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Dead Nation

Dead Nation


A zombie rp.

700 readers have visited Dead Nation since blackrider created it.


Thunder roared in the distance as Jim rode along the back roads of the small town he called home, the bumpy road he traveled obviously in need of repair causing his rusted old red Ford truck to bump and shake with every pot hole it hit. Having been born and raised in the town of Dry Gulch Jim knew just about every back road there was, and every chance he got he made sure to use them. Something about the scenery of the back roads whizzing by made him love the hour long ride home from work everyday, even though it made the trip a little longer Jim honestly thought it was worth it.

Jim was a simple man raised with normal Midwestern values, unlike the normal stereotype he wasn't a 'bible thumper' nor was he a redneck gun enthusiast. Jim was just a simple man who put in his eight hours everyday and, like most, looked forward to going home and cracking open a beer.

“And the riots in New York, Chicago, Kansas City, Denver, and Los Angeles have begun to intensify our on the ground sources report, which is just another reminder that Government officials have asked that we all remain indoors and mind our own business, and if you have work inside the cities-” The sound of the annoying news anchor was cut off as Jim flipped the radio channel with the press of a button, he himself drove to and from Kansas City for work each day and had yet to encounter any trouble. He'd been a professional welder for the past five or six years, and although the work was hard it payed better then anything he could have found in his hometown.

For the past week or so the news had been going on about 'riots' sweeping across the country, the city he worked in being one of the so called 'hotspots of riot activity'. In all honesty though the only thing Jim had realized driving too and from work was an increase in the homeless population, the drunken/drugged individuals shambling up and down city blocks and into traffic. Just the day before he himself had almost ran into a rather out of it stumbling man who had made a point to stumble after Jims old truck, his mouth clicking up and down in a chewing manner the whole way. Jim simply wrote it off as a man who had taken some form of bad drug. That same day at work one of his fellow employees, a man named Rob, had his arm bandaged and had told Jim that, as he put it, a “Crazy fuckin hobo” bit him.

The next time Jim showed up to work, which was today, the door to the warehouse was still locked. Waiting in the parking lot for a half hour in his truck Jim finally decided to call his manager, which wound up going straight to voice mail. Another half hour and still being the only car in the parking lot Jim decided to head home. Maybe he had missed a holiday on the calender he thought as he pulled his truck onto the empty street, literally having to dodge a shambling man who, in Jims mind, had thrown himself at his truck.

As Jim pulled onto the main stretch of town, simply called 'main street' by locals, he drove halfway down the street before pulling into the biggest parking lot of all the business’s on the small stretch of town. It was a medium sized old school looking building, the outside having been made entirely of brick and mortar, that was except for the large wooden board that hung above the sturdy looking doors. The wooden sign, which was seemingly hand painted with quite a bit of care, simply read “Mom & Pops” an even cheaper paper banner hung beneath it read “Going out of business”.

Every time Jim saw the second sign he'd let out a sigh of despair, the buzz around town was that Walmart had bought out Mom and Pops, a store that had been here his entire life, and would tear it down and begun construction by the end of the year. Nevertheless he made sure to do all his shopping there, a slight part of him hoping that by some miracle they would be able to stay open with his surge of business alone. He was well aware this wasn’t the case, yet nonetheless he continued to stop there each day for some sort of random item: today it was to get an extension cord he honestly didn’t really need.

Pushing his way past the unnecessarily heavy mostly plexi glass door Jim was greeted by the familiar “ring-a-ling” of the old faded golden bell that was obviously put above the door with some spare screws and elbow grease.

The single cash register, which sat atop an old white wooden counter top (the corners of which were torn off revealing the dark brown wood beneath) had an extremely old and wrinkled looking man standing on the opposite side obviously manning the register. Adding to his wrinkled exterior was the two plastic hoses that lead up the back of his flannel shirt, the hoses meeting just under his nose. The see through rubber tubes that were clearly plugged into his nostrils were obviously connected to an oxygen tank Yet despite the fact his frail old body could hardly stand and his lungs could barely draw air on their own the man still wore a loving sincere expression, as if his health and business both weren’t on the verge of collapse.

“Heya Jim!” The old man know as 'Pops' shouted merrily in a raspy voice as Jim entered the store, clearly happy at his arrival. “Your off early, aint ya boy?” Pops continued, his frail frame shaking behind the counter as his shriveled hands clutched the cash register for support.

“Yeah Pops. Seems like I was the only one to show up for work today, went ahead and turned on back home. Needed to pick up a few things in the best damn convenience store in town.” Jim said in his slightly gruff voice as he gave Pops a slight wave.

“I think you mean the only convenience store in town maboy.” Pops added with a chuckle as Jim walked passed the counter, headed towards one of the eight aisles that the relatively small store held. Aisles 1-3 contained various food products that covered just about every section of the food pyramid, aisles 4 and 5 were garden and lawn, aisle 6 was entirely devoted to tools of all kinds, aisle 7 was about every over the counter pharmaceutical one could think of, and like aisles 1-3 aisle 8 contained food-frozen food that was.

