’s get moving okay Nat? “ The pair started off down the road. Office buildings and a few small cafes lined the street. They stopped at the cafes but didn’t find much of anything that wasn’t already mouldy or so far gone that it was pointless to try. They walked for two blocks before they came to convenience store. Heading in the place was a bit of a mess. Jacob headed into the back, “I’m going to see what I can find box wise to help us carry some things. You grab chips and stuff, that stuff stays good for while.”

Nat put the fire extinguisher down on the floor in front of the chip rack. Bobbing her head, Nat began gathering up some bags, “Are we going to try and take it all? That might mean a few trips.” From the back there were some odd noises and a yell. “Jacob?” Nat put the chips down and picked up her fire extinguisher again. She moved slowly to the back of the store. She peered through the window of the storeroom door. There was no sign of Jacob or anyone. She opened it, “Jacob?” Her voice was shaky but she did her best not to sound scared. There was no answer.

Nat backed away from the door and made her way back to the chips. “I’ll wait here. He’ll come back and it’s best that I don’t go far so he doesn’t think something got me.” A light laugh to herself barely hid her own worry that something had gotten Jacob.

Nat stood for a while, opened a bag of chips and ate. There was no sign of Jacob and frankly she was too scared to go into the back room. After half an hour, Nat sat on the floor and stared between the bags out the front window of the store.

“He’ll come back, I am sure he is fine...” Nat tried to reassure herself. She watched out the window for signs of another person.

Kristie Batiste
Day 6
Downtown - Near the corner of 23rd and Pine

Kristie woke lightly at 8:05 exactly. On a normal day she'd smack her alarm, grumble about only having been asleep six hours, and roll over to ignore the world a little while longer.

Today wasn't a normal day. In fact, Kristie was starting to have trouble remembering what normal felt like. For instance, she had always been a heavy sleeper. That had changed on night three when a group had broken down the door of a house she'd escaped into. She slept lightly now. She woke promptly. Things had changed. She'd changed, and as she thought about it she could feel the tick creep up the left side of her face.

"You don't have time for stupid shit like that Kim-b." She blinked it away and focused. There was work to do today. She rolled out of the borrowed bed and stretched, then crept over to the window. She was on the third floor of an old apartment complex, a remnant from the times when the town had prospered and promised growth and possibility. As she looked out the window and down 23rd all she saw was decay and silence.

The window was attached to a fire escape and she slipped out onto it, careful to not make noise. She'd found out quickly that the zombies or whatever they were loved noise. A handy trait if you knew how to capitilize on it; a huge danger if you didn't. She'd been on both sides of that trait already, and she was going to make damn sure she stayed on the good side of it from now on.

The street was clear, and none of the objects she'd mentally marked in her head had been disturbed. None of the corpses moved, either from being to torn apart to function, or from being re-deaded.

Kristie sighed to herself. There had to be a better way of putting it then re-deaded, though she supposed it didn't really matter. If she ever met another living person perhaps she could have a conversation about it. She missed conversation...

She could see the 7/11 from her perch, but unfortunately it was a little to far away to see if anyone had been there. She didn't exactly need anything from it. On day four she'd made it to this complex and holed up, barracading the door and learning the layout. She'd already raided the 7/11 several times for food and liquids and had enough to last her for a bit. Her key had let her slip in the back way, which was fortunate since there were usually a few shambling corpses milling about the intersection.

Last night though, she'd realized something she'd forgotten to do. She hadn't left a message for anyone. She sure as hell wasn't about to waltz about looking for people, but she knew she wouldn't be able to survive long on her own. She figured survivors would be attracted to the food, and especially the chance at bottled water, that the store provided. So, it was time to leave a message there and wait.

She slipped back into the apartment to down a bit of coke and a bag of funyuns. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but it gave her the energy boost she needed, and she didn't want to crack into any of the more important food items she'd procured. She figured water, beef jerky, and canned goods were going to be pretty important items soon, and she'd bet anything that those cartons of cigs were going to become a valuable trade good.

She grabbed her backpack and cleaver before slipping back onto the fire escape and slowly heading down. When she reached the ground she stayed low, hiding behind cars and being careful to scan her surroundings and keep herself alert as she headed towards her goal.

"Slow and steady this morning, baby. Slow and steady."

Heavy eyes had fallen shut yet slumber never deep enough to let such a fragile mind fall into dreams of forgetfulness. There would be no waking up with no memory of what had happened, to have thought all was a dream, no, not tonight. Paranoia was at its highest measure and fear was no longer an option. In her sleep she now thought of attack strategies rather than her parents, she thought of over looked weapons rather than work.
Fence board – toilet seat – computer screen – chain saw..Ooooh A chain saw!.

With her last trailing thought she heard a light chime far off in the distance, a bell, just a single tot – followed by a long sounding creak of wood and sticky metal. See Leeanna had strung string lines and alarmed them with small Christmas bells to make her aware of intruders – this letting her know that the door had been opened. Right about now she wasn’t willing to stick around and see if her company had been living for the only time or living for the second time, she had enough in the hotel anyway – cabin fever eating away at her - talking to herself mentally becoming too common.

Still burning eyelids snapped wide open and if the attic hadn’t been dark you would have seen those deep chocolate eyes, the ones with a small hint of a reddened honey. Heavy combat boots slid along the floor, dust and grim being pulled with them. Her lithe frame slowly shifted weight to the right, rolling to her stomach, placing her hands flat on the ground beside her breasts, push up slowly – slower – lighter – wait, how the fuck do you push up lighter?

As the living or undead moved through the building the string and bells became thicker and thicker the closer it got the attic stair well, with another bell sounding Leeanna began moving just a little bit quicker. Lifting cans she had stolen from the hotel restaurant and attempting to fit as many in her work satchel as possible. Five, only five god damn cans and a bottle of water?!

Fact is food could be found somewhere else – her tools couldn’t. Worst case scenario, Cannibalism, not like the new population will judge me.

Slowly Leeanna unlatched a small switch lock of cardboard and a half screwed in screw – desperate times call for desperate measures, she used what she had when building her small fortress. Carefully pushing upwards a flap of the roof – ply wood and shingles – it lifted to expose the sunlight of a slight crisp morning.

Shoving her bag out the flap and onto the roof her body quickly followed, and the flap was placed back silently.

A deep breath of air filled her lungs, eyes closing and long dirty waving locks of auburn hair had been quickly twisted into a messy knot on the very top of her head. The rays of sun beat down on her porcelain flesh – not that you could tell what tone her skin was – dirt, blood, and zombie decay was smeared over nearly all of her body and attire – truth is she reeked to what would be alive – but to the dead her life wasn’t as potent. Not like a thanksgiving turkey dinner for the taking – so to speak.

Long and loud moans and groans of the zombies filled the surrounding area, yet today it didn’t seem to break the peace that the morning light had brought. Coming out of her slouching position Leeanna bear crawled to the center of the roof, where she would be unseen by the lurking directly below her. With a hand held up to shield her eyes she began to scan the area, looking for an escape route or another living below.

"Where the fuck do I find a Chain saw" mumbled under her breath

Fredrick Venkel
Day 6
Downtown

A soft beam of light shone through near the top of his barricaded window, in a spot he'd apparently missed. It shone down on his face as he muttered to himself coming out of his fitful sleep. He'd been dreaming of yesterday when someone had somehow realized he was holed up in this building and had been beating on the front door.

At first he'd tried to ignore the pounding but it wasn't long before it became more panicked and what sounded like an older man began shouting.

"I know you are in there you coward! I seen you barricading this place yesterday but it was too dangerous to leave our spot! You know as well as I do you have to let me in! I'm making too much noise they will come!"

Fredrick stayed quiet for some time as the man began to beat harder and he heard a little girl clear as day.

"Daddy! Auntie is coming again! Daddy! She's coming and she's not alone!" Then the man stopped beating on the door for a moment. Fredrick scuttled closer to the door, uneasily examining it for signs of breaking.

Before he could think anything though the man began pounding with what had to be all his might. "You yellow bellied fuck! Let us in! I know you are in there! You can't let this happen!"

His heart ached for a moment, a brief moment but still a moment, before he said aloud. "And you know I can't let you in. Your little girl already told me there are things out there."

He was silent a moment before continuing, "Go away! Just go away!"

With that he turned his back to the door and listened as the man's determined pounding stopped. He could hear the man tell his little girl to run, she screamed as he guessed one of the walkers had gotten what he expected was her father. He didn't even move as he heard the girl crying and the man fighting for their lives.
He opened his eyes suddenly as his mind's eyes had finished the scene, his heart beating and his body ached. He'd had a rough few days. He'd fallen from a third story balcony and was sure he hadn't broken anything but it sure the fuck hurt. He'd had to lie still for hours in a sewer at one point and just generally hadn't been having a wonderful past six days.

Slowly he forced himself to his feet and stretched silently. His body ached and his mind was numb. The daylight was warm against his skin through the tattered clothing. His barricades were already failing. He'd never been much of a carpenter though or any good at tetris for that matter, the thought made him smile.

He moved to the door and for the first time since two days ago he peered through the cracking reinforced wood. The door had taken a hell of a beating since he got here and the incident yesterday hadn't helped. Not even ten feet from the entrance was the bloodied remains of what had indeed been an older man. From his vantage he couldn't see the little girl, which made his heart skip a beat. He wasn't a complete dick. He had truly hoped that the two would have been fine and even as he knew what was occurring he still hoped the little girl would have had the sense to run.

It wasn't long before he found himself in one of the empty offices sitting at the nice mahogany desk. The chair was an extremely comfortable brown leather series of some sort. He'd already gone through and "stolen" everything of importance only to replace them and steal them again out of boredom. Shaking his head he looked at the food he'd laid out before him on the desk. A bag of pork rinds, a can of applesauce, and half a bar of chocolate he'd found in the desk. He smiled, he was really on the up and up now. After figuring out how to open the can with his steak knife he had himself his meager breakfast.

Afterwards he found himself sitting in the front room cross legged staring at the door. His mind racing with nonsense questions and idle inward chatter before a real thought occurred. He was out of food, and had zero water. When the building had been abandoned the water and power had been shutoff and disconnected overtime due to gang use. And then another thought made fear pang through him. He was going to have to go outside.

He continued to sit there for what would seem like hours and hours but it was truly only twenty minutes before he slowly forced himself to stand and extend his hand to the lock latch. Slowly he fumbled with it as if his hand was not his own, before unlocking the door and removing the boards with a bit more effort. In the end he was standing before the unopened door silently straining to hear the slightest sound of anything so that he could retreat back into his shell. But it was eerily quiet at that moment and he couldn't even hear what had become the normal moaning or shuffling of the dead.

Trembling he reached out grabbing the brass knob and pulling the door open. Immediately he was hit with both sunlight and the stench of death. He could see the rest of the man's remains clearer then when he was peering through the hole and swallowed hard. He stepped out of the building into the warm light his tattered shirt sticking to his sweaty body. He'd worked up a cold sweat hyping himself out before he opened the door.

Quickly his situation dawned on him and the daze he was in cleared. He moved with purpose as he darted through the empty streets looking for a a home, store, restaurant that was at least mostly clear of the dead and didn't look to ransacked.

David Ramirez and Brittany "Candy" Murphy
Day six
Uptown- Seven Shells Gas Station

"Designed to Keep Your Engine Running Like New "

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• Wear protection
• Sludge and deposit protection
• High- and low-temperature protection

Try Seven Shells Motor Oil today and you'll see, the results speak for themselves!

A smirk.

David tossed the grey plastic container back onto one of the bare shelves. There wasn't much left in the ransacked gas station, although a hand full of dried jerky snacks was potentially a good find, David hadn't really stumbled upon a hidden treasure here. Thankfully enough, the windows had been boarded up, and the vending machines were useful for barricading the front entrance. While most of the food had been nowhere in sight, David was glad to see there were a few random snacks that littered the floor, and the simple selection of clothes was a welcome sight, at least he wouldn't have to wear the same thing forever.

A low moan was heard outside and David spun around. Hands tightened their grip on the long metal crowbar, four feet in length, now caked in a dry maroon. Tired, dark brown eyes darted sharply as he peered outside through a small space in the plywood. It was only one, and it was far down the road already, thankfully he was upwind of it. There was no immediate danger.

The last six days had been a complete and utter nightmare. What the Hell was going on? Was it some sick prank being played? Candy could imagine someone like Johnny Cavhill organising something like this. He was into all that sort of blood and gore stuff. "He's gunna have me to deal with when I find him." She mumbled to herself as she pushed a few clothes on a rail aside. She was sick of this.

"How am I expected to get new clothes here, Sugarmuffin? I mean, have you seen the stuff on these rails. They should be on some sort of charity rail for the homeless or something." Candy, real name Brittany called out to David. She preferred to be called Candy though, it sounded so much more exotic than plain old borning Brit, or Brittany.

