Christian blinked into the glaring sunlight. The sky seemed overcast, but not with rain-clouds - it was plumes of smoke from smouldering buildings, from corpse burn-offs. The stench that coated the city was revolting; a singed mix of flesh and trash. But within hours, one's nose gets used to it and it's almost like you have always inhaled it. Christian was used to foul odours and gruesome sights, but that didn't prevent his stomach from tumbling over itself. His breathing was deep, forcibly so and he was trying to clear his cluttered mind as he watched his 'safe haven' begin to burn. He had fled the moment the camp was compromised - an infected stock-market jerk that had slipped through the virus scanning procedures by lying about some crap that he was 'allergic' or something. Christian had helped in the screening of newcomers and he had argued with the others.

"It's not right! We can't just let some stuffed shirt wander in because he claims to be allergic..." Christian spat angrily. "You are putting the entire camp at risk!"

"How can we deny someone, leave them to die out there if they simply cannot take the screening?" One young hippy-type retorted, in an almost hypnotic tone that enraged Christian further.

"Besides," a hardened old lady stepped forward, wrinkled hands on her hips, "we checked him over. No bites or visible virus entry points." Christian nearly exploded.

"Don't you remember that the virus can be spread, even if an infected bleed or leaked onto something he ingested-" The old woman, Martha, interrupted him with a scowl and her hand placed firmly on his shoulder. "Yes, I do. But if we can't trust our own, then what is the point of all this?" She rolled her hand, gesturing to the hundreds camped within the stadium. "Why bother fighting, surviving, if we can't even help those that need it? I would soon shoot myself then turn that man away." She closed her eyes and put her hand up before Christian's face as he opened his mouth to argue. "No more on this. He is in, and he stays." And with that, she shuffled off.

Christian sighed, the memory one in which he should be punching the air and shouting I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! but the circumstances were too dire for that. He was out on the streets, hidden behind a dumpster with the crumbling stadium in full view. He had run as soon as the man had started exhibiting the symptoms of the Nizarri virus. He knew what was coming, and he wasn't sticking around for the bloody show. He snuck into the medbay, and rifled through the bottles, seizing some antibiotics and painkillers and stuffing them into his little medkit. He felt a twang of guilt for those he left, in blissful ignorance, but telling them would only have started a panic and made the situation worse. But for where Christian was sitting, it wouldn't have mattered. It had only taken an hour or so, before the first primal shriek erupted, muffled, from the camp. And within minutes, the place was filled with screams of terror and confusion. Crashes of equipment, gunshots and what sounded like snaps of bone made Christian turn away.

But he had tried to warn them, to make them understand. Martha had been wrong. In order to survive, one must think of only themselves. And if that means, joining others and benefiting from the arrangment, then so be it. But Christian wouldn't, couldn't hesitate deserting those that broke his rules. And if he ever found others, they would be stupid to cross him - he was a trained nurse, a lifesaver. And without him, they were already dead.

Hannah was bolting at full speed down an open street. Cars and miscellaneous rubbish littered the pathways, all scattered about and obviously abandoned on a whim when the owner of the car for whatever reason realised that they weren't driving out of the city fast. Hannah's breath was heavy, and her legs ached, but her will to live, survive and get away from the fallen camp was more motivation than she'd ever need. As she turned a corner onto the sixth block away from the stadium she gave herself a moment to stop and breath. She collapsed onto her knees heaving deeply with regret and anger at what had happened.

"It's not right! We can't just let some stuffed shirt wander in because he claims to be allergic..."Hannah had been listening to Martha and the nurse guy... -what was his name?- arguing about the new survivors that had come to them for safety. Hannah couldn't say that the man was wrong...Chris?... was that his name? But she was on Martha's side... Hannah would never turn someone away, no matter what... And the worst part was though, she knew how stupid it sounded...