Picking up a greyish looking extension cord that was located in aisle six Jim made his way back up to the counter. Upon reaching the old white table top he leaned on it, intending to talk with Pops for a bit. “So hows it goin pops? Dont see the misses in today.” Jim asked simply trying to make conversation.

Pops shook his head as he punched a few buttons on the cash register, which honestly looked about as old as he did. “It was the damndest thing Jim, we wen out to eat last night over at Kates Kitchen down the street and some sort of vagrant came up to us. I thought he was gonna ask for a spair bit of money, so while I was goin after my wallet in my back pocket you can imagine my surprise when I heard Ma, I mean Mary, screamin bloody murder. Ill be damned if the bastard hadnt takein a bite out of her arm. Lucky for us Sherriff Woodrow was just on his way out of the diner when the scene unfolded, Woodrow wrestled the mad man to the ground all the while takein a few bites himself. Needless to say we went home without eatin that night, poor Mary, I mean Ma, was still sleepin when I left for work today.”

Jim was shocked by what Pops had just told him, his mind immediately flashing to the prior day when Rob at work had talked about being bitten by a random man. “You've gotta be kiddin me Pops. Hell just the other day-”

Jim was cut off by a blood curdling scream, both his and Pops attention immediately turning to the door of the store. They could both see the horrific scene unfolding before them through the plexi glass that was most of the door. To Jim it was almost happening in slow motion, two men and one women lurched over the wriggling body of a local Jim knew as Mrs. Barrow. The poor slightly pudgy red headed Mrs. Barrow was entirely helpless as one of the men who had bum leg literally tore the flesh from her face, his cohort in crime quickly shambling over to the poor woman before bending down on the fallen Mrs. Barrow and making a meal of her neck.

The other criminal shambled about teeth chewing at nothing but air, that was until she stumbled over over the fallen sack of groceries Mrs. Barrow had apparently dropped when her assailants attacked her. Jim watched astonished as the shambling woman who appeared to have blood covering most of her white dress fell and smacked her head on the pavement inches from Mrs. Barrow, the impact with the concrete causing a deep gash to form across her forehead which she seemingly didn’t notice or feel at all. Instead she seemed more focused on the apparently appetizing leg flailing about in front of her, which she wasted no time in dragging herself over to and chowing down upon.

Jim felt the muscles in his body tense up as he watched the attack continue and before he knew it he was headed towards the door, Pops quickly scurrying from behind the counter after him. As he pushed his way through the heavy doors into the parking lot that only contained a handful of cars including his own he could immediately tell by the dark gray sky’s and the thunder flashing in the distance that a storm was indeed rolling in. Between the poor woman being literally eaten no more then twelve feat away from him and the winds picking up carrying the soon to be storm their way he suddenly felt like he was in a bad dream, the whole thing just seemed to surreal. Nevertheless he couldn’t stand by and watch the scene unfold any longer, and hell if it was a dream the worst thing that could happen would be him simply being woke-in up.

“Hey you assholes!” Jim shouted, a roll of thunder sounding at the end of his words which only added to the already dramatic looking situation. “Get off of the poor woman! You want a real fight why not try me for size?!” The way all three of the assailants eyes turned to him almost made him regret his words, all three of them absent mindidly chewing away at bits of flesh, meat, and sinew that sloppily spilled from their mouths. It was also at that time he realized just how much blood Mrs. Barrow had lost, the thick red liquid that pooled around her looking more like a black puddle of oil due to the dying light and approaching storm-the black parking lot didn’t help either.

Slowly all three attackers rose, well more like stumbled, to their feat. And what Jim saw horrified him. The biggest of the three was a man he knew as Tom Samson, a local who owned a local garage just at the end of main street. He wore his usual grease stained work overalls and a dirty old looking trucker hat that read 'Toms Trucks' in faded red writing. He looked practically normal, that was except for the three missing fingers on his right hand and a huge bloody chunk missing from the right side of his neck. His legs looked fine even though he walked with a strange drunken gate, his arms outstretched towards Jim as if begging for support-the snapping up and down motion of his jaw however made Jim pretty sure that wasn’t exactly what was on his mind.

The other man now lumbering towards Jim was far smaller and balding, only tufts of greyish hair clinging to the side of his head. He to wore a pair of grease and blood stained overalls just like Toms, Jim immediately recognized him as one of Toms shop hands. He too looked like he had been mauled by an animal or something, both arms covered in bite marks along with bits of flesh dangling from them like sick looking ribbons.