Sighing, she looked around the store. She didn't even get why they were even hiding in this place. It was dirty and messy, and it looked like others had already been here. "Really, Pumpkin, can't we find the mall or something?" She moved over to him, in her favourite pair of heels - a black, four inch heel shiny pair that cost her a fortune. "Come on, Davvy. Let's get out of here." She whined, her blue eyes staring up at his in a puppy dog look as she clung onto one of his arms, acting like some damsel in distress.

A sigh.

"Brit. First, you left me for Johnson months ago, stop calling me your little pet names. Secondly, I told you, from what I've heard the mall has been taken over by some group of lunatics. Seems like they kill anyone who comes near em, Shambler or survivor." David yawned as he pulled her back to the modest clothing section. He hadn't been sleeping much lately, amongst pulling guard duty while Brit slept or the nightmares jolting him awake, he also had to deal with Brittany's clingy behavior while she was asleep.

"Lastly I want you out of those heels right now. They've almost got you killed four times now, put on some sneakers for christ's sake." Honestly, it was if God was playing some kind of sick joke on him, it was enough that hell seemed to crawl up and walk the Earth...but now he had to deal with Brit and her driving him insane.

She let out a long exaggerated sigh. Obviously things David was saying were going in one ear and out of the other. Well, almost everything. "It's Candy. How many times have I got to tell you that?" She whined. "And I'll call you what I want, sugarplum. I know you like it." She smiled, sweetly, as if she was completely innocent with everything, as if she unknowingly was driving him towards insanity. She knew he hated pet names. It drove her to do it more.

"And just so you know, I'm not getting out of these heels. These cost me nearly 600 bucks. Anyone could take them. They haven't nearly gotten me killed. I don't know why you're taking everything so seriously. I bet Johnny Cavhill is behind this. He's always into this sort of thing. Remember that time in Math class when he..." And Candy droned on with the story, refusing to take the shoes off of her feet and at the same time refusing to take any clothes from the rail. She prefered her fashionable, slightly too revealing skirt and top, rather than some granny-knitted jumper and a tshirt that were both about 3 sizes too big for her, as well as some jogging pants that looked like they could fit the whole store into them.

Another Sigh.

A hand plastered onto his face, David tried to remind himself he was doing the responsible thing by protecting this whiny, annoying, unbelievable mess that was the ditzy, big chested blonde cheerleader infront of him recalling some ancient story about a math class prank. Fed up with her resistence he picked the girl up and threw her over his shoulder, an easy feat for the College's star fullback considering she weighed no more then ninety pounds. He pulled the heels off her feet and sat her down on one of the steel fold out chairs.

"Enough Brittany. Just do as I say. I'm responsible for making sure you don't become some random creep's mid afternoon snack, although I'm unsure how full he's going to get when your head is full of nothing but air." David sighed again as he tossed a box of plain sneakers and a pair of jeans at Brittany. "And for the last time, I will never call you Candy, ever."

As David picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, she screamed, especially as he took off her heels. "David!" She screamed, only ever calling him by that when she was mad at him. "Put me down right now, or else!" She threatened. When he put her down she tried to make a grab for her heels, but he was in the way.

"I was just telling ya, it's all some stupid joke that Cavhill is doing. I bet he's got the whole town in on it. I mean, it's near April Fools right? Or is it Halloween? We're in December, right?" Candy had never really taken note of these kinds of things. "And why won't you call me Candy, snugglebunny? I call you all sorts of cute names, the least you could do is respect my wishes and call me Candy. Maybe we should start with C. Just call me C. Then we can move to the other letters."

She was an idiot.

"Brittany Murphy." David snapped. Honestly why'd he have to possess a conscience at a time like this? He could solve his problems easily and just leave her here, he stood a much better chance if he did so. She only knew how to annoy him, and the fact she seemed to be in shock about the whole situation made matters alot worse.

"What is happening is not a joke, people are dead and dying. If we stand any chance to survive this we have to use our heads, well, my head." Jeez it was like a bad joke, of all the people he could've found....it had to be Brittany.

"Now get changed, those clothes are way to skimpy, you're going to freeze in this weather. It's winter you know." He didn't bother staying to listen to her protest, and instead turned his back to her and walked off, heels in hand.

Candy just sat there speechless and watching David walk away from her. Who dared walk away from her. It was only when she went to pick her heels up that she realised he was walking off with them.

"Don't you dare get rid of them! They cost me like 600 bucks! Look after them or put them somewhere safe!" She snapped at him before carefully, with her thumb and forefinger, picking through the clothes on the rails. "I don't even know what the last person wearing these had." She grumbled, despite them been new clothes, they just weren't to her standards.

"Davvy..." She whined. "Seriously, is there nowhere else we can go with designer stuff?"

He didn't answer. Sighing, Candy finally resigned herself to having to wear these... she wouldn't even dare call them clothes... rags. Rags, definitely a better choice of wording for what was offered to her. Taking the clothes, she sighed and moved to the changing room to change.


David sighed....something he had done more in the last six days then compared to his last six years. Honestly, she made everything twice as difficult as it needed to be, he'd have to talk to her about staying quiet....something she had never really been good at. As he waited for her to change he packed the snacks into his bag along with the annoying heels, if he tossed them she'd never shut up, and he'd be damned if he got killed over a pair of heels.

Looking around he wondered how long they could stay here, supplies were running low so he'd have to go back out there...he looked at the crowbar in his hand. The front end was dyed in a dull crimson and looking closely, he picked off a fragment of what appeared to be a piece of human skull.

He remembered the three of them whose head he bashed in with the blunt tool. There was the guy who lived two doors down, he was an aspiring musician, although the term could be used very loosely. Still David hadn't disliked hearing him play his guitar, any he threw cool parties once in a while and always invited David over. His name was Roger, he wore a brown shirt and black jeans, his skull caved in with a wet crack when the Crowbar collided with the side of his face.

Then there was the girl who ran the cashier at the grocery store with her family on the corner of Johnson Ave and 3rd. She had red hair that met her shoulders, and a face spotted with freckles under her hazel eyes. He didn't know her that well, they talked once at a party, she started slipping him a pack of gum whenever he bought anything at her store. It was good gum. The back of her head split open when he shoved her to the ground.

And lastly there was that scrawny guy that used to stalk Brit. David noticed him when he went out with her, the guy seemed to always be around. Brittany was naturally oblivious to this, but David was not one to let constant sightings go unnoticed. Even whe he and Brit were not dating he noticed the guy sneaking around the bleachers during practice, and unnervingly close to the field during games. He didn't remeber the guy's face or anything about him, just how little force he needed to bash his head open.

These were the three lives David had taken so far, they would not be the last.

Candy stayed in the changing rooms longer than necessary. She had put on the clothes which were too big for her, and she could have sworn that they smelt like old people. It made her want to strip off into a shower and scrub her skin until it was red raw. She wanted to gag and vomit because of what she was wearing.

How could one girl kick up such a fuss over some clothing? Easily, she was Brit-- Candy Murphy... She knew how and when to kick up a fuss and how to do it in style!

Finally, she appeared out of the changing room in the sweatpants and sweater. "I'm going to be sick in these. I'm probably catching all manner of diseases. These clothes could have one of those bugs, you know, HUG or is it AEF? It's something like that, you know the stuff they tell us about in health class. I need to find a shower and a good shop." She complained as she approached David.

Deep down, acting like she normally did was what was keeping Candy from freaking out. She'd have gone hysterical by now if she hadn't ignored the reality of things. She just had to keep ignoring reality and all would be fine, she kept telling herself as she found David and started to cling onto him again, ignoring the bloody weapon he was holding.

David smirked a bit as Brittany clung to him. "Hey....enough of that we aren't dating anymore remember." He struggled out of her grasp and pulled on the collar of the black t-shirt he wore. "Anyway now isn't the time for such things. I'm going out there to see if I can't find anything useful or anyone still alive, I won't take long, I'm just going to peek around a bit before I come back here. You stay here and stay quiet, this place may not have alot of stuff but it's pretty good at keeping them out. There are a couple of small snack lying around if you get hungry, and even some magazines for you to read so you don't get bored."

David walked to the counter where his black motorcycle helmet sat. He picked it up and put it on, quickly sliding the transparent hard plastic visor down over his eyes. turning to Brit, he laughed, he must look pretty weird in his armored jacket and helmet.

"I won't be long, promise." He assured her as he made his way to the back door.

"You can't go out there!" Candy snapped. "Actually, you can but I'm not staying in here! Not alone. What if they get in? Or what if you don't come back? I'm coming with you." She was in a full blown panic at the thought of been left alone. She had no faith - or little faith - in the fact that he'd come back if he went out there without her.

As David made his way to the back door, so did Candy. She was pressed against his back once more, as if she was his shadow. She refused to be alone again though. She'd been alone until David had found her, and she knew that he didn't want her around, but she didn't plan on leaving his side any time soon.

Not now, not ever. "I'm not staying here." She told him, grabbing the back of his clothes as if that would stop him from leaving without her.

"Brit it's dangerous out there, I really want you to stay here where it's safe." David said trying to sound stern. The only problem was he could understand her not wanting to be alone, hell, he was afraid of being alone in this screwed up world too.

"No. I'm going with you. I can be like... a watch girl or something... whatever those people do, like in the movies. I'll watch your back, yeah, that's what I'll do." She told him. "I'm not staying here." She told him. "And stop calling me Brit, it's annoying. My name is Candy now, you know that."

"Your name is Brittany Murphy, Brit for short. And that's all I'm going to call you. I absolutely refuse to call you Candy. You know that." David sighed once more. "Fine you can come but you better be quiet and stay on top of me." Honestly, he respected her for wanting to help...but did she always have to bring up that annoying name?

"Candy Murphy." She corrected and grabbed a hold of his arm as they made to exit. She did just as he said, stayed on top of him. So much so that she was practically treading on him.

Another sigh. He didn't bother trying to respond. Instead he just opened the door quietly and poked his head outside, when he saw the coast was clear he walked out, pulling Brittany along as they went.

-Collab'd by smrtazz13 and CriminalMinds-

Kelsey Knoxberry
Day Six
Downtown - Michael Collins Park

Where Kelsey was made her feel like Simba, the Lion King. She had took shelter in Michael Collins Park one of those little plots of green in urban sprawl that some dude from the seventies thought would add a sliver of beautification to the grey and brick bastion of commerce and crime. It did, she assumed when it was first built now it was a haven for skaters, bums and kids her age to feel risqué for giving outdoor blowies. Graffiti was everywhere, the foliage was molted and unkempt and the granite benches that once dotted the grounds were replaced with hard plastic monstrosities with a armrest bisecting it to prevent indigents from resting on them for the night. The former benches were massive and deemed too much of a hassle to move so they were simply broken up where they stood, their remains surrounded the new benches like very un-zen rock gardens.

In the middle of the park was a large pond with a fountain and waterfall that created a twenty-foot curtain of water. Behind it was a little walkway that children would play behind in the daytime and perfect for obstructed drug use and teenage trysts during the night. It was a nice setup; the housing was made to look like a mountain Kelsey assumed would have been seen in North Dakota but in truth it was a fake, constructed of concrete and rebar. There was a steel access door at the bottom of the waterfall that required a key affixed with a sign that read in the three languages MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ONLY.. Yet if the water was not running, which it wasn't - one could shimmy up the mountain’s face and find an algae slicked cave with metal steps leading down to an office and the mechanical innards that kept the water moving.

She found it a good spot, high up to see if those things were around, reinforced enough that people would not disturb her as she slept and the maintenance people had the foresight to have boxes of snacks even a small refrigerator full of hotdogs, beer and bottles of water. She lay on her belly in that cave looking out at the park thinking, Everything the light touches is my kingdom. Kelsey knew her shelter was temporary; there was only enough food and water for a couple of days. She would, once in a great while see an errant zombie shuffle by but it would reach a point that if she didn’t try to escape then that manufactured precipice would become her tomb.

She heard splashing down below that wasn’t uncommon, packs of dogs used to pool below for drinking water but the sound was different, more frantic she peered over the edge and saw a young boy running from three other children. Oh Christ she thought, that's all she needs is kids to make a bunch of noise and bring the undead like bees to a botanical garden. The kid being pursued was screaming in a horrific screech, those that were chasing him were slower, more robotic almost – Fuck. She swore under her breath. One of the other children looked up at the sky and Kelsey got a good look at his face, or what was left of it. His lower mandible was gone leaving his tongue hanging down by his neck like a turkey waddle. His eyes were opaque orbs of pale blue and his left hand was replaced with ragged tendrils of meat. Kelsey felt the warm Corona and Cheez-its in her stomach jostle a little before quieting.

The juvenile zombies were on their prey and she watched them feed with fascination like a nature programme with lions eating zebras. The undead tore little mouthfuls of flesh from the boy for almost five minutes until the kid stopped moving. Poor No-jaw kinda scraping at various extremities with frustration. After they were done they shuffled off to do it again - hunt, feed, repeat. She wasn’t sure of the process but was pretty damn certain when zombies nom’d your face you became a zombie. Kelsey was not going to wait around for the little boy floating face down in the water to “wake up”. She was out.