Martha told the guy what was happening and walked away without a second chance for the guy to state his case further. Hannah quickly pursued Martha and stopped her for a quick conversation, "Maybe we should quarantine him? The business man I mean" she said as she interrupted Martha on her way back to her post assessing the newcomers. Martha looked up at Hannah and scoffed, "We don't treat people like Cattle Hannah" she scolded viciously, "and he's got no marks on him to suggest he's infected". Hannah stammered to talk to Martha, she was a very authorative figure and hard to actually talk to, but that's why she was made leader by the rest... She usually had a no nonsense attitude, but since her daughter died a week or so ago, Martha had started to show cracks in her character.

"Martha... you know as well as... Chris? does... that the virus can be ingested... it takes one drop of blood... even saliva and that parasite thing has got you..." Hannah pleaded ernestly, "I'm not saying we kick him out, I would never do that to someone... and I know it sounds horrible... but maybe we need to start thinking about stronger measures... think about what happened to Catherine? She wasn't bitten either... and she still..." Hannah cut herself off. Martha glared furiously at her and simply hissed "Don't ever talk about my daughter again".

Hannah sat kneeling in the middle of the street now heaving and sobbing. That guy was right... Of course he was, he was a nurse... He knew more than anyone else out of the hundreds of people at the camp about this virus... he was only the goddamn nurse that they had too... All the hospitals were the first fall. Hannah's sobbing turned into wailing and she had to breath deeply. But all she could think was how bad it got so quick...

Hannah had taken station as a sort of bed attendant. Looking after those who were hurt from physical injuries. The business man had come in and was struggling to breathe, he was rambling and sweating and complaining that his allergy was getting worse. Hannah had kept asking what was the exact allergy, but he wouldn't tell her and just kept demanding pills. When Hannah had said "I can't get you help unless I know what is hurting you.." she replied.

Suddenly the man collapsed and Hannah called for help, and before she could aid the now collapsed man three people were crouching over him - Martha, Dean and Scott. Then it happened. A shrill gasping and three screams filled the med-tent. Before Hannah could call out to ask what was going on she was knocked to the floor by Martha who was now frenzied, covered in blood and had a sizeable chunk of flesh missing from her neck.

It all happened so fast... Hannah snapped into automatic drive. She clamped her mouth shut, closed her eyes for a moment and kicked as hard as she could. Enough forced to propel Martha off her. She then had a chance to open her eyes. Hannah launched to her feet and bolted. Previously being a gym/personal fitness instructor meant her endurance and speed were excellent and before she knew it she was making her way to her tent to grab a few belongings... As she ran, all Hannah could hear were the screams of the hundreds of survivors who were now now longer safe.

As Hannah fumbled through the tent for her flashlight and jumper she suddenly smelled the unmistakable scent of fire. She emerged from her tent and saw that a roaring blaze had begun in the confusion and that people were frenzying left right and centre and clearly the virus had infected quite a lot of people in the last ten or so minutes.

Without thinking twice, Hannah bolted again, managed to reach and exit to the stadium and get out onto the street.

Hannah clasped her hands over her mouth. Making noise was the last thing she wanted to do right now... She had just narrowly survived that whole ordeal. She couldn't believe it had taken less than an hour for everything to happen. Hannah swallowed deeply and shakily stood on her feet. She turned around to see the smoke plumes from the stadium filling the sky...

Hannah choked back more tears and uttered a solem "Sorry" to herself and for those she left behind.

Christian took a deep breath and ran his hand across his face. The image of the place he once called safe -the place that could have remained safe if care had been taken- burning to the ground made him both furious and bitter. He stood quietly, readjusted and carefully made his way into the rubbish-strew alleyway. He tried to be as silent as possible, not wanting to attract any attention that would result in his mauling and/or death. The streets were eerily quiet, unnaturally so. Not even the wildlife or the wind made a noise; as if all of nature's beauty had deserted the planet. It was unsettling. And it made Christian's hairs on his neck prickle. He could hear his own unsteady heartbeat, the sound of his throat retracting as he swallowed.