Unlike Tom, who was simply staggering, the bald mans left leg was literally bent inward at an angle that Jim thought looked inhumanly possible to walk on. Part of him even thought he saw part of the bone sticking out the side of his leg. Almost as if he were oblivious to the wound he too was making a bee line for Jim as quickly as his limp leg would allow. Of all three however the blonde haired woman terrified him the most, she had been the slowest to rise up and give chase but her features were ironed into his brain.

From her slender frame, curly golden blonde hair, and once white dress Jim imagined the she had once been rather good looking. Now however her left eye dangled two and fro from an empty socket with each step she took and her face was completely devoid of flesh, the pinkish red raw muscle of her face showing clearly even in the dying light. He was immdeiatley grateful that he couldn’t recognize her.

Unlike Tom and Baldy who were doing their best to stagger towards him Blondie was clearly more...Jims mind searched for the right word and all he could manage to come up with was 'capable'. She was far quicker then the other two, not that she was fast or anything but the quick eratic almost jogging like way she walked was closing the distance on him far sooner then the other two.

Alarm bells were going off in Jims head as he took a hesitant step back, shooting a backwards glance towards the store door he saw Pops there holding the heavy door open with one hand and clutching his portable oxygen tank with the other. Judging by the look on Pops face Jim was pretty sure the old man was even more terrified then he was.

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As the shambling woman quickly neared Jim he could feel his right fist ball up ready to strike, and yet some nagging part of him couldn't bring himself to strike a woman. Nonetheless he refused to stand there and let himself be blatantly attacked, so at the last second he quickly side stepped the charging woman, which actually wound up being much easier then he thought it would be. As if she had a one track mind she kept shambling for a moment past Jim only to strike a large gray pillar of concrete on the ground, the kind used to tell car drivers they'd pulled up to far in a parking space, and it sent her sprawling onto the asphalt parking lot in a ungraceful heap-the sound of some unknown bones cracking loudly as she hit the ground.

Jim was about to call out to her if she was alright when he felt a hand grip his right shoulder, turning to see who it was he was met with the face of the man that was once Tom Samson. It was then he noticed Toms pale chalky skin and dead blank stare, and like always his teeth chattered away as he leaned in towards Jim his grip tightening all the while. Without thinking Jim threw both his hands out, both palms colliding with Toms grease stained overalls, the force of the blow immediately sending Tom sprawling over backwards, his skull colliding with the pavement with a sickening crack.

Everything was happening to fast now and Jim wasn't sure what to do, the woman who'd attacked him moments ago was staggering to her feet and the balding man who'd been behind Tom was mere feet from Jim-arms sprawled out and teeth chattering away as he closed in on Jim. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mrs. Barrow begin to crawl up to her feet. At least maybe she could get away he thought, as he decided it'd be best to turn and run back into the store-this was clearly a job for the cops.

Making his way back into the store in mere moments Pops slammed the door behind them both, his free hand shakily locking two locks on the door with a large brass key. "What in the hell was that Jim? Whats wrong with those people?" Pops asked, his gaze still fixed on the men and women outside who were all stumbling towards the door-even Mrs. Barrow was trailing her moments ago attackers in the same drunken gate the rest of them carried.

"I've no fuckin Idea Pops, but I think we should call the sheriff."

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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"And if you save yourself, then you will make him happy!
"He'll keep you in a jar, and you will think you're happy!"

The radio screamed at its highest notch, which wasn't too loud... Not loud enough that you couldn't think, which wasn't loud enough for Rachael. She sighed. What was she doing... Driving a day off her route for what? She was an addict. A statistic. Her dad's words echoed in her head. 'You think those things in your face make you attractive? Slut. Junkie. Institutionalized. Institutionalized. Institutionalized.' It wasn't an echo. She just heard it as clear as day. Over the music, repeating itself, each time digging further into her mind, breaking the walls she'd built against her insecurities. She amused herself. Insecurities. That's what she called them, because voices made her feel crazy. And that's not what she was, she was a person. A person beneath... All this. She had been beaten and tormented her whole life... A never ending nightmare. She couldn't deal with it. Who could? Who could just face the things she'd been subjected to? No one. So she needed a little help, that was all. She needed it... She did. Tears started to blur her eyes. She was lying to herself. She knew it. She was in a hole that she would never be able to get out of. A tear fell down her cheek, she wiped it away and continued driving. Driving once again to deal with the devil.

She pulled in front of the small house. It had a porch with an in table on it, and its exterior was painted a bright (albeit chipped) sea foam. A tree rested in its yard with a ripped down fence dividing it from the house on its left, while the fence on the right remained intact. The lawn was unkept, and a broken swing hung from the old, leafless tree.