The beer and hot dogs fist fought all the way down her digestive tract until she had to go. She hiked up her Betsey Johnson sundress, hung her bare-ass from the waterfall’s opening and let her defecate fall with little care like she was fire bombing Dresden. She wiped with the dress and let that flutter down till it came to rest on the boy’s corpse like a burial shroud. Kelsey had found a pair of navy blue cover-alls in one of the lockers and was fortunate that the previous owner “Gil” wore a men’s small. She put on a fresh pair of panties and slipped into the coveralls also reallocating a pair of the man’s socks and a pair of work boots in a laughable size 6.

She packed what she could in the stolen child’s backpack; the remaining four hotdogs, the half bag of crackers sans box, two beers and three bottles of water. She grabbed her homemade truncheon, took a deep breath and turned the inside key to open the steel door leading outside.

Geoff Matherson
Day Six
Frankie's Bar
Uptown

Seventh day on the run. One spear, one bottle of pills. No booze. Lost my pack to a walker. Three days of dry meat still in there. 'Least I still got Ghost with me. Keep hearing fucking shooting from the mall. Put--

The diary hit the ground with a thud, the pen landing beside it with a clatter. This was all forgotten as a low, desolate moan washed over the ruined interior of the bar. Geoff knew that sound all too well by now. There was one, if not more in his refuge.

The bar was too cramped for a well aimed spear. This was going to have to get personal. The knife felt heavy in his hand, clammy palms sticking to the rubber grip. It was an eight-inch kitchen knife, designed to chop vegetables, not flesh and bone. The Walker and pushed open the door Geoff had busted through not hours earlier, and was now shuffling around the bar.

It was one of the ugliest he'd seen so far. It was missing most of the flesh on the left side of it's face, one arm, and it's lower jaw. It's eyes were shot with crimson. Covering its limp, sagging form was an incongruous polka-dot dressing gown, with a Mills and Boon novel still stuffed in the pocket.

Suppressing a giggle, Geoff made a low growl in his throat, waiting for the reply that signalled the start of the attack. In a manoeuvre they had practised thirty times over the past week, the pair sprang into action.

Like a streak of silver lightning, Ghost shot from his hiding place under a table, throwing his considerable weight against the Walker's knees, causing it to stagger, its arms flailing wildly. Before it hit the ground, Geoff had looped a brawny arm around its torso, the crook of his elbow against the blood-matted fabric of the dressing gown.

The knife flashed downward, in a shallow arc, the wicked point sinking through the decomposing flesh and muscle, slipping between the vertebra of the thing's spine. The creature gurgled and sank to its knees, Geoff shivering with revulsion as it slipped from his grasp.

Bracing his foot in the small of its back, Geoff twisted and wrenched the knife, until the thing was decapitated. It wasn't pretty, but it was the only way to put them down. Time to move. The body and the blood would draw them like bears to a honey pot.

Geoff's worldly possessions consisted of a luminous pink “My Little Pony” daysack he'd liberated from a discarded pram. In the sack, he carried a bottle of vodka, two bottles of JD whiskey, a bottle of paracetamol and the butchering knife. His remaining fence-post spear was carried in his hand, ready to throw at any target.

He left the bar, Ghost padding along side him, ignoring the devastation that split the street. Pausing for a second, Geoff spread out a map of the town on the hood of a nearby car, ignoring the bullet-riddled corpses in the driver's seat. He was on the fringes of uptown, in the shopping district. The vagrant's goal was the bounteous residential suburbs of Uptown. Full of provisions, booze and pills. His next stop, however, would be the Seven Shells Gas Station.

Robin
Day Six
Uptown - Walmart

"This is a bad idea, Robin."

Glancing up from where she was crouching behind a truck, Robin turned to face the young man who crouched a few feet behind her. The girl frowned, shaking her head, "It's either this or we traipse all the way across town to find somewhere else. The coast is clear, nobody's been here for days. The initial rush of people trying to hoard food all got their faces torn off, and have dispersed by now to feast on hapless idiots downtown." With a quick look over the hood of the truck, she nodded, "Come on."

"Robi-"

"Cameron," Robin interjected, giving the blonde boy a glare, "You can stay here if you want, but we need food. I had enough to last me for another few days before you turned up. Either you help me here, or you can fuck off and find your own source of food."

Robin had encountered Cameron this morning. She'd spotted him from the window of her warehouse, while she sat reading one of the books she'd salvaged from her old flat the day after she set up shop there. Since there had been no infected around, she'd gone out to meet him. Taking him with her on this trip gave any infection present in him time to develop, rather than letting him into her stronghold and having him catch her unawares. Cameron was a medical student who had been travelling through town earlier in the week, and got caught in the mess. He seemed to be capable enough, in that he hadn't fallen to pieces, and he'd survived this long.

Sighing, he finally nodded. "Alright, let's do this if we're going to, fine. Lead on."

It was a quick and simple matter to cross the street to the door of the Walmart. Her ears trained for any sign of the infected - a falling can, a moan, anything that could spell an unexpected 'ambush' - Robin stepped through the frame of what had once been a glass door and cast her eyes around. "You go try and find anything packeted that'll last a good while. Biscuits, crackers, crisps, dried fruit. I'll go to the cans. Meet back here in ten minutes or at the first sign of trouble."

Cameron nodded to her, and they split up. It was gruesome, the scene that the superstore had turned into in the last six days. Dismembered bodies lay near the entrance and blood splatters were almost all over the place. You could tell where an infected had been by a large amount of blood, spread around the vague outline of a corpse that was suspiciously absent. Those that the infected didn't eat were usually a mess before they got back up again.

Some of the cans Robin left where they were, not wanting to risk getting her hands anywhere near the blood, let alone eat anything that had been near it. But there were still supplies there. It looked like at least one survivor had had the same idea as Robin, and the cans were decidedly low in number. But one person couldn't carry everything, and so before long she had gathered a good stock of edible produce. It was a good thing she'd had the sense of mind to acquire a can opener by day two.

Just as she zipped her backpack up, however, a sound that sent a chill down her spine echoed through the store. A scream - a male voice. Cameron.

"Shit," Robin swore, slinging her pack on and grabbing the long weapons she carried from the floor. Two poles with a blade on the end, the result of breaking apart the two handles of a pair of shears. They were weighty and sharp, and most importantly had a long reach. The further you could stay from the walking dead the better.

Robin made her way warily towards the source of the noise - there were more, moans (thankfully not too many, it sounded like there wasn't a lot of them yet, but with Cameron's scream, there would likely be more soon) and crashes. Rounding an aisle corner, Robin's eyes widened as she saw Cameron kicking violently at what had once been an old woman. She was dragging herself along the floor, her legs limp and bloody - a disabled zombie. It would have been almost amusing if it hadn't been attacking her companion.

Clenching her teeth, Robin strode up behind the oblivious creature and thrust a shear down into the back of her skull. The blade went in with a cracking of bone and sank deep into the grey matter within. When she pulled it free, the woman's head dropped.

"Fuck," Robin cursed, shuddering, "Get up. We need to get out of here, you'll have attracted everything on the block with that scream."

She turned, ready to leave, but when Cameron didn't get up to follow her she stopped, looking back angrily. "Cameron, come the fuck o-"

"Robin ..." The blonde boy's eyes were full of tears, and Robin paused mid-sentence as he spoke. His hands were on his leg, and as he pulled them back, her heart sank. His ankle was bloody. He'd been bitten. Cameron met her eyes as if pleading with her to say something that meant it would be alright.

Robin bit her lip, shaking her head, "I'm sorry, Cameron." she whispered, before turning away again and hurrying away.

"Wait!" came the cries from behind her, "At least .. at least kill me, I don't want to be like that... Robin! Don't leave me here!"

She didn't turn back though. She couldn't. She couldn't kill him. It was one thing to crack the skull of a woman that was already dead, or to break an asshole's arm .. but she wouldn't deal the killing blow to another human being. Especially when she had no way to make it quick. Death by shears was hardly a painless experience, she was sure.

Stocked up on supplies but not, unlike this morning, stocked up on company, Robin headed back out onto the streets and towards her warehouse. Alone she shook away the urge to grieve for the boy she could still hear crying until she left the store. She'd only known him for hours.

She resolved not to make any more friends until this was all over.

Dr Alex McDonald
Uptown
Day 6

"God damn it!" Alex yelled, throwing the copy of 'Rare and Neglected Diseases', the last of the books he had managed to scavenge, across the basement into the corner, where it landed heavily atop a pile of other, similarly titled books.

Alex had read every book he could find about obscure and rare diseases in the past three days, and not a single one contained any disease that matched the one which had swept River Glen in the past 6 days, in the vague hope that he would be able to discover what had caused the epidemic and make some sort of medical intervention. Yet despite his best efforts, it was becoming increasingly clear that whatever had caused the horrors on the streets above, it had never been seen before.

With a sigh, he got to his feet and walked across the darkened basement to look through the small pile of food he had left. Picking up the last bag of crisps, he opened it and began eating as he looked through the rest of the food. A can of sweetcorn, two chocolate bars and an unappetising apple were all that remained of the food he had managed to scavenge.

'Well' Alex thought to himself 'Looks like it's time to move on..." finishing his crisps, he began packing his large rucksack, arranging the wide variety of medical supplies carefully so they would be easy to access should he need to use them. He placed his remaining food in the side pockets and after a moment of thought decided to leave the books behind - they would be of no further use. Picking up the two large butchers knives from the small table in the centre of the room and gripping them tightly, he moved towards the basements exit carefully pushing the hatch open just a crack.

Peering out tentatively, Alex scanned the above coffee shop for signs of movement. Apart from the cool, gentle gust that blew in through the open door everything was silent. Pushing the hatch entirely open, he crept out. The eerie stillness disturbed him. This wasn't what he had had in my when he moved out the Big City to live somewhere quieter.
Walking to the door of the coffee shop, he leaned out just enough to get a view down the street.

Again, there were no signs of movement. Still, Alex was not willing to relax just yet. Exiting the shop, he paused for a moment to decide his next course of action.

"Somewhere with a public telephone..." he thought, hoping that if he could manage to find one, he would be able to make contact with someone who could help. Looking up and down the road, he cursed himself for not knowing the area better. There were no phone booths in the immediate vicinity and he was struggling to think of anywhere he might find one.

'Hmm,' he thought 'Where do you usually find pay phones? The Library?...no. Gas station? I suppose, but where the hell is the gas station?'

With a sigh of frustration, Alex set off walking along the street, in the direction he vaguely remembered as going towards the gas station.

Kyle Jaeger.
Day six, 7:45am.
Residential Suburbs.

Kyle carefully peeled back the thick, black felt he had taped in place over the only other entrance to the basement in which he was staying: the window. It was small, slim, ground-level and led out onto the side path leading from front to back yard. There was a thick fence separating it from the other garden and it allowed for relatively safe, stealthy entering and exiting to his temporary hideout.

It was strange to think that eight months ago, he wouldn't have even fit though that. But now look at him! He slid through like some sort of athlete; peering out to ensure that there were no Dead out there, then quietly opening it, grabbing the edge, pulling himself up and sliding through and onto the path beyond. If the dead found it, they wouldn't notice. The black Felt completely distorted any view they would have had to the inside and even if that somehow came undone, he highly doubted these things were smart enough to actually lower themselves to the ground, open the window and then slip inside.

The other entrance to the Basement was the door at the top of around ten stone steps. It led into kitchen of the house above and every morning, he routinely scouted it out to make sure his most immediate area was safe. Today, it was. He always closed the doors and windows and if anything got in, they would be open. He was just as wary as survivors nowadays as he had always been; people... He felt like he had a bad relationship with them. Yet, the basement door was safe. He wasn't so foolish as to leave it open to any wanderer who came passing by. He had locked it, then done so twice. A heavy padlock with a thick chain he found in the drawers of the Kitchen. He had also pushed the fridge and other unnecessary cabinets he could find in front of the door in the house itself, leaving his small basement dwelling quite spacious.

He had been there for two days already... This was the third. He was contradicting his own survival strategy. The one that said 'the horde moves, so you should too'. Perhaps he thought he could hide and let them past? Or perhaps the fact the previous owner had put a mattress and bedding on the carpeted floor down there was quite appealing to him. Indeed, his underground bunker had been a bedroom at one time. It even had a computer, which he hadn't dared touch. Light, noise, these were things to avoid.

Anyway! Back to the business at hand!

Kyle was equipped with a small sports back pack, a small construction hammer (held so the claw end pointed downwards - he had discovered this was more likely to take a zombie down quickly than the blunt side) and the clothes he had been wearing for the past week. Today on the agenda: he was going scavenging. A good nine hours of daylight lay ahead of him, at least. But he planned to be back in his safe haven and holed up for another 18 hours by midday.