And then the sound of sobbing been abruptly cut short. He froze and leant into the shadows, eyes narrowed. Is it one of them? He thought, mind boggling. If it was, then the tables had turned again. If they could made human noises, emotion-driven sounds, than the threat they posed increased ten fold. Traps could be set, perhaps this was one. His skin was tight and mouth dry. He needed to know how close it was, for he was without a weapon and wasn't great at fighting anyway - not without an Xbox controller anyway. He started edging forward, light widening as the alley's opening drew closer. He pressed himself against the heavily graffitied bricks, and slipped his hand into his pocket and took out his Swiss army knife. With a flick of the wrist, the widest blade appeared and Christian snuck the tip beyond the wall, angled slightly so as to see what was there.

A woman reflected in the blade. Christian's frowned as he stared at her, and realised he knew her. Not personally, but he had seen her before. Recently. I think she... I think she helped at the refuge... What was her name? Started with a H... Or was it a M? He withdrew the knife and thought for a moment. Was she infected? Christian then heard her apologise to someone, no-one, anyone. She couldn't be infected for two reasons. First, when infected the cognitive faculties of a human were essentially destroyed. And two, she was feeling sad - and Christian knew it was because she had ran too, just like him. He chewed the inside of his cheek and nodded an affirmation to himself before taking a small step out into the grey street.

"You a'right?" Christian muttered, looking around him to ensure safety.

Carrie Reeds

Carrie looked up at the flames engulfing the camp, her blue eyes reflecting the dying fires. Her hands flitted around her coat for a moment before the blackened cigarette box was in her hands. Her silver hair wisped every which way as if she had just been stirred from bed and her outfit was messily put together, although that’s usually how it was. Her coat was singed, the blue jeans scuffed and sliced up, and her white tank top had soot marks where Carrie had wiped her hands several times. Her black boots were the only pleasing place to for a neat person to rest their eyes. Nevertheless, she liked her boots the best out of all her outfit. Carrie walked over to the tiny sputter of flame that was quickly turning into ashes and pressed the tip of her cigarette to the flame. She waited a few moments before raising the cancer-stick to her lips, and took a heavy puff.

“Oh man.” She muttered, feeling much better with a dose of nicotine. “It’s lit up and dying like a dry Christmas tree.” She took another heavy puff of her cigarette, watching the camp give it’s last few breaths. The silence around her wasn’t dead but just restful as she collected her thoughts. “Wonder if I should bother with their advice? They didn’t do too good with trying to keep this place running.” She paused again and glanced down the street as she became a bit restless. “Black Falls. Sounds like a wonderful place.” She flicked the cigarette and silently made her way past the littered cars and dried blood on the street. The stench didn’t bother her, she was used to it after working with the police. Dead bodies were commonplace, and the morgue was no joke. However, the only thing she never got used too was the constant buzz in her ears whenever there was true silence. The kind of silence that isn’t silence at all, but where there is a hollow place in the human body. The kind where you can’t feel the other person’s activity.

Carrie sped up as her imagination brought up all the images of the undead. She wasn’t about to get caught out in the streets by one of them. Her footsteps were a hushed ‘thump thump’ on the cracked pavement. She felt her stamina fade after a solid time of running, and stopped to crouch next to a car. Her gaze cast around, her hearing searched for the telling shuffle of the dead. Or, even the panicked running of the living. She took a deep breath and feeling that she was alone, edged away from the car before she searched the ground for a weapon. There was no way she was going to make it alone to Black Falls, at least not without a decent weapon.

Her gaze caught on a hollowed out metal pole where a car had crashed into the streetlight. The streetlight lay bent but the metal pole which had been below the larger streetlight, lay broken off at the end and torn out of the ground. She grasped the cold metal and lifted it, surprised at it's light weight. She figured it wasn't steel but actually aluminum or some other lighter metal. Carrie straightened and looked down the road to where smoke rose in the distance. Miles away, she guessed.

Deep, low, quivering notes resonated throughout the air, breaking the unnaturally silent atmosphere that had seemed to consume the area of the street. Rikter sat cross-legged atop a wrecked van, the front tires missing, a hubcap missing from the front right, while the rear was missing its entire axle, wheels, suspension and all. Looking down to the old bass he strummed away at, the young man sighed heavily, his tune heavy and solemn, just as his heart felt. Trapped. Isolated. Alone... With a glance, he kept plunking out the notes on the strings, the song beginning to pick up its pace and starting to sound very prominent, though still solemn. Smoke on the horizon, coming from the direction of a camp he had passed through not too long ago. It only really went to show just how much this world was going to hell.