[center]She stepped out of the car, looking around as she locked the door to her Rabbit GTI and slammed it shut. She was wearing a black beanie, combat boots, khaki cargo pants, and a leather vest with a hoodie underneath. Her outfit was in disarray but she didn't care. She never did. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her hoodie pocket and pulled out one, stuck it between her lips, and ignited the end with her lighter. Slowly she approached the house, stopping at the run-down deck. It was missing boards, and the ones that it possessed were creaky and shifted easily. She stepped onto the deck, avoiding the square holes dotted around. She opened the screen door, creaking, she could hear dogs barking loudly in the background. And then there was a loud, young, but still masculine voice with more gravel than her own. "Shut your fucking mouths!" His sentence was interrupted by exertion and a cage raddled heavily. The door swung open and a tall, admittedly handsome... In a way... Not Rachael's way, man with blonde hair and green eyes opened. His hair was short, and he wore an open flannel and cargo shorts.

"Hey. Nicole, right?" His voice was friendly, but half-efforted in the same light.
"Nikki." She said, her voice feminine but on the lower end of the feminine spectrum, gravely and cracky from years of smoking.
The man looked at her for a moment before stepping back;
"Uhh, come in. Make yourself at home."
She complied, stepping in and looking around, her hands in her pockets.
The house was run down on the inside and out. Two dog cages in the corner, a kitchen with no dividing walls except for the countertop which cut it off from the living room, which composed the bulk of the house, a large pillar of drywall in the center, and a hallway leading out to the back, where she could see it opened to two rooms. Both of which were closed.
"So... How much are you looking for?"
"Half a gram."
"That all? You sure?"
He was leaned, both hands on the counter that seperated the two rooms, she was standing just barely in front of the doorway.
"How much money y'got?"
She pulled her wallet from her back pocket and clicked the snap open, pulling out one ten and two twenties.
He looked at the money.
"That's not enough. I only deal in increments of one."
"You were okay with it a mo-... What do you mean?"
"Buy a gram, two grams, three..."
"I don't have enough."
"Well'at really sucks." He added a short chuckle at the end.

There was a silence in the room, broken only by what sounded like a smaller dog in one of the back rooms, yelping and barely audible. Her eyes met his for only a split second, but that's all it took.

"You know, that's not all you have."

She sighed.

Fifteen minutes later.

She dipped her head below the bathroom faucet, dipping her head below the nozzle and spraying the inside of her mouth with water, gurgling, rinsing, repeating. She did this for over ten minutes. Every time feeling worse than the last. She couldn't deal with herself.

It was all his fault. 'Shut up, Nicole. He forced you into nothing. Whore.' The voice sounded so much like her father... She began to cry, her vest and hoodie soaked from the water. He probably heard her. She threw the door open and bee lined for the door, grabbing the small blue bag on the way out, never leaving her money. She ran down the yard, jumped into her car and jammed the keys in the ignition, speeding down the road. She couldn't take this. She couldn't. She pulled to the side of the road next to a convenience store.


She unraveled the twistie at the top of the bag, revealing a brownish colored substance inside. She frowned. It was tar heroin, ughh. She pulled from her jacket what looked like a zippo lighter. It wasn't, she opened it and dumped the heroin into it, making sure not to spill a single flake. She then dropped the baggie and drew another lighter, a disposable, and set it on the dashboard. She opened the glove compartment. Behind a few old papers, there was a needle, a metal cooking cup blackened from smoke, and a spoon inside. She took her vest off and her hoodie, putting on an old shirt she found in the back seat. She tied the sleeve of the hoodie around her arm, grabbed the spoon and poured out a tiny few flakes, closing the fake zippo afterwards. She sighed, grabbing a canteen from the floor boards of her passenger seat and the cup with the same hand. She set the cup between the seats and poured the brown powder in, followed by a bit of water. She shook the cup around, watching it fail to settle properly.

"Fucking tar..."

She lifted the cup and grabbed her lighter, igniting it and setting the flame against the bottom. She hated heating it.
When it was thoroughly heated, she threw the lighter into the back seat and poured the hot, black liquid into the spoon, carefully not missing a drop. Leaving the shit at the bottom of the cup. She wasn't desperate enough to inject that. Yet.

She picked up the needle, shaking with anticipation. She steadied herself, and dipped the bevel into the black liquid... The perforation bending the surface of the otherwise flat black plain. She used her thumb and pulled back the plunger, and watched with dire closeness as the level of maroon, black liquid rose up the barrel of the needle. She set the spoon down, and reoriented the needle in her hand. The tourniquet had worked by now, her veins bulging out of her arm. She laid her right hand straight, with her right leg bent and on the seat, and her left arm hovered over her radial vein. Here goes Alice, down the rabbit hole. She slowly drew closer, the vein finally making contact with her skin, pushing it back before giving way, and returning flat alongside the needle. She slowly rested her thumb against the end of the needle and pushed down. The liquid emptying into her body. She pulled the needle out and tossed it into the passenger seat just in time for her skin to chill, and then warm. Her brain felt a cool hand grasp it, and then super heat it with... Emotion. It maintained its grasp, letting its contentment flow into her. Her senses died, but her mind was never more alive. She wasn't a junkie, or a slut... She was a goddess. And she was kissing the face of the maker himself. Chills of euphoria echoed through her body. for fifteen minutes, she sat back, resting with a dull expression on her face, saliva draining from the corner of her mouth, tourniquet still around her arm. She was suddenly aware. The hand began to pull away, its fingertips raking her brain in a desperate attempt to stay. It wanted her. And she wanted it. She sat in her car. Hating herself. Junkie. Slut. Institutionalized.