He crept through the front garden and to the road outside, peering both ways. He saw nothing. Just cars strewn about from where people had tried to escape and the occasional splatter of blood. He shivered, morning chill getting to him while he crouched behind a car and began to peer inside through the windows. This one was clear, so he moved on. Another car checked, staying low, staying behind them, staying quiet, so as not to be found. That one was clear too. So were the next three. Before he knew it, he was at the end of the road, where it curved around and led down towards a local convenience store and a community centre. Yet they weren't his objective today, the house before him was.

It was a neat place, situated on the corner and with a large, neatly mown lawn. The door was wide open; bloody hand print on the door knob. Likely, something was inside... So he turned tail, switching his objective. There was another house, similar, but with a lawn that had not been cared for. A slob, with one of those 80s cars in the driveway that looked like it had been put through a car wash loaded with McDonald's sauces. This house was closed, windows even looked as though they had been barred. Perfect! If anyone had holed up there, their supplies would remain.

The door swung right open, quietly... Unlocked, leading to an empty hall that had three doors. One at the end, one on the left and one on the right. He went for the kitchen first. And it was heavenly! Cupboards alive with tinned food, with long-lasting goods, with tins of drink, bottles of water! This was enough food to last him two weeks, at least. To be perfectly honest, there wasn't even that much. Just four or five of each item carefully packed into the cupboard to conserve space, yet to a survivor, to a hunted of the Dead, it was like forcing himself through the desert and stumbling across a Water Park; he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or ridiculously lucky.

He went to the fridge next, but something was off... There was some kind of smell. Mild, so mild he couldn't recognize it... But it was there... He reached out, taking hold of the grey door with delicate fingers. He stopped for a moment to look at the pictures upon the fridge - a large man, a slob clearly, with his son. The two looked quite happy, leading him to believe that whatever the owner's imperfections, he wasn't the worst man around.

That is, until he opened the fridge and came upon the remains of the very same boy. Head on the top shelf, guts, limbs, fingers, neatly wrapped in clingfilm and packed in together with at least one other body. Had this been his wife? The second was a woman. Those thoughts... He turned around and leaned over; a wave of uneasiness coming over him. His body went through the process of hurling, but nothing came up. He just shut the fridge, then leaned against his own knees while trying to overcome this sudden panic attack...

Then, from outside, a car alarm started blaring... And a door on the first floor, whose user had been surprised by the noise, opened and closed it on his way downstairs...

Nothing surrounded her but twiggy winter struck trees, this proposed an issue or two – one being if she wandered through the forested area it would be very easy to become lost, second being that no leaves on the trees meant there were dried dead leaves on the ground – doesn’t take a fricken genius to know that when you walk on leaves they rustles and crack – noise.

Standing there with a look of concern on her face she made a quick check list of things she needed to find – and needed to find quickly.

‘Medical supplies- just in case, A jacket – being from the south-west coast she wasn’t prepared for the cold, A more bulky weapon, and flares.’

Wal-mart would have these things, so would any hunting goods store, even a tourist shop.

As she stood there and weighed out her options she figured a hunting shop would be the best bet, they would have all sorts of goodies for survival – but where to find it, or if Rivers Glenn even had one, who knows, and if they did – if there were any others living – how many living would she have to kill in order to access the store?

The moans and groans seemed to pick up pace around the motel as if they could hear her thoughts, feel her heart beating. With a quick turn of her head she noticed her truck, it seemed to be in fairly good shape – minus the shattered windows – and dead body on the hood. She couldn’t drive it, but maybe she had a map, or could use her GPS quickly, even get her phone to try and get ahold of Dr. Alex.

‘How to get to the car, how to get to the car…’ sneaking closer to the edge of the roof Leeanna peered down, a wide sickening smile of self-worth gleaming over each pretty feature. Slinging her bag across her torso she began quietly shuffling down the drain pipe, jumping the last four feet and landing in a crouch, those big brown eyes glistening as they stared at the backup generator, which looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Snaking towards the massive rusted piece of machinery her little fingers gripped the handle, eyes flashing to look about the area, no zombies seen - they were mostly gathered around the front door and windows, she quickly mapped out her escape, and heaved on the pull string.



Another heave, this time all her strength put into it, a pull hard enough to land her right on her ass, and the generator roared to life. The sound intoxicating, loud enough for a good mile radius to hear in such a silence of the town, good enough to draw all mindless zombies in the area.

Pushing to her feet and darting into the woods Leeanna ran east, dipped around south, and ran to the car, if they did pick up her scent it would take them in the wrong direction first, buying her some time.

Reaching her wrangler she carefully opened the door, small shards of glass hitting the ground, reaching inside she dug through her glove box, pulling out a country wide map, her steering club was gone, cellphone gone, clothes gone, everything… gone. “FUCK!” cursed as her booted foot slammed into the side of the truck in frustration.

Without another thought she tucked the map under her arm and took off down the long road she had to drive in on.

It leads to a main road, which would be a good place to start.

Alexander Greenhom
Day 6
Downtown – Hotel Hallway

Move. Left, right. Left, right. March, March!

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Alex stopped at the door to the stairs. What the hell was he thinking? He had no food. He had no weapon. Was he asleep when he read those guides!?

He needed food first. Luckily, the hotel room doors weren’t very strong. He had almost exhausted his own food supply, so his best course of action would be to loot the other rooms. Well, all the rooms except for the one with the moans inside. He’d skip that one. Alex started with room 501. He’d have to kick the door down. Luckily, these were deadbolts, and were newer, hollow-er doors. Using his knowledge of his own door, Alex reared back his leg, and kicked the part of the door near the lock (typically the weakest part) with his heel. The wood splintered, to Alex’s surprise.

Reaching inside the hole he just made, Alex unlocked the door. He heard no movement. Had most of these residents really been outside of their rooms when (or if) they turned? This room certainly had had an occupant that hadn’t checked out yet. He was met with the smell of old coffee. Six days isn’t enough for most foods to go bad, so Alex didn’t hesitate to check the fridge. He knew that these perishables wouldn’t last him in the long run, so he managed to scrape together a meal consisting of deli turkey, milk, and pickles. Not much of a meal, but it would do, for now, at least. There was nothing else he desired from the refrigerator, so he looked around the room for anything that he could use to carry things in.

It seemed that the people staying in this room consisted of a Father and son combination. He found no traces of a female. No hairdryer, no make-up. No beauty products at all. Alex wasn’t crass enough to go through their laundry, his own clothes would suffice. (Jeans and long sleeve shirt) In the smaller bedroom, Alex found a child’s back-pack, with a picture of Wolverine on the front, claws raised and extended. It was small, but he found that he could adjust the straps to make it fit him. After he opened it, Alex found that it was full of notebooks and small action figures.

“Sorry, kid.” he uttered, as he dumped the contents on the child’s bed. Alex saw an action figure that caught his eye. It was an old Moon Knight action figure. “This kid has good taste.” Alex picked up the figure, and put in the book-bag, if nothing to remind himself to thank God for the kid.

Searching the rest of the room, Alex stuffed the book bag with a Slim-Jim container, a bread knife, some sardine tins, two forks, a spoon, and two bottled waters. The book bag was ¾ of the way full.

Move. Left, right. Left, right. March, March!

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Walking out of the room, Alex realized how lucky he was. What if they’d reanimated in the room? If they hadn’t been absent? Alex shuddered. The last thing he needed was a ghoul reaching out from a closet and grabbing him. He got extremely lucky. Making his way to the door to the stairs, Alex adjusted the book-bag so it was comfortable. On the way over, he had taken the knife, and put it in his belt, in case he might need it.

With her father departed, Rachel diligently went to work on barricading the house as instructed. She hated the long hours alone, but the work gave her something to keep her mind off what lay beyond these rooms. Kept her mind off whether or not her father would return. Or at least that was Mark's intentions.

However, as the passage of time droned on, the dull thud of the hammer seemed to echo so very loudly in her ears - a steady repetitive noise that at last she could bear no longer. The faint sounds of movement and scraping from the distant streets seemed to brush her senses and inflame her imagination.

Dropping the hammer she turned and fled upstairs to the very same room her father had departed from. Closing the door and sliding a chair in front of it she huddled down in a corner behind the bed hugging her knees.

And there she sat in silence as the seconds turned into minutes and each minute seeming to linger for an eternity. Every trickle of fear dripped into a growing pool of terror that left her heart racing and her eyes squeezed shut against the thoughts that filled her head. Her father would return and things would be fine again. He would come back for her. He always came for her. Just like he did that first night...

"RACHEL!" The bellow came from the upstairs bedroom where Mark and Julia Santos spent a third of their lives - or, more specifically, just outside of it - and was loud and startling in the relative silence of the Santos family home.

The sharp tone roused Rachel from her sleep down the hall as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Perhaps it was a child's intuition, or simply instinct, but something was wrong, very wrong.

“Dad?” Rachel called hesitantly. She was confused and disoriented.

The slamming of the door was her initial answer, followed by several smaller bangs, and a woman's voice grunting against the door. Her father swore under his breath, barely audible over the cracking of the doorframe, rocking on its hinges. Suddenly, a howl split the night air, feminine and animalistic, and the door closed again.

The thumping of booted feet, and suddenly, her father was standing in the door of her bedroom, panting, tears shining bright in his eyes. In his hand was his nightstick, with a sheen of blood.

"Rachel, baby. We have to go. Pack some things." He started to move into her room, opening up her closet as he spoke.

The howl from down the hall had Rachel half out of bed, her covers thrown back as her father came into the room. “What's going on? Dad what's wrong?” she asked fearfully.

“Where's mom?” she suddenly blurted out and made a run for the doorway.

He whirled, grabbing her arm. "Rachel, No!" He yelled, forcing her to face him. "Rachel, honey, we're going away for a while. Mom has to stay here, she's... she's not... oh God."

He ducked his head, his tears falling to the carpet, heaving silently.

Tears sprang into Rachel's eyes at her father's tone. Something was terribly not right and she threw her arms around his waist in a hug. “I'm scared dad, what's going on?”

Her father took a breath, deep and rattling, before facing her once more. "Mom's sick, Rachel. We need to leave for a while. Like when we went camping with Grandma. You remember that, right?"

Rachel nodded obediently and wiped at her eyes. “Are Buster and Cinnamon coming?”

Mark shook his head, slowly, keeping his eyes on his daughter. So young. "No, Mom's going to take care of them. But we have to pack now, okay?"

“Okay...”

The sounds of movement downstairs drew Rachel out of her memories and back to the present. Scarcely breathing she pulled her knees tighter to her chest and simply hid behind the bed.

Day Six.
Location: Her own house, bedroom. First floor. Back left Corner.
Pros: One window, covered by a dark sheet. One door, covered with a large dresser, a small bed, and various other objects to keep it closed.
Cons:Out of food. Can’t move the stuff covering the door. A single baseball back. Synthesia.

Day One.

When the outbreak first happened, Ana had not been at home. She’d been sitting in the car, at walmart, wishing that her parents would allow for her to move out and make her own way in this wide old world- or, at least, in River Glenn. Of course, they’d ended up in multiple fights about it- Ana had no job, Ana was too enthusiastic,, Ana had synthesia and as such, would never be able to handle the bombardment of colors and tastes that people brought her every day. The entire conversation had Ana’s vision flashing with red, her parent’s voices lathering her tongue with their unique blend of mint and chocolate, better than any ice cream that Ana had ever tasted. She did love her parents, but at times like this? She much rather stew in the car, watching everything through that light red haze. It was time’s like this, sitting in the car, being mad at her parents, and wishing that she was normal, that Ana would forever regret…
At that exact moment, while Ana was pouting in the car, her parents shared looks. Worried brown eyes met one another’s, fingers clasped tightly together as they took deep breaths. It had been their decision not to worry their daughter with the news of what had happened. They had started the argument, hoping to keep her in the car so that she wouldn’t be faced with this- the hordes of people shoving one another as they tried to get through the double doors and into the store, so they could stock up on supplies and run, leave town, before it got worse. That was what they were hoping- to take their daughter that they loved, and get out before the shambling corpses that they had distracted their daughter from, stole her (and each other) from them. They didn’t want their family to suffer, to be torn apart and changed… So, with a deep breath, and fingers becoming unlinked, the two forged onwards, elbowing other unsuspecting citizens out of the way, to reach their goal. God wouldn’t let this happen to them, not after what happened to Ana, not after what they had to go through with her, right?

The first scream broke Ana’s concentration on her anger. The girl’s neck twisted to the side, eyes slowly widening in horror, her mouth dropping into an O, and a sickly pale green color flashing along her eyelids, dimming everything that her eyes landed onto. The color slowly darkened as more and more seeped into the nineteen year olds form, and her fingers groped at the buttons on the doors to lock them. Everywhere her eyes landed, a bloodbath.. People tearing at people, skin coming off… Other’s eating others! A low whimper of fear had slipped from the girl, before she slid into the front seat of the car.. Weird, her parents had left the keys in the car. They never did that- not when she was in trouble… A quick shake of the girl’s head had those thoughts slipping from her head, trembling hands turning the key in the ignition and made the car create a horrible screeching noise.