After watching the rising smoke, closing his eyes, and inhaling deeply, he let the breath out as he sang softly. Given that the acoustics provided by the linear-running buildings surrounding him on that road, his voice travelled quite a distance as it broke the quiet with the instrument's call. "...Before I tell my story please consider who I am...I missed my window years ago, I'm doing all I can...A tragedy is commonplace, but in the end they go away...My skin is the only stain I'm left to wear in shame..." His voice was haunting in its tone and pitch; calm, sorrowful, resentful, a Baritone range paired with a faint but apparent Russian accent. A rare breeze blew down the street, causing him to stop playing and singing. With hazel eyes opened now, he looked upward and forward, down the street, parting his slate colored hair a bit in order to see clearly. Such a breeze wasn't felt so often, and given the situation, it brightened his mood a little bit.

However, the breeze wasn't the only thing that caught his attention. A soft sound, but still quite prominent; metal grinding against metal for a brief moment. That meant something was moving. And given the situation, he may as well see what was causing this. If it was another survivor, excellent; if it was one of those shambling, husks of humans...He'd rather not think about the latter scenario. Rikter began to move, but hesitated, a soft jingling heard at his chest. Cupping his right hand, he lifted the pair of dog tags into the palm of his hand, sliding his thumb over them to separate them. The upper tag held the name "Rikter Jonathon Reznov II". Rikter Jonathon Reznov Jr. That was who he was. The lower read "Rikter Jonathon Reznov". Rikter's father. Rikter's deceased father. A shakey sigh escaped his throat as he clutched the tags, muttering a soft prayer in Russian before sliding down the van's roof and landing on both feet. Dusting himself off, adjusting the strap, and flipping the bass guitar around to its back, neck and head pointed downward, he began to walk. Just...Walk.

He could only really wonder who he would find; it could be anyone. A man, woman, child, doctor, lawyer, killer, prostitute, salesman, soldier...It could be anyone. Or anything. There was some worry in his mind if he would have to fight. Then again, a lot of things were resting heavily on his mind these days. But, he wasn't too concerned. Maybe if he was lucky, he would find a gorgeous woman who knew how to survive something like this! "Naaaaah...." He waved off the thought as he walked toward the source of the audible disturbance from before. Rikter knew his luck, and the chances of something like that were near nichego, nothing. His focus returned to finding the disturbance, and finding it fast. But, still...He could only wonder who, or what, he'd find.

"You a'right?"

Hannah jumped in surprise and reeled on her heels to face the direction of the voice that spoke to her. Her eyes made contact with his and Hannah's face broke out with a smile of relief, "SOMEONE ELSE!" she breathed heavily. "I - I'm fine.." she stammered, still overwhelmed. "How did you make it out?" she asked in disbelief, "I thought I was the only one to get out... at least from the side of the stadium I was on anyway..." Hannah's face dropped to the ground with guilt that she had run out on her own. "I didn't know what to do..." she whispered solemnly, "I just ran..."

Hannah was a people person, and never in her life, as much as she could help, ever let anyone down or walked away from a person in need. "I just didn't know what to do.." she said quietly as she raised her head... "It was just... a moment... and all I could do was... run". Hannah wiped a tear and looked up to the man in front of her, "My names Hannah" she said softly and held a shaky hand out to the man in front of her, "You're Chris right?" she asked with a bleak smile.

Hannah cleared her throat and spoke again, "Sorry... I'm rambling... I'm not normally like this" the said with embarrassment, "I'm not usually this emotional... I just feel like I should have done more back there. Hannah cleared her throat again and her voice returned to almost its usual confident tone, "Where are you going? Black Falls by any chance? If you are... think you'd like a travel buddy?"