[center]She looked to her left, across the street four bloody people banged on the door of a general store.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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David looked vacantly at the selections of cheap beer lined up in the refrigerators at the back of the general store. He opened the door and hooked his fingers into a 12 pack. It didn't matter what brand. A drink and a smoke. He'd do something about dinner on his way home, probably grab some takeout again. It had been a rough day. He took his beer up to front and put it on the counter ordering himself a pack of smokes while he was at it. The bell on the shop door rang as the man before him left but he paid no mind to it. He rubbed absently at the bandages on his right hand a gift he'd received from work earlier that day. The dipshit he worked with at a body shop down town had finally got his due, a fracture jaw and several bruised ribs for giving him a hard time. He'd been at it for weeks, picking and prodding at the way David did his repair jobs. Pestering him about the shit he should check, as if he'd never done it before. He'd been a grease monkey for most of his youth preferring that over any desk job. There was something satisfying about getting your hands dirty in order to earn for your living.

Of course, he'd gotten fired for starting the fight. He was the new guy the outsider and he'd thrown the first punch. David tossed the bills onto the counter and took his things. The guy at the register seemed preoccupied vaguely nodding his thanks, his eyes seemed locked on what was going on at the door. Suddenly the tired shop seemed to stir into motion as the man from outside came in. 'Pops', the man at the register secured the door after him.

"What in the hell was that Jim? Whats wrong with those people?"

"I've no fuckin Idea Pops, but I think we should call the sheriff."

David wasn't paying any attention to the conversation, he just wanted to get home.

"'the hell is going on." His voice was tired, unused but stern in it's disapproval. He didn't like this. He put his beer down and approached the two.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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Jim turned to the now speaking David as Pops quickly made his way past the beer carrying newcomer, the old mans mind completely ignoring him and everything he said as he made his way behind the old counter top. In mere moments Pops had an ancient looking phone in his hand, the beige piece of plastic was so old it was still connected by cord and had a turn dial. As Jim realized just who was asking what the hell was going on he could hear Pops's fingers dialing for the sheriff, the familiar 'chuck chuck chuck chuck' of the obsolete turn dial sounding in the quite store.

Jim sighed inwardly as a particularly loud bang sounded from the door, one of the things outside having slammed itself against the glass without any regard to its well being. With the extremely bizarre events unfolding outside Jim cursed his bad luck, of all the people in this small town it just had to be David Reichart standing in front of him-the fact David was carrying a case of beer didn't surprise him in the least. The way Jim's eyes darted to the alcohol and his eyes narrowed it was clear he didn't think much of Davids habits.

"Honestly Dave?" Jim said turning his attention back to the door, the faceless lady now smearing her skinless face across the glass as her teeth clicked away, a black reddish smear left behind in her wake. "I've no fucking idea."

No sooner had Jim finished speaking than Pops spoke up from behind the register, his old wrinkled face white with worry. "Sheriffs office...the dang line is busy every time I try calling!" He said his voice cracking slightly at the end as he slammed the phone back on the receiver with a loud clatter.

Having been a deputy for over three years Pete Kleinman knew just what to look for when dealing with drug addicts. Sure, the town of Dry Gulch was small, but just like anywhere in america drugs had somehow slithered their way in. It was pure coincidence that he had spotted the girl sitting in her car high on god knows what. Coming from the local post office he had just happened to notice her on the way to his car, and even though he was off duty for the day he couldn't help but confront the woman.

"Hey lady." Pete said forcefully in what could only be described as a 'cop voice', his large right hand rapping loudly on the drivers side window. It was true he was in his civilian clothes, a dirty white tshirt and faded blue jeans, but nonetheless he still spoke with all the authority of a man in blue. It helped his confidence that he always carried his gun and badge on him. "I'm gonna need you to step out of the..." He was cut off as an unusually loud banging noise sounded in the air immediately catching his attention, his eyes quickly tracking the sound across the street to Pop's Convenience store. There four figures were, as his mind described it, trying to beat down the door.

To Pete the possibility of a violent crime took precedence over some junkie. Ignoring the women he had planned on turning into the sheriff he made his way across the street quickly into Pop's parking lot, right away noticing the blood stains on the black asphalt next to the spilled bag of groceries. That's when he decided to draw his nine millimeter handgun. "Hey! You! You four! Step away from the fucking door!" His voice roared fearlessly as he stood mere feet away from the violent group. Almost in perfect unison the group turned, their cold dead eyes and bloodied bodies headed straight for Pete. "Hey now I don't want to shoot..." Pete said unable to comprehend what he was looking at as the group drew nearer, he was now taking a hesitant step back.