It was already running.

A shiver of fear jolted down the girl’s spine as she shook her head. Another scream doused her tongue in an acidic taste, as if the woman had broken open a glow-stick in her mouth and allowed the foul chemical to coat her tongue. Another shudder, another scream. The green that obscured her vision was slowly getting darker; soon she’d be unable to make out the shapes of the things around her, so much fear that it literally blinded her to everything else. Her parents would understand, wouldn’t they? They must have expected something, with how they left the car running, how they got her so angry she wouldn’t go inside… Tears started to help the green, making her vision scream- until a thing knocked onto the side of the car. A short shriek burst free of Ana’s lips as she shoved her foot onto the gas pedal, sending the car lurching forward and through the empty space in front of them, knocking the creature that had been clinging onto the driver’s window off. The car continued to lurch forward, the girl’s hands gripping at the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers were going white. Suddenly, now that she wasn’t blinded by the earlier anger, she could see these… Shambling things along the road, lurching forward in a mechanical sort of way. A lot of them had blood around their mouths, huge chunks taken out of them –it was horrible. Sickening. Stopping at her house, Ana bolted out of the car, her entire form shuddering. The sounds of the car, the roaring of the engine from her horrible driving, had the shuffling things looking in her direction, hunger gleaming in their gaze. Ana bolted into her house, locking the doors and took a deep breath. They couldn’t get in, right? They couldn’t. She was safe…

Bang.Bang. Bang. BANG.

Jerking backwards in shock, Ana gaped at the wooden door frame as it shuddered at the mass of the creatures as they tried to get into her house. Twisting around, Ana ran upstairs, until she could see the thin, dangling, string that lead to her attic. Quickly the woman jerked on it until it opened, then ran up the stairs, using the same string to close the attic behind her and wait.

DaySix.

It had taken awhile, but she’d escaped her own attic to go into her kitchen and fetch food, into the front closet to fetch a bat, and then into her room to hide. She understood why her parents had made her so angry, finally, and had spent the rest of her days in her room – until this day. She was out of food, or at least, out of food in her room. She only had a single cup of water left, and her entire room stank of urine and feces. Her heart was beating, and her vision was flashing with that slimy green color. She was afraid- but she knew that she had to go find food, or she’d die- and there was no way that she would be able to exit her front door, or to even move the stuff from in front of her bedroom door. It’d make too much noise to shift all that stuff, and then to open it and run through her house… And even then, she’d heard the footsteps again, the low muffled moans that tasted so acidic on her tongue. She couldn’t get out that way.

No, the only option was to go out her window. Carefully, Ana slipped to the sheet that covered her window, peeking out behind the dark material to see if any of the creatures- whatever they were – had not managed to get through the gate and into her backyard. No sign of them, none that she could see, at least, from her slight vantage point. Releasing the fabric, Ana twisted around and examined her bedroom. Did she need anything from it? Dark brown eyes fixated on the backpack she’d gotten at school once. National Guard was on it, a dark color inside the camouflage. It was big, spacious, and comfortable. Another deep breath, should she take clothing? No, it’d fill up too much space. She could deal with changing right before she went out. Blankets- she’d probably need those. Or, at least one of them. Quickly the girl took a small, furred blanket from the corner she’d been curled up in when she slept and folded it, trying to make it as small as possible so that it’d not take up much space. A flashlight, that last little bit of water, a single picture of all three of them- her, her mother, and her father. Nothing else would be needed, not anymore.

After a quick change of her clothing, into a pair of loose jeans that were comfortable and warm, and a long sleeves shirt, and a new pair of running shoes, Ana slowly and carefully shoved the window up wards, so that she could slip out it. First the backpack went out, landing on the short glass with a small noise, and then her bat went, landing right beside the bag before she, too, slipped out of the window. She figured her best bet for some food would be one of the gas stations. They were smaller, easier to check to see if those horrendous things were in them, and they had a large variety of food and drinks, along with smaller hygienic things, like ibuprofen and tooth brushes. Slipping off towards the nearest gas station- a seven eleven, the woman heard a car alarm flaring up in the distance.

It’d be even more dangerous, it seemed. At least she was heading away from the peppery-taste, instead of towards it.

Maura DeMaria
Downtown – River’s Glen Community College
Day 6

At first, his attentions had annoyed her. No, on second thought, it wasn’t just his attentions. It was everything about Tim McCaffrey that annoyed the absolute shit out of Maura DeMaria. It was the way he dressed; it was the way he randomly spouted off bizarre and unsolicited facts about a variety of subjects; it was the way he hunched his shoulders over as he walked; it was the way he pushed his glasses up his nose, but most of all it was the way he continually mispronounced her name.

Studying him as she was just now over the table, her cards held to her lips pensively as she wondered whether he would see her bet or call her, she ran her eyes over his face. Maybe he wasn’t as annoying as she had originally thought. For all intents and purposes, Tim McCaffrey had saved her life.

When she had been hired on to do maintenance at the small community college, she had never expected to build lasting friendships. As the only female in the small maintenance department, she had become the butt of quite a few jokes and more than a ton of innuendo. The maintenance team was pretty alright, for the most part. Sam, the boss, was a quiet and soft-spoken slip of a man in his early sixties. He always seemed to have a cigar in his mouth, but he never lit it. Regardless of what he was doing, whether he was mowing the grass, fixing a broken hinge or swapping out furnace filters, that damned cigar protruded from his lips like it was glued there. He rarely spoke. Most of his assignments were handed to his crew in the form of notes. This proved challenging for Dale who was unable to read at all.

Dale was almost the complete opposite of Sam. While Sam was quiet and soft-spoken, Dale was loud and crude, a forty-something beer-loving jolly man. He thought the fact that the term ‘sexual harassment’ had the word ‘ass’ hidden within was ‘pretty frickin’ funny.’ His guffaws could be heard clear across campus – not that it was quite the feat… The community college campus consisted only of three main buildings and a maintenance shed. Illiterate, Dale would frown at the directives handed down from Sam but his pride refused to allow him to admit that he couldn’t read them. He’d figured out ways to figure out what each group of orders said… which opened up a great door for practical jokes when someone wanted to mess with Dale. Rather than mowing one day, he might be seen in hip waders cleaning out the pond. Rather than refueling the campus vehicles, he might be fixing a broken desk.

Dale idolized Elvis, and at random moments throughout his day, he would curl his lip and break into song. On Maura’s first day at River’s Glen Community College, Dale tried very hard to get her to swoon for his ‘hunka hunka burnin’ love’ as he shimmied and shook his beer gut around the maintenance shed for a good ten minutes. Needless to say, she was not very impressed, despite Tim’s laughter and the amused sparkle in Sam’s eyes. She muttered something about disliking Elvis and preferring real men like Rosie O’Donnell. It was that moment that she became one of the guys.

Tim McCaffrey, on the other hand, was nothing like Sam or Dale. He was quite strange to work with. He would go days without saying a word, and then days speaking incessantly. Introspective and quite nerdy, Tim was quite certain that the world would end on in 2012. He was quite certain that Bigfoot wandered the forests of Washington state. He was quite certain Loch Ness did indeed contain a prehistoric beast who was just incredibly camera shy. He was well versed on the paraphernalia necessary for a successful ghost hunt and could tell you the difference between a class A and a class C EVP. On Maura’s first day of work, he had given her what he called a ‘Zombie Apocalypse Survival Kit’… a backpack containing beef jerky, a blanket, four bottles of water, a bottle of aspirin, a sewing kit, survival guides, a can opener, a can of sauerkraut and a few other odds and ends. As she pulled out the sauerkraut, fixing him with a quizzical expression, he sheepishly explained that it was his favorite food. When she pulled out the sewing kit, she held it up and looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me? Is this ‘cause I’m a chick? I’m supposed to sew shit when the dead rise? Am I supposed to cook too?”

He back-pedaled quickly. “No, Maura (pronouncing it More-uh), it’s… you know… you never know when it’ll come in handy…” He pushed his glasses back up his nose as she glanced over to Sam and Dale, both of whom shrugged and pointed to three identical backpacks on the wall. “Really?” she asked, unable to keep the dubious expression from her face. “You actually believe this stuff?”

He had shrugged, and after she hung her backpack on the wall with the other three, nothing more was said about it. Maura was actually quite proud to work with the guys at River’s Glen Community College. For the first time, she felt like part of a team. The work wasn’t hard, but it was the hours spent in the maintenance shed that she loved the most. They had converted the maintenance shed into their own personal hideaway, complete with a bathroom, a refrigerator, a microwave, a sofa, a recliner, a table and chairs… it was a regular clubhouse. There was one rule – do your work and don’t do anything that would warrant anyone coming down to the shed to see what they were up to. Keep your nose clean, in other words.

One perk of working at the college was that Maura had the keys to the buildings. An aspiring ‘artist,’ Maura loved working with metal. Welding made her feel so powerful. After a full day of work, she would sneak into one of the classrooms that served for both auto mechanic classes and welding classes. She would fool around with metal working until the wee hours of the morning and then crash on the couch in the maintenance shed until Sam woke her the next morning. He never said anything to her. He never said much of anything at all, even when she’d fallen asleep with her most recent creation clutched in her hands.

The look in his eyes as he’d come in that morning was amusement, not the anger she would have expected. When Dale came in that morning and took a look at her creation, he laughed so loud, the sound reverberated off of the metal walls of the shed causing a saw to lose its careful balance on a peg and crash to the floor. “I suppose you’re going to try to tell me that’s a vase, right?” he asked, smirk on his lips. Maura said nothing and let it play out as it would. Dale ripped the two foot long metal tube from her hands, squinting at it, admiring the welding bead along the large sharp-cornered square base before lifting it to his lips and gesturing at her to hand him the lighter. She sheepishly held it out for him and just watched him for a few moments. When he pulled away from the mouth of the tube, he handed her creation back to her, his cheeks all puffed up like a comical frog. He was silent for a handful of long seconds before exhaling deeply and turning to Sam. “Can we keep her? Forever?”

The ‘vase’ earned a prominent spot in the middle of the card table, holding a metal flower she’d made to disguise it when it wasn’t in use. Now, as they sat around the table on the fifth day of Tim’s stupid Zombie Apocalypse, the metal flower was nowhere to be seen. The table was littered with ashes, pop tabs, discarded cards and empty beer cans. As Maura sat across from Tim, watching him as he called her bet, she smiled. He really had saved her life. In that moment, as she watched his long slender fingers push the glasses further up his nose, she was almost kind of attracted to him. Until he spoke.

“So, um… Maura…”

“It’s pronounced ‘Mar-uh’, not ‘More-uh’” she’d repeated for the thousandth time.

Dale and Sam looked on, both equally shitfaced on the beer and smoke they’d stocked up on. Tim nodded. “Right.” He looked down at his cards, staring at them intently, his cheeks growing red as he spoke. “Since… you know…” He jerked his head toward the door that they had welded shut that first day. “Since they… um… are probably the end of human civilization as we know it…” He coughed into his hand and scratched the back of his neck. “It might be… you know… um… up to us… to…”

Maura slammed her hand down on the table and picked up a stick of jerky, brandishing it at him menacingly. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence with ‘repopulate the human race’…” Both Sam and Dale laughed, loud and boisterously, the noise echoed by the slams of bodies against the outside of the metal walls of the shed – a sound to which they had grown strangely accustomed.

Tim went completely red at that and slowly laid his cards down on the table, muttering quietly. “I fold.”

“Damn right, you fold,” she muttered, reaching out and raking in a pile of pop tabs that had been pulled from the dozens of cans of beer they had poured into themselves in the past few days. “Just because I have a uterus doesn’t mean I want anythin’ to do with poppin’ out any kids.” She reached for another beer and popped the top, glaring at a very embarrassed Tim. The noise of the undead outside the shed was loud.

“Ugh, I gotta piss,” Dale groaned as he stood from the table. Moving over to the ladder in the corner, he popped open the hatch onto the roof that they had cut. They had little fear of the zombies getting into their hideaway. The door to the metal shed was welded shut. They had the escape hatch in the ceiling of the building. They had plenty of food and water and beer to last at least a few weeks. Definitely long enough for the National Guard to come. They’d be just fine. No worries. Just fine. Their lack of fear of what was going on in the outside world was evidenced by the loud wolf howl coming from Dale as he urinated off the edge of the building, screaming at the zombies. “Yeah, take that ya fuck! I just pissed in yer mouth… Like that? Aw, yer buddy’s jealous. Here, fuckwad!” He screamed his obscenities to the zombies, their moaning growing louder, the banging on the walls growing almost deafening.