Cameron grabbed her by the scruff and the lower back. He pulled back and then thrust forward with all his might forcing the undead-bitch to collide straight into the wall with enough force that you could hear her skull crack. Cameron stepped back, "Yee-haw!" he shouted with excitement, the world was going to shit, but this was Cameron's time to shine. He turned to face the woman he'd just saved from being attacked and bent down to help her up, "You're welcome..." he said gruffly and turned to walk away.

As the camp around him began to disintegrate, Cameron looked around in anger and disgust. Cameron could never claim to be a wholly righteous person - he did go to jail after all - but as he watched people become rabid and begin to infect others, he also saw how men were throwing women and children in the way to save themselves, and women leave their children behind to give themselves a better chance.

Cameron hitched his jacket and looked for an exit... One end of the stadium was an epic shit-storm, so he turned and began to high-tail it to a an exit that was barely being used. As he reached the stadium exit a man called out in the mayhem. Cameron turned to find a middle aged man stuck and entangled in tent ropes... "I can't get out... Please help!". Cameron thought for a moment... Helping this guys could seal his fate, and what did it matter if some stupid prick got himself stuck... It wasn't Cameron's problem. "PLEASE!" he begged Cameron. "Fuck me dead.." he shouted and ran as fast as he could to the man's aid.

As Cameron reached the man entangled he reached down and grabbed him by the arms, pulled with all his weight and yanked the man out. "There you idiot" Cameron snapped. The man began to run for the exit and Cameron was about to follow when a young woman's voice caught his ears from under the tent's fallen tarpaulin. It was a young woman, "Andrew!" Cameron's eyes widened and he turned to watch the man run for his life, "You piece of chicken shit." Cameron hissed. He turned and began to shuffle through the tarpaulin looking for the source of the voice. As Cameron lifted the tarp and found the woman he was met with a surprising hug and sobbing woman, "Where's Andrew?" she asked hurriedly, "I need to find him.." The woman didn't wait for a reply and just ran off into the hysterical crowed yelling out the coward's name.

Cameron stood and shouted "You're fucking welcome" after her and turned and ran for the exit. As Cameron reached the exit another yell echoed through his ears. Cameron turned to his left and saw the coward Andrew up against a wall with an infected woman attempting to bite him. The woman was held at a distance by the throat and the man was calling to Cameron for help. "Please help me!". Cameron looked the man straight in the eyes and and turned and ran.

Christian couldn't help but grin when the distressed girl whirled around, eyes lighting up - "SOMEONE ELSE!"

His smile faded almost as quickly as it came, a soft frown curving in it's place. He nodded, as if in agreement with the girl who was babbling feverishly on about feeling awful for leaving those people, that she could have, should have done more. But her instincts kicked it. Which was natural and even though Christian only felt a drop of guilt wherein this girl was drowning in an ocean of it, he smiled kindly and took her trembling hand in his warm, firm grip.

"Hannah. I am Christian. And it's alright, I understand. It's awful." He dropped her hand and looked around, hoping their voices didn't drift upon rotten ears. "But the will to survive is the strongest drive we have. It pretty much overrides all our emotions and morals." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and smiled at her, dropping his voice a few decibels. Something didn't feel right.

Christian tried to push the thought away, moving into the alleyway and beckoning Hannah to follow. His eyes flittered across her body. Hannah was gorgeous. But would she really be of any use to him? She had just mentioned about going to Black Falls, apparently the safiest place on earth! And he didn't know whether or not she would be a blessing or a burden. She didn't look very strong and didn't have any weapons. Would he constantly be healing her, running his supplies low? He needed to know what she would bring to the duo. Apart from sex appeal.

"Black Falls. Hm, yeah. It's not like there is much left here for us, unless you enjoy charred undead company." He paused and inwardly kicked himself. He really knew when to say the right thing. Oh the humiliation!

"Anyway," he carried on quickly, "we need to move out of the open. It's starting to get late." Christian would take her somewhere and interrogate her, find out about her past, her abilities as a human, her weaknesses. And if she was going to be a hindrance, he would leave while she slept. He'd donate her a bottle of pain-killers, he wasn't a monster. Besides, seeing a beauty like that go to decaying waste would be such a shame.

"Should I shoot him?" questioned Steve, another sniper to