Through the glass door Jim could hear Pete say "I'm warning you!" as the faceless women, the quicker of the shambling four figures, bum rushed the off duty deputy-four loud booms responded to her attack. Pete knew he had hit dead center of where he was aiming, all four bullets ripping through the chest of the blonde woman. And yet somehow she kept coming, her first bite tearing out a particularly large part of Petes neck. "What the fuck!?!" Pete roared in surprise and horror as he shoved the woman violently to the ground. The second woman, who Pete straight away recognized as Mrs. Barrow (she had afterall babysat him as a kid) was also making a quick beeline for him-her jaw working up and down as her pearly white teeth made a constant 'snap snap snap' sound. Apparently she too intended to take a bite out of Pete. Unloading the rest of what was left in his pistol seemed to do nothing to the now bullet riddled Mrs. Barrow who just kept coming. That's when instinct took over and Pete sprinted faster then he was pretty sure he ever had in his life, mere seconds later he was opening the passenger side door to the ladies car he had almost arrested moments before.

It took a moment for him to freak out. But it was only a moment.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?!" He shouted wide eyed at the girl he didn't know as if she had all the answers. Again he shouted 'what the fuck' as the color drained from his face, his left hand clutching the large open hole on the side of his neck that seemed to be spreading blood all over himself and the passenger seat. His right hand still tightly clutching the now empty pistol in his hand. Normally Pete was a rather well looking man, the solidly built type that took care of his body and and had what many considered a 'handsome' face, but sitting here covered in blood in a strangers car he was pretty sure he felt like an unrecognizable mess.

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"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step out of the car."
Her skin went cold. She could do nothing but stare straight forward, as she had been before. She pulled the knotted hoodie sleeve off of her arm and slowly turned her head. But he was distracted.

"Chew your meat for you...
Pass it back and forth...
In a passionate kiss.
From my mouth to yours, I like you."

The radio was still blaring. She put the car in gear and was about to leave when... What was going on? *Crack Crack Crack Crack* The gun shots made her jump in her seat... Oh my god, d-...Did she just bite him?

Liters of blood was splotching onto the ground, she wanted to throw up. It was gagging her. She struggled to put her seat belt on, it wouldn't pull down. Finally she got it to click, there had been more gunshots, but she was still coming down from her high, and her senses weren't the best. Her door flew open and she looked at the man, stunned. He was draining blood all over her car and her face would have drained blood as well if it were not already pale white from the drugs. She was shouting at him... What-.. What was he saying?

She panicked.

She had not the slightest clue of what to say, she couldn't believe this was happening. They both just stared at eachother for a moment before looking forward, what was happening...? When she looked back, he was... Different. His movements were slower, and his eyes... Different. He dove on her, and she screamed. She floored the pedal and the vehicle accelerated in a random direction, veering off into the street. She was soaked in his blood, barely staving off his clicking jaws before the vehicle slammed a tree adjacent the general store, sending the Sheriff flying out of the windshield. Her head was against the steering wheel, bloodied. She slowly opened her eyes, collecting her blurry senses, and opening her crunched door.

That's when she saw the people banging on the door, not ten feet away from her...

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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It was like some sort of nightmare watching everything as it went. The mangled bloodied faces of regular average people pressing, slamming scraping across the door the distant but all too clear screams of the cop and the girl across the street. David's head swam, his vision narrowed and it felt like he was stuck underwater watching as a dream. This is fucking impossible... He thought as he took two slow steps back.

"You've got to be fucking kidding've got to be fucking kidding me....You've got to be...." David murmured under his breath repeating himself over and over as he suddenly began scouring the shop for......anything. He circled the aisles twice and practically dove behind the counter to search for some kind of gun or bat. Chips and candy cascaded across the floor as he carelessly knocked them aside.

"Hey! Old man!" He snapped his fingers loudly to get the man's attention. "Weapon. Anything? Gun, bat, antique machete?"

His tone had completely changed, commanding, bordering on threatening. Trembling in his own panic disbelief as if he'd been caught over a dead body and forced to murder all the witnesses present. He looked between the two expectantly. "You've seen the damned movies if we stick around here we're dead"

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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It took Pops a moment to respond to Dave's questions, the old man clearly in some state of shock as his eyes stared off vacantly into nowhere. Quickly he was brought back to reality however. "Oh, I, uh." Pops was sputtering over his words, pausing a moment he inhaled deeply through the oxygen tube connected to his nose which seemed to calm him down somewhat. "No, nothing like that son. Never had need of anything like that around here." It was clear by the look on his face that he indeed wished he had invested in a firearm.