“Jesus Christ, Asshole!” Maura screamed up to Dale. “Shut up!” She stood from the chair, grabbing ahold of the ‘vase’ and proceeded to climb the ladder. Stepping out onto the roof, she looked down at the thirty something undead surrounding the building. “That’s kinda scary, “ she muttered before looking up at Dale. “Seriously, stop taunting them! It gets so loud in there when they start beating on the walls like that…”

Rolling his eyes, Dale popped back down the ladder into the shed leaving Maura alone on the roof. As she stared down at the zombies, she snorted back some phlegm and spat down at them. “Go away,” she muttered before sitting crosslegged to pay some attention to her metallic creation.

Not even two minutes later, the noise of the zombies beating against the walls and the sounds of good natured laughter was suddenly drowned out by a horrible screeching noise, the sound of metal giving way. There was a horrible silence down inside the shed for a moment and then, suddenly, and “Oh shit!” Chairs scraped against the floor, as three voices spoke panicked phrases: “Oh Jesus!”… “We’re fucked!”… “Get the bags and get onto the roof!” Maura got up from her position on the roof to look down the hatch only to hear the shriek of metal again. The garage door had been breached.

“Get up here!” she screamed down to the guys below. “Toss me the bags, and just get up here!” Tim showed up at the bottom of the ladder, reaching out to make the climb, two bags slung over his shoulder, but bony hands pulled him away. The screams were horrible and Maura did the only thing she could thing of doing – she slammed the roof hatch down, covered her ears, and tried her best not to listen as her friends were torn apart.

When the screams had subsided, Maura remained on the roof of the maintenance shed, surrounded by dozens of zombies with nothing but a homemade ‘vase.’

The Canadian
Day Zero:
River’s Glenn

Call it survivor’s instinct. Call it the need to know he was covered. But for some reason, the man rushed right into the hotel lobby, past the receptionist who was in tears because of her recent breakup with her boyfriend, and into the lobby washroom. There, he filled up three water bottles, drinking from one thirstily and storing the other two in his large backpack. He glanced at himself in the mirror briefly, before removing a few layers and examining his bite mark.

It was small and round, a gift from one of those grey-faced zombie things. It had barely broken the skin through all the layers of flesh. When he had first received it, his blood had run cold, his mind racing, heart hammering. He had images flashing through his head of all the things he’d never done, all the people he’d never see again. The thought alone was maddening, that he’d be one of them, the people who he hit as hard as he can with his baseball bat at any given opportunity.

And then the hours turned to days. Days turned into three long weeks. Nothing more than a minor fever befell the man, and so he thought his danger was over. He figured himself immune, and he was glad for it.

Once he had a room in the hotel, he started a cold bath, unpacked his clothing, food, and weapons, and laid them all on the bed. He stripped down, standing in the middle of the room, enjoying the warm air not generated by his own heat. Eyes closed, he sighed deeply.

The wound throbbed slowly.

-----

Mark Santos
Day Six:
Uptown

The street Mark was on, now that he had his bearings, was a long one, ending near the Community College and beginning back at the small highway. It was more than an hour walk to the highway, across open road with zombies filling the streets. He had hit up most of the convenience stores around their area, and thus far had no real contact with survivors.

He’d have to go farther.

Holding the long roofing hammer tightly in his fist, he set off into the direction of the college. There was a convenience store along the way, he knew. Maybe even an apartment he could break into or something. He needed a container to bring the stuff he collected back in. The backpack could only get him so far, nowadays.

He wondered, briefly, what she would’ve been when she grew up if this nightmare hadn’t happened. As it was right now, she hadn’t said a peep – not in a good long time, anyways. He wondered if this event, this calamity, what-have-you – had ruined her voice forever, or if she’d get over it. She hadn’t looked at him the same since he had avoided her questions about her mother – his wife. Whatever was in the room that Rachel was conceived in. His deepest regret was that his last memory of her was of her snapping jaws and bloodshot eyes, clawing at him through the crack in the doorframe. He’d never erase the image of being a food source, and nothing more, to her.

He had walked a hundred meters – if that – when he heard it. A terrible ripping sound. Metal being folded in upon itself. He had barely time to move – not identifying the sound but knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t good – couldn’t be good. He ran, hard across the asphalt and towards a small space between two buildings that contained a fire escape, facing the Community college that was one of River’s Glen’s prides. He had often been called here on late nights to break up some drunken brawl or other, and he’d always done it with rolled eyes.

How he wished he was on a call now.

The fire escape was already down, which immediately worried him. Someone had already been in this building, which meant, potentially, something was also there. He cautiously ascended to the second level, taking pains to peak into the window, catching a glimpse of the street as he did so.

And he was floored.

The street was teeming with the infected. Maybe teeming wasn’t the greatest word, but there were at least sixty – pushing eighty zombies that Mark could immediately see. With a sudden rush, he scanned the buildings for something – anything – that could have attracted that many-

On the roof, a loud thump sounded, and what looked like a figure stood up, stranded on the rooftop.

Shit.

He considered his options. On one hand, he had to get to her, had to get her out of there. The questions was how. How was he going to get her to where he stood without putting himself in danger?

Suddenly frantic, he leaped into the open window. The sight that beheld him was a headless corpse, leaning against the wall in what appeared to be some sort of office. He held in his gag and began searching the room, frantically. Nothing was here. Nothing that could help him, anyways.

Moving into the short hallway outside of the office, he found some kind of workshop. Inside of it was a fire extinguisher, two cans of propane, and several hammers of varying length and size. There was also pliers, a box of matches, something that looked like a fuse, and a welder’s mask.

What in the hell was this guy up to?

Ignoring the glaring evidence of a household bomb kit, Mark grabbed the welder’s mask and one of the propane cannisters. It seemed weighty enough, but he had no idea whether or not it was full. Was there a way to tell by weight? He hadn’t done enough barbecuing to actually find out, and decided now was a time for faith.

He carried the propane canister back towards the fire escape, and huffed and puffed until he was standing on the roof of the building. Another glance at the college confirmed that she was still there, still breathing. He probably only had a couple of chances at this. With a roar, he threw the canister over the edge, aiming for a pretty blue convertible parked on the street. It banged off of the asphalt and rolled until it hit its front tire. Drawing his firearm, Mark went to one knee, squinting.

He had been more than an okay shot – not good enough to hit a target between the eyes, but he sure wasn’t rusty. He hadn’t fired a single bullet from his gun, for fear of finding the zombie horde breathing down his neck, and had cleaned it two days ago. It should fire, he reasoned. He’ll line up the shot perfectly and it’ll fire. Nothing will go wrong.

He took a moment to breathe out, acknowledge how foolish this was, and then he took the shot.

The first round punctured the tire next to the convertible, but the second hit the propane tank, sending it up in a puff of flame. The flame set off the car alarm and shattered the window, the noise deafening in the small town. Immediately, a response happened, the swarm moving towards the noise. Mark was on the move, dropping to the asphalt and racing towards the college, stopping to dispatch an undead with his long hammer. As he ran, the welder’s mask firmly over his eyes, he kept his gaze towards the – woman, he saw now. A female.

“Let’s go!” he roared, hoping his voice would carry over the shrill alarm. He needed to get her out of there. The other survivor in this mess was so close, and one step closer to his goal being realized.a

Alexander Greenhom
Day 6
Downtown – Hotel Staircase and Lobby

Search. Find, take. Find, take. Pillage, loot!

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

As he was walking down the stairs, Alex could hear moans below him. He slowly drew his knife, just in case. As he reached the second floor he noticed broken glass all over the floor. It was from the fire axe case, which read: IN CASE OF FIRE BREAK GLASS. Cursing his luck, Alex carefully made his way over the glass. Managing to not impale his feet on the shards, he inspected the case, as if expecting to find something of use.

Obviously finding nothing, Alex hoped that whoever got to the axe first made damn sure they used it. After getting back to the stairs, and to the first floor, Alex noticed something. It was a faint noise. It sounded like……Elvis? The distinctly recognizable voice became louder as he opened the door. It was a CD player, set on repeat (Alex assumed, how else would it have gone on for this long), playing the King’s music.

Alex laughed. Just simply laughed. He’d always loved Elvis, and now to hear him amongst the moans of the zombies seemed comical. There were two of the monsters shambling in the lobby. They heard his laughter, and turned to him. Noticing this, Alex slowly made his way around them until he caught of glimpse of something bright red lying on the floor. It was the fire axe.

Granted, the axe was in the clenched hands of a disemboweled and half eaten bellboy, but so what? At least he was dead, and not trying to eat him. Unfortunately for him, there was a zombie in the way. Gripping the knife, Alex slowly circled the zombie, trying to get around it to grab the axe.

Suddenly, it lunged at him. Alex was about five feet away from the ghoul, which gave him enough time to duck away to the side. The zombie lurched forward. Realizing his opportunity, Alex took the knife, grabbed the zombie by the back of the throat (before it could turn around) and plunged the knife deep into the easiest way to the brain; the temple. Alex let the knife go as the monster fell to the floor. Breathing heavily, Alex warily watched the other creature at the other end of the room.

Search. Find, take. Find, take. Pillage, loot!

It wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Alex picked up the fire axe from the dead bellboy. He twirled it slowly in his hands, looking for any imperfections. Finding none, he held it up as he approached the other zombie.

Elvis’ “Let me be your Teddy Bear” had changed to “Stuck on You”. The zombie had a limp, and moved slower than its previous comrade. Slowly circling it, Alex moved slightly faster than it could (or would) turn. When he got behind it, he raised the axe and chopped the zombie in the neck. The axe got stuck, and its neck was still attached. The force needed to chop someone’s head off was no petty amount. Alex un-wedged the axe, and chopped it again, all while circling it. He repeated the process until the head finally came on.

Alex was tired from this, so after he finished off the head. (It was still snapping until he put a knife {recovered from the other zombie through an exhausting tug o’ war match with it’s brain} through it’s temple as well.) Alex rested behind the counter.

He listened to Elvis sing a final “ ’cause I’m, Unh, unh, stuck on to you.”.

Natalie Whittle
Day 6
Downtown-Convenience Store

Nat’s legs were falling asleep. She stretched them out in front of her. It had been over an hour since Jacob had disappeared into the back room. Nat had sat by the rack of chips, watching out the window the whole time. She had given up reassuring herself that he was coming back. Now, she was just trying hard to push the image of his lifeless body being eaten by those things....she preferred to think of him dead as they ate because the alternative was just too horrific.

Her eyes scanned the street. There had to be others out there. No one had passed by the window yet but that didn't mean they weren't going to. Nat knew there would be plenty of other people who had hidden themselves in their homes. It was just so silly to think that everyone had turned into a shambling zombie. Nat grunted out a laugh.

Standing, Nat shook her leg out. At first they were still numb but slowly the sensation came back. Pins and needles, her nose scrunched up. “Oh...ouch....damn it....” Nat bounced lightly on her toes trying to get the feeling back faster and stop the tingling. She turned, thinking she’d walk the aisle a bit.

Nat stopped and held her breath. Noise. Not a yell, not really a lot of movement but it was coming from the back room again. She picked up the fire extinguisher and held it close to her body as if she was hugging a stuffed animal. It was cold and oddly comforting to Nat as she crept close to the store room door.

“Wait...why the hell am I going to look? I should just grab some chips and get my ass back to the library.” Nat brow furrowed. “Well, what if it’s Jacob? Maybe he is fine and just....” The thought died as she peered through the window.

Nothing. There was nothing back there, again. Nat tilted her head and listened carefully. “Nope, not a sound, nothing back there.” Nat shook her head and laughed at herself. The sound of her voice echoed a bit in the empty store. Empty of people but there were some useful things.

Nat’s eyes went wide and she smiled her first real smile in days. Bouncing towards the counter, her hair bobbed a bit with the motion. Nat moved the extinguisher to one arm and grabbed a plastic bag with the other. She’d simply take the things she needed with her. She was in a store and lots of this stuff was still good. Nat walked the aisles picking things off the shelves.

“Box of matches, how are they not handy? Oh, chips and some cheesies. Jerky! Of course.” Nat was giggling and talking to herself. Moving into the toiletry section, Nat stared for a second. She would have never paid their over-inflated prices before but she wasn’t paying now and it was a matter of life and death. What were they going to do? Arrest her? Nat dropped a couple bottles of painkillers and a box of band-aids into her plastic bag. On the end of one of the shelves was a hanging strip with plastic hooks. On each hook was a package of rubber gloves. Nat shrugged. “Meh, why not?”

Taking a look at what she had in the bag, Nat was sure that there was other stuff she should take but there was just no room and she wasn’t willing to abandon her fire extinguisher just so she could carry more. It would have to do. And then her ears caught the sound again.

“That’s it...” Nat marched to the store room door again. There was still no one visible in the window and this time Nat opened the door.

“Hello? Is anyone back here? Jacob? Anyone?” Not saying it out loud, her mind added. “Please, don’t try and eat me....”