Jim's eyes had been drawn away from the door momentarily, his focus now on David. He couldn't decide if the people outside or David were acting crazier. Quickly making his way over to the counter David had just finished rummaging through Jim spoke in a still somewhat calm voice, the gravity of the situation unfolding still not having fully sunk in "Just what in the fuck are you talking about Dave?"

Before Dave had a moment to respond Pops interrupted "Aisle six!" he randomly exclaimed excitedly, his ancient eyes locking with Dave's. The confused look from Jim however made him clarify more "The tool aisle! That's your best bet boys!"

Jim threw his hands up as if to say 'hold on' "Woah woah woah, wait a second guys. What are you two planning here exactly? Get some wrenches and crowbars and, what, go out there and start beating on those people? Need I remind you they just took a bite out of what looked like Deputy Pete?" He asked the two men in disbelief. Pops shrugged at him and responded "Doesn't hurt to be prepared son."

Turning his gaze back around to the door Jim noticed that the shambling group of monsters now seemed to be making their way away from the store, something else apparently having caught their attention. It only took him a moment to see what their new found target was, all four of them closing in on what appeared to be some sort of freshly wrecked Volkswagon not far off from the store

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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Momentary silence. The last chord rang out on the radio as her hazy eyes slowly focused on the world around her. She felt... tired. She wiped her forehead... Blood. She saw something... Getting bigger. It was coming for her. She began to stand and her right leg shot with pain, she let out a loud scream as she sat back down. She scooted back and opened her center console, grabbing the small 380 handgun just in time for a malformed woman with a missing eye to ambush her. She fired off a round by mistake, soaring through the roof of the car, and then dropped it onto the floor board.

The radio crackled to life.

"Imagine there's no heaven."

She threw herself into the back seat, grabbing her hoodie and wrapping it around the woman's face, hoping to keep her at bay. She scratched at Nicole's arms, shedding blood. Nicole screamed as loud as she could.

"It's easy if you try."

Two more zombies started banging on the back and side window. She began to bawl her eyes out, she fell back and started kicking the zombie back with her operative leg. As long as she kept it from getting between the seats... They couldn't get her. Until the windows gave in.

Then she'd be eaten alive.

"There's no hell below us."

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

"Above us only sky..."

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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"If we don't do something now that lady out there is going to end up just like them, and like I said, we can't stay here or we're as good as dead. That door ain't gonna hold another dozen of 'em" David said as he headed towards aisle six just as the old man said. He scanned the aisle for something resembling a weapon, something heavy or something sharp. He picked the largest hammer he could find and spun it in his hand. He hesitated, willing his shocked mind to think of a plan, any sort of plan. "We need to do something, that girl isn't going to last against all of them. Jim you come with me and we'll see what we can do, Pops can keep an eye out and make sure none of 'em get in here. Once we have the girl we'll figure out our next move."

"Next move.....the hell am I saying....I don't have a single clue what I'm doing. Am I seriously going under the assumption that those things out there are zombies? That's one hell of a jump, Dave."

"The hell else could they be? Shambling psychopaths that just happen to look and act exactly like zombies?"

"This can't be happening. You're drunk. You're just having a crazy dream, maybe you had too much to drink last night."


Dave's eyes where wide, as if trying to catch a tell, some kind of tell tale sign that it was all just his imagination. He blinked and headed for the door, hammer in hand then waited for Jim and Pops to join him, that or convince him not to do otherwise.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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Jim hated to admit it to himself but just watching the scene unfold outside he knew deep down that Dave was right. "Sonuvabitch..." Jim mumbled to himself as he quickly followed Dave to aisle six. It took him a moment to find something that he deemed worthy of fighting with, his hands at first finding their way to a large two handed axe commonly used for chopping wood. Quickly though he decided that the ax would be to unwieldy and instead decided to go with a somewhat light and sturdy crowbar. Testing the weight of the useful tool in his hands as he made his way over to the door Jim was trying to psyche himself up for whatever was going to happen next. 'Your not hurting people, your trying to help someone.' his voice echoed in his mind as he watched the shambling figures begin beating away at the cars weakening frame.

Standing next to the door for a moment with Dave Jim took the pair of keys Pops had just brought back over, his right hand quickly unlocking both the top and bottom locks with a loud clicking noise. His hand on the doorknob he locked eyes with Dave for what he thought could very well be the last time. "You ready Dave? We come back after this, i'm havein one of those beers of yours" He said in a voice that was clearly filled with worry and uncertainty and a forced hint of humor as he opened the door into the parking lot.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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"Heh.....if we make it back I'll pop open a bottle for ya myself." David said with a halfhearted chuckle. He hesitated for a moment, looking out at the writhing mass of bloody mangled bodies fighting for a chance to get in that car, crawling over top one another stepping on each other for leverage. The gunshot from earlier seemed to draw out more as well. David had no idea where they came from but they did, trickling in from all directions lured by the growing racket of the fighting ones on the car and the screaming of the girl inside. They needed to be quick.