Kristie Batiste
Day 6
Downtown - The corner of 23rd and Pine

Kristie had forgotten how long it took to creep the few blocks to the 7/11. As much as she tried to coach herself on being calm, she was jittery with excitement and fear. Fear because, any mistake could potentially be her last. Excitement because, well, if everything went right, she might not have to be alone through this.

Kristie finally made it to the back alley entrance after what seemed like an eternity of slinking around behind cars. She sighed to herself. This was the really dangerous part. Anywhere on the street she had enough time to sprint back to her fire escape and to safety. The undead were shit climbers, a fact that Kristie had already used to her advantage on several occasions.

The alley though, it was a death trap if you weren't paying attention. After her first trip to the convenience store had gone without a hitch Kristie had gotten cocky. It had nearly gotten her killed when she'd gone back the second time. Three of the shambling fucks had basically ambushed her (not that they had the mental faculties to ambush someone... She hoped at least). Honestly if they'd had more than a full body between them (one had no mouth to speak of and the other two were both missing limbs) she probably would have been dead. Still, she had learned her lesson.

She waited at the alley entry for a few minutes, back to the wall and eyes scanning constantly. She listened attentively, waiting for the slightest noise to reveal a threat. The area stayed deathly silent.

Kristie stood from her crouch and started slowly walking down the alley. She hefted her cleaver and rolled her shoulders. She wanted to make sure she was loose and ready in case anything popped out at her.

She slowed as she reached the corner. Around it lay the back entrance to the 7/11. It also was a little wide and a really bad place to get surrounded. She snuck a glance around the corner, scanning quickly before ducking her head back. One body on the ground... no signs of movement.

She groped through the side pouch of her backpack for a pencil and hustled out from behind the corner. The body was relatively fresh, it's stomach ripped open with tears and bite marks littering its body. Kristie didn't know how long it would take to rise, or if it even would. She just knew she wasn't going to wait to find out.

She slammed the pencil through its temple and skittered back to the corner. She had made noise, enough to attract anything close by, and now she'd play the waiting game. Minutes slowly ground by but she heard no noise. It seemed like the coast was clear.

She walked from her corner back towards the body. She scanned it quickly, not taking the chance to get near it, and didn't see anything readily useful.

“Hello? Is anyone back here? Jacob? Anyone?”

Kristie went rigid instantly, her first instinct to flee, her second to break down in tears.

"I'm alive and unbitten." She said aloud and waited.

David Ramirez and Brittany "Candy" Murphy
Day six
Uptown- Westbrook Avenue

They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any plant or tree, but only those people who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads.
They were not allowed to kill them but only to torture them for five months.
And the agony they suffered was like that of the sting of a scorpion when it strikes.
During those days people will seek death but will not find it; they will long to die,

but death will elude them.

Candy let out a long bored sigh as she looked left and right before lifting her right hand to check her manicure. She was bored. There wasn't a zombie or whatever in sight. David was slightly ahead of her looking like he was ready to attack and she just wanted to go back to the gas station now, or even better - the mall.

"Davvvvy..." She whined. "Come on, nothing's out here. Can't we go back? I need to go get my pom poms. I left them back at the gas station." It wasn't the first time she'd brought up the pom poms. Numerous times she'd complained that she'd left them behind. She'd refused to have a decent weapon, choosing to be glued to David's back and practically grazing his ankles with her feet each step.

"Come on. We can go back now." Candy sighed. "And I need a few things from the mall. We need to find a shower. I wonder if the gym's showers work. We could head there." She sounded optimistic as she looked for David to see what he had to say.

David stopped for a moment, a hand plastered to the visor of his helmet. This had to be his punishment for some ungodly sin he'd comitted in a previous life. Those damned pom poms were begining to become the bane of his existance. He could not bear more hatred for an inanimate object if he tried. With a sigh he turned to look over his shoulder at Brittany.

"Brit. I told you while we're outside you have to be quiet." He hissed silently. "We'll head back soon, we aren't far from Main street now, as soon as we reach the old memorial park we can head back."

He turned to continue walking. He wasn't even going to try and argue with her about the mall again, or showers. When they got back he'd let her wash herself off using one of the sinks in the bathroom.

They were only about forty yards from their objective. David had been smart and decided to use Westbrook, a smaller street that usually was empty, even before shit went to hell. He knew that it met up with the civil war memorial park, a small patch of grass and trees really, not much of a park.

"Are you even listening to a word I say?" Candy stormed after him. "Actually ignore that, you can't be. You don't even call me Candy. See, this is our problem... You never listen to me... This is why I finished with you. At least Samuel listens to me. At least he cares enough about me to listen."

She sighed and followed him, making herself get close enough to press herself up against his body once he'd stopped walking. "Come on... I miss you... We're right for each other. All you have to do is listen to me... Call me Candy... Is that so hard for you to do?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders - not even trying to be quiet while they were out in the open.

"Now isn't the time for this Brittany." David said soberly as he pulled himself away from her. "Look right now I have to focus on protec-...getting us both through this. We can talk about this wehn we get back to the gas station but for now just stay quiet ok? Just trust me."

He resumed walking on ahead. He had to stay concentrated on the situation, there was no time for...sentiments. He knew Brittany would probably dislike his reaction to her words, but he had to focus on doing what he had to keep them safe. Maybe when, if, they ever got somewhere safe, he'd be able to reconcile with her. But that was a long way off.

Candy huffed and stopped. "You stop right there, David. You stop right there." She shouted at the top of her voice. "I will not move until you start listening to me, and I will not move until you start calling me Candy, either." She snapped.

And she stood there watching, and waiting, waiting for David to come running back to her saying that he wanted her, wanted her back in his life, wanted to listen to what she had to say. When she'd walked out on him for Samuel, she'd expected him to get jealous and fight for her. He hadn't. In fact, he'd completely ignored her until now.

Well now she was going to face it and get David to stop ignoring her too. She had her angry face on. Her angry, stubborn face. She wasn't going to move. Not until David came back and apologised for everything.

David had to stop, what choice did he have? Here he was trying to avoid attracting attention and the girl that's following him around decides to start screaming as loud as she possibly can. As fast as he possibly could he turned around and clamped a hand over her mouth. He removed his helmet with his other hand and glared at her for a moment. When he thought he'd made his point he took his hand away from her face and sighed.

"You want to talk? Fine." He said quietly. "You are putting not only your life in danger but mine as well. You think I want to do any of this? You think I'm doing this just to annoy you? I do what I have to do in order to protect you ok? I'm just trying to keep you safe during all of this, and right now you are making it pretty damned difficult to do so. You need to stop this foolishness and learn to do what I say, because I'm looking out for you."

With another sigh he return the helmet to his head and turned away from her. "And for the record, it wasn't easy for me." He'd have to assume she knew what he meant, he wasn't going to start bringing up the past now. "Now come on Brittany, we can finish this talk when we get back to the gas station." He still refused to call her Candy, they'd had that argument too many times.

Candy was shocked as David moved and covered her mouth so suddenly she didn't get a chnace to finish what she wanted to. She had a fit of rage into his hand, trying to pull away, but she couldn't. When he finally let her go, she was glad that he was finally wanting to talk. Finally. But even when he did speak he didn't say what she wanted to hear.

Candy tried many times to wrap David around her little finger. He was one person that she couldn't wrap around her finger though.

She wanted to say something in reply to his words but she didn't know what to say. What could she say? For a moment she felt something that felt like pain at his words. She had no idea what to say, but she felt like she was just in the way. Her way of dealing with this was to ignore it and pretend it wasn't happening.

Finally, she started to follow him. At least he'd agreed to talk once they were back at the gas station. That was a start.


David was grateful that Brittany had decided to cooperate....although he rather regretted speaking out at her like he did. He shook his head to clear his mind, he needed to focus. The park was coming into sight now, and that meant they were close to main street. As he continued to get closer, David pressed closely to the buildings, hiding in their shadow. It wasn't as quiet anymore. The sounds of low groaning and shuffling feet grew more and more audible the closer he got.

It would be dangerous to get much closer. David looked around for some way to get higher in order to get a better view of Main street over the low trees that were in the park. His eye caught the sight of a parked, or rather, abandoned semi.

He turned to face Brittany, putting what happened moments ago from his mind. "I'm going to climb up on that truck so I can get a better look at the situation on Main Street. I need you to keep an eye out, but if the situation gets too dangerous, I want you to run understand?"

Candy stayed silent. She hated staying silent. Staying silent meant that she was thinking over their situation. Thinking over their situation meant that the reality of it was all sinking in. She didn't want it to be real. The situation being real meant that they were living a nightmare. It meant they were going to die.

She stood quietly listening to David's words before frowning. "Where do I run? What if I'm followed?" Her tone for once was scared and nervous as she looked around. Her arms wrapped around herself in hope of some form of protection. She didn't want to be left down there while David was safe on the truck. "Can't I come up there with you and watch out from there?"

"Well...yeah, I just thought... nevermind." David had misjudged her willingness to stay safe. He turned to observe the truck once more. He figured he could climb up the side of the driver's cab and jump to the trailer. It'd be easy for someone who spent time conditioning his body regularly like himself, and Brittany kept in fairly good shape what with cheerleading so he guess she'd be able to as well.

He walked up to the side of the cab and turned to face Brittany, fingers interlocking by his waist. "Come on then, I'll give you a boost."

Candy was surprised when David said he'd give her a boost. She'd expected with his first words to just ignore her and leave her there. After a moment's hesitation, she came up to him and put her foot where his fingers interlocked before letting him boost her up onto the truck. She chipped a nail, and scraped her knee in the process but she bit her tongue of complaints for now, and instead muttered a thanks.

"Do you need any help getting up?" She asked.

"I'll be fine, thanks, just hold on to this for me." David said as he handed her the crowbar. After she had it well in hand, he proceeded to climb up the side of the cab, using the rear view mirror as a foot hold to pull himself up onto the roof. He took a moment to balance himself before hopping onto the trailer of the truck.

"Ok then...you alright?" David asked Brit as he steadied himself.

Examining her nails, she shrugged returning to her old ways easily. "Yeah... I broke another nail. I'm going to have to go to the mall and get it sorted. I cut my knee too. I think there was something sticking out as I climbed up."

"What now? Do I just stand here and watch for anything wrong?" She asked, slightly confused as to what she was looking for. "What if I see a person coming to us? Shall I wave them over so they can see us?"

David smirked under his helmet at how easily she had gone back to complaining about useless things. He'd never admit it but it was this side of her that kept him sane. Without her he'd probably turn into a cold, emotionally empty shell.

"I'm just going to take a look real quick, if you see anyone walk towards us,just let me know before you do anything alright? I'm depending on you." He gave her head a slight pat before turning and laying flat on his stomach. He then started to crawl across the trailer using his elbows and feet.

"I'm not a dog. Don't treat me like... what's that word? Um...Condensed? Condemn? Con something or other, anyway..." Candy told David. "And you'll mess my hair."

She watched him crawl over the trailer and turned her attention to watching. Her attention wasn't watching the area for long. She sat down on the roof so her legs were over the edge while she examined her finger nails and hummed a popular tune that had been over-played on the radio.

David sighed as he reached the edge, shaking his head slowly. Honestly...try and be nice and you get snapped at. His worries however, turned to more pressing matters once he looked towards Main Street. It was crawling with them. David's heart sank lower then it had ever before. Main street wasn't far from the highway...but if it was like this here....christ. the odds of the higway being completely overrun were significant.

"God help us..." David muttered quietly as he stared in disbelief.

Suddenly his ears caught the sound of something other thenfaint groaning and shuffling feet. It sounded like...a car alarm? David tried to figure out where it was coming from. Was that the direction of the college? could it be someone was alive?

His thoughts were interrupted when the sound of an explosion ripped through the air. He wasted no time in hopping to his feet and quickly returning to Brittany's side. He took her by the shoulder and shook her to get her attention.

"We're going back now, come on." He said hurriedly, eyes darting around like angry bees.

Candy heard and ignored the car alarm going off as she sat in her own little bubble trying to ignore everything. The explosion was what rocked her, and what made things worse was when David was back by her side and saying that they had to go back.

"Why, what did you see? Did you see anyone?" She asked getting to her feet on the roof. She saw an easy way to get down, so slid down the windshield of the car onto the bonnet and then jumping down the front to the floor. "Are we going back to get my pom poms? Or what?"

David simply jumped down from the top of the trailer to the ground, hand sliding along the side of the trailer as he fell. He landed with knees bent and quickly took hold of Brittany's wrist. "We're going back to the gas station, so we can rethink the situation. I'll tell you what I saw when we get there, but for now we need to get out of here as fast as possible."

He knew that the explosion would cause that mass of shamblers to become active, causing them to begin searching the area. Even though he knew they would head towards the noises, he thought it was best to take shelter until the activity in the area died down. Walking quickly, with Brit in tow, he hurried to try and get back to the safety of their makeshift safe house.

"David, you're scaring me, now." She admitted as he pulled her along by the wrist. She was still denying that there were such things as zombies despite seeing David pummel a couple of them. She tried to slow him down and just walk, but his grip on her wrist tightened as they continued back the way they came.

"What did you see? What's going on? Why is this happening?" She continued with the constant questioning, again refusing to just be silent. The noise would bring out the zombies wherever they currently were - drawing them to the sounds that were still going in the background which would drag them out. If there were any zombies in the area they were in they'd soon be drawn out.

"We should call the cops. I tried before you found me but they were engaged. I tried again afterwards and got this moaning sound. Maybe they'd pick up now and come help us."

Kelsey Knoxberry
Day Six
Downtown - 22nd and Pine, one block away from the Convenience Store

It had come to Kelsey’s attention that these walking dead likely rely on smell more than noise. She was sure if she screamed real loud they would come in droves but the smell was sneakier; somehow more underhanded. Kelsey only wore one kind of perfume and that was men’s Bulgari Aqua. Whatever "Gil's" brand had been, it was something more pungent and offensive. As she sweat, the left over fragrance in the coveralls sprang to life, first assaulting her nose then being carried downwind to all takers. It worried her that perhaps she might need to shed the clothes and the idea made her chuckle. Wow just like a real horror movie, strip down to panties and run around before a zombie rips my throat out. Classic. Kelsey would be goddamned if she would end up a stereotype. What worried her more is when she came back, resurrected with her hair all matted, bones protruding, eyes milky and titties all out. Fuck that. She will not be the one topless zombie the camera always seems to pan to.

She was close the convenience store, she remembered it was an awesome place to get pizza when you were drunk at three in the morning. But she also remembered it was always busy, if that population transferred towards the undead it would be impossible to break through and she would only be eaten like a discovered taquito. Keeping to the shadows like a gypsy kid on pickpocket duty, she made her way to the 7/11 and stopped when she noticed a shop. She must have driven past it a dozen times but it never caught her eye. It was a female clothing store but it seemed to cater to a clientele that was more Afrocentric; bright green spray-painted letters on the front window noted this was ‘Yazmine’s Closet’. Sun-bleached posters were tapped on the door and the windows advertising everything from the current deals to concerts and comedians soon to be arriving or long since passed. It would at the very least be a place to get out of the coveralls and into something that doesn’t smell like a bus stop.

The inside of the store was already picked through; racks of clothes were toppled over and the display cases were smashed. There was enough here to pique Kelsey’s interest though so she allowed herself a smile. She started to unzip the coveralls when she heard a noise. She stopped what she was doing and craned her neck, tilting her head towards the sound; it was muffled praying. "Hey, come out! Let me see you!" She called in a more forceful voice than she could have mustered a week ago. Slowly a form rose from behind the display cases and it was a guy about her age, snotty nose, red eyes and unwieldy black hair. "Chris?" She recognized the boy from her English comp. class though she never spoke to him directly they were assigned to a group once and he did make her chuckle. "Kelsey? What are you doing here?" Chris knew the girl standing before him; knew her to be elitist, knew her to be selfish and knew her to be a bitch. His relief at seeing someone alive was replaced with disgust. His mother was dead as was his sisters. Laura was dead; his girlfriend since the seventh grade and this cunt was still alive? It wasn’t fair. Chris gripped the folding four-inch knife in his pocket tightly. Maybe he would do the world a service here, slice her face she’s so proud of, hobble her and leave her to be eaten.

"I'm glad to see you Chris! Are you ok?' Kelsey blurted the untruthful comment, not sure if he would slow her down. He likely would after all he took shelter in a glass encased building with one exit. A move that was not very bright. "Yea I'm good, are you?" Chris loosened his hold on the weapon and softened his opinion of the girl. Maybe she lost people too and is a changed person? After all it wasn't so odd for people that normally wouldn't hang out to be thrust together in these situations. The word "thrust" prompted his mind to go to a secret place once only reserved for his girlfriend and Cheetara from Thundercats. The fact he went there with Kelsey as his object made him feel like he was betraying Laura but then again Laura was two hundred pounds and farted when she laughed, Kelsey was not.

Chris stepped out from behind the counter and walked to Kelsey. The woman looked at him and noticed a very purple bandage around his forearm. "What happened to your arm? Were you bitten?" She asked. "What? No I, uh, scraped my arm on the thing...around the back of the...place." The boy stammered, his eyes fixed on to Kelsey's chest, her peach-coloured bra peeking out from the half-zipped coveralls. Kelsey frowned. "Ok well I came here for some clothes as these smell gross. So just turn around and give me some privacy ok, then we can get out of here." The boy nodded and turned around facing the back wall and the door to where he assumed they held their extra products. Kelsey found a pair of black jeans in her size and a grey t-shirt promoting GZA’s Liquid Swords album. She debated looking for shoes but the boots were comfortable and well-worn.

She kicked off her footwear, unzipped the coveralls all the way, shrugged her shoulders backwards and the musky jumpsuit pooled around her ankles. The parrot wood table leg was tucked along her hip in her underwear and in a clean, practiced motion she freed it and brought it down towards Chris’ head. The club connected with sharp THWACK and the boy fell. Kelsey could not take the chance to travel with him only for the kid to turn into a zombie and try and eat her. She may look it, but she wasn’t dumb. The woman dressed first in the t-shirt and then began slipping on the jeans, which were far tighter than their size advertised; she got the trousers to her knees when a zombie stumbled out from the back room. Kelsey froze. The undead was once a middle aged black woman, her face was contorted in a grimace and her left foot was turned almost all the way around, giving her an odd gait. She locked eyes with Kelsey and snarled. It was at this time Chris began to stir; moaning loudly and the zombie turned its attention to the prone man. The zombie flipped him over onto his back and dropped down on the man, fingers turned into claws. Horror washed over him as he tried to fight off the risen corpse, acrylic nails and ribbons of skin swirled as the zombie raked his face.

Kelsey reacted quickly, pulled up her pants and wielded her truncheon with precision and struck the woman on the top of her head with a duller, wetter Plonk. The zombie shuddered and Kelsey struck her again above her right ear; the dense wooden club breaking bone and caving in the skull, the club coming back with a swath of dark blood on its surface. She bashed at the woman's skull until it felt redundant and then hit it one more time. Chris began to sob as Kelsey finished what the corpse started, she dropped great hammer blows into the man's forehead and face, like she was John Henry driving railroad stakes. Kelsey pounded bone and brain into the blue berber carpet until her shoulder ached. She searched Chris and found a lighter and knife, the latter she used to remove his forefinger and then moved to the zombie and did the same. The corpse’s finger came free with more ease the dark flesh was pebbled with rot and to its end was a two inch fingernail painted bright pink.

She placed the fingers in a small plastic jewelry bag, looked at the scene and frowned. Kelsey surveyed her jeans wet with blood and removed them. She arched her leg, moved her panties to the side and sprayed urine on the bodies to mark her kill and dressed in a pair of grey yoga pants, collected her belongings and left the building.

The 7/11 was through an alley, it was an alley she once saw a drug deal go down in; nervous middle-aged up-towner handing money to an urban youth, the smell of commerce. Now the narrow strip between the two buildings looked more ominous, more alien. The dumpsters were alive with dull thuds coming from their bowels, teeming with scavengers eating the remains of human civilization. It was a dire thought that there would be no more Franzia boxed wine and Awesome Blossoms. Society was crumbling and there wasn't shit anyone could do about it. The alley was uninhabited, save for animals and that pleased her. The convenience store was just ahead.

Her idea had been to be sneaky and skulk in the back entrance, away from prying eyes and she figured this would be ideal. Just in case something was in the front of the store she could listen and not hearing what she wanted, could simply leave and maybe burn it down somehow. Kelsey never burned down any sort of building but if the movies were any caveat; it didn't take much - a simple cigarette in a stream of gas and Fwoom. She rounded the corner to the back of the building and what greeted her was a corpse with a pencil shoved in its head and girl standing still as a statue. "Hey, you! Are you bit?" Kelsey asked. She had hoped this was not a mistake, but if it was - Kelsey always had her club.

Fredrick Venkel
Day Six
Downtown - Random Residence

He'd been moving through the mostly empty streets for some time now and hadn't come across anything. No survivors, no undead. It was still pretty early but he was sure, at least for the undead, that time wasn't much of an issue. All the home's he'd been by looked ransacked and/or possibly housing the dead. He didn't have much of in the ways of food this morning and the last time he'd really eaten something was before this started. The sun was still above him and he was starting to feel the gnawing of hunger once more already.

He was starting to think about things when he heard a low moaning. He froze in place listening. It was coming from the direction he was heading. Which made since he'd already been close to a busy area when he'd first fled. His intent since leaving the store after having come out of his initial shock was to leave the city. But he knew for a fact that the kitchen where he worked still had some things he could use. But he wasn't going to make it that far yet so he'd settled to hit the first anything he seen.

He would have turned back and just gone the other way if at that same moment he hadn't seen the house sitting there just at the end of the street. It was gated and the iron fence gate was still closed. That could mean a few things but he knew that it had to have something. At the thought of food his stomach twisted in a knot. He'd gone sometime before without eating in his first two months here but not like this.

Forgetting about the moaning he quickly made his way down the street. It remained empty up until he passed the corner and seen them out the corner of his eye. It was too late though the damage had been done. There were two rotters fumbling around a bus stop shelter when they detected him as he passed into open space.

Panic instantly kicked in as he dashed forward to the iron fence gate. Adrenaline running through him he scaled the fence with suprising ease and threw himself over the edge of it hitting the ground with a hard crash. As he rolled to a stop he could see the two corpses slam into the gate and it creak in resistance.

Picking himself up he patted himself down in a quick check of all his limbs and turned around in time to see the dog staring him down snarling. He backpeddled almost into the clutches of the corpses as the chain the dog was on stopped at it's length. Just inches from the clutches of the dead as they swiped at him through the bars and from becoming a chew toy by the guard dog on his other side.

Great job, buddy. He thought to himself as he inched along to the other side of the yard. He could see the house did indeed look untouched by both the living or the dead since hopefully the start of this. Maybe a little longer. The house itself wasn't much different then the other crappy houses in the neighborhood but this one's owner must of had a privacy problem.

After inching his way towards the house staying just outside of the dog's range and the zombies for while they could follow him along the outside of the fence. He was on the small stone slab that was the porch peering in the small glass window. He couldn't see anything as it was dark inside but there wasn't anything moving around from what he could tell.

He did a once over the outside of the house first making sure it was indeed sealed. It was so there he was standing just inside the front door. He'd kicked it open so he had his steak knife out just waiting for something to come running at him from somewhere inside.

He stood there silently waiting as the dog behind him was still going nuts. Between himself and the zombies he wondered who it was really barking at anymore. Nothing ever came so he closed the door the best it would behind him and began ransacking.

The middle-aged, food-stained man stepped downstairs. The front door was open and he approached it, a hand shutting it tightly. However, no lock was turned, or chain placed... Instead, he turned back and made his way into the kitchen. It was empty... Just the same old mess. Despite being a slob, this man had always been a bit of an obsessive-compulsive when it came to Kitchen cleanliness... But he had stockpiled so much from what he gathered during the initial chaos that he had to deal with a kitchen filled almost entirely with boxes and rubbish stashed up high. Every time he came into the damn place there seemed to be more; now was no exception. It had gotten to the point where he rarely came downstairs, because it got on his nerves.

His wife had always been a Pig. So had his son. He wouldn't allow himself to fall that far, he thought hypocritically while stepping towards the window and placing the baseball bat he had held, down on the counter. He lifted the sheets he had nailed to keep out the prying eyes, then peeked through. There was nothing out there... Quiet...

"Damn boxes..." He grumbled, kicking one out of the way and then turning to make his way to the fridge. He opened it and saw the remains of his family. Oh yeah...

He had forgot about that.

He let out a raspberry sigh, then slammed it shut. When he turned, he came face to face with Kyle Jaeger, who was standing over him with the bat he had placed down.

"How the-.. How the fuck did you get there?" The man growled, while stepping back 'til his back hit the electrical appliance. Boxes... There always seemed to be more than the last time he came down. This time it wasn't just a trick of the mind- Kyle had cleared them out to hide in the cupboards at floor-level, the risk being that the man wouldn't notice another couple of containers among the rest. It had worked.. And he had scrambled out again when Slob was too busy reminiscing over the heads of his wife and son, stored and wrapped neatly in ice-filled clingfilm, to notice the noise.

Slob rummaged through his belt for the pistol he kept at his side, but Kyle moved quickly and tried to bat him around the face. He hit, but the swinging arm hadn't been strong enough. The man hit the floor, dazed as Kyle recovered from the recoil. He stood over him, saying nothing while he raised his Bat higher again... And he was about to bring it down for a finishing blow- no mercy for those sick fucks who used the Apocalypse as an excuse; no mercy for those who threw away all value for Human life, just because life was threatened- when a gunshot rang out from under him; disturbing the entire street, alerting every zombie for a mile, and making Kyle step back...

He was confused.

What the... Fuck...