The moment that Jim got the door open and got clear of the way David made for the zeds crowding the car. Hammer in a tight and read grasp. The sickening wet thud and crunch of sculls seem to sound in David's head before the blow had even made contact with the first zed as he struggled grasping it's collar from behind.

Whud! Whud! Whud!

A chunk of brain matter hit his face, distorted in what emotion could be anyones guess. Rage, distress, panic? The hammer's blows where rough on the scull getting stuck and causing just as much damage on the yank out, if not more. He pushed the body of the stunned and convulsing zed into another one that had turned at the sudden sounds and movements of conflict. They both toppled over next to the car.

"You get in there and I'll get the ones around ya!" David said, voiced raised over the clamor.

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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Her leg was exhausted, she pushed continually but she could feel its capacity draining. It was burning so bad, and the thing attempting to squeeze between the seats knew that. It grabbed her leg, pulling her forward and digging its nails through her cargo pants and into her flesh. She leaned forward grabbing the top of its face in an attempt to keep it from biting her.

*Crunch. Crunch*

Outside, blood painted the windows and bodies began to fall.


Her words screamed in a blood curdling desperation, and broken up with the tears streaming down her face.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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Moments after Jim and David had made their way into the parking lot the rain began pouring down from the darkened sky, the suddenness of the storm catching Jim slightly off guard. Jim had hoped that they could somehow figure a way out to rescue the panicked woman without shedding any blood but immediately saw that doing so would be impossible. Apparently Dave had no qualms about killing the things, his sturdy looking hammer cracking skulls and shattering jaws within seconds of their arrival.

"You get in there and I'll get the ones around ya!" Jim heard Dave shout over the noises of the storm and the sickening snapping sound of bones. With a nod that Jim knew Dave would probably never notice he set about doing exactly what the man said, his right hand gripping the passenger side door handle. As he tried opening the car door a dull clicking sound was made signalling that the door was, in fact, locked from the inside. A quick glance around and Jim made sure that no shambling figure was sneaking up on him, to his relief Dave was doing a rather good job of drawing their attention.

A swift two handed swing of the crowbar he'd takein from Pops store was all it took to send the car window exploding into a thousand tiny shards. Not waiting a minute he snaked his arm around what shards remained in the window frame, his hand finding its way around the lock. A quick pull with his hand and the door finally popped open.

The sight he was greeted with inside the car wasn't pretty to say the least. The newly turned Deputy Pete was doing his best to get a taste of the poor woman who was successfully keeping him at bay. Without thinking Jim grabbed the legs of the sprawled out deputy and pulled with all his strength, literally dragging the bloodied body of whatever Deputy Pete had become out of the car. Letting Pete's body unceremoniously hit the asphalt of the parking lot Jim was just about to make his way back into the car to help the woman get out when Pete was on him-how he'd recovered from the fall so quickly Jim wasn't entirely sure but he did know there was a hundred and seventy pound something man trying to take a bite out of him.

Raising up his steel crowbar at the last second he caught Pete almost perfectly, the deranged mans mouth now literally biting at the lengthy bit of steel in his hand. Trying to decide what best to do with Pete locked onto his weapon his train of thought was quickly shattered, a sickeningly wet and loud 'whud' coming from the hammer striking Pete in the back of the head. The monster that had once been Pete collapsed to the ground in a limp pile, Jims eyes locking with his savior Dave-he quickly noticed the Dave was now covered in a fair amount of black redish blood that even the rain was having trouble washing off. "She's still inside." Was all Jim could manage to say, his eyes transfixed on the now dead Deputy Pete.

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Character Portrait: Rachael "Ray" Nicole Sherman. Character Portrait: David Reichart Character Portrait: Jim Samson
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David's hammer came down on Pete's scull then used both hands to yank Pete off of Jim. "We got thirty seconds to get her out of this car and into that shop. Get your head out of the damn clouds. You fuck up again and you end up just like Pete here."

He kicked Pete's limp shoulder then used his own sleeve to wipe some of the blood from his face. It seemed to just smear itself. David tried not to think of what might happen if he got some of that stuff in his eyes or mouth. His hands where beginning to shake. David had managed to clear the parking lot for the moment. There hadn't been that many of them on the sheer fact that not many people where at that shop at the time however the zeds that had been making diligent work of the people in that small town. Screams, gunshots and distant sirens where painfully audible from there and things where going downhill fast as the harsh realization spread. He turned to the car and climbed inside as best he could with his bulky form. He peered past the seats back at the woman. He must have looked and smelled like a murder scene drenched and bloody with what shown of his face being pale from being at a steady state of emotional shock. He held his hand out for her. "We need to get out of here quick. They're starting to pop up all over the place."

It was then that he got the idea that they had to get out of there. The town they where in was small but it was still too populated to be in any way safe. He made sure the woman got out of the car and glanced over to Jim to make sure he wasn't being devoured on.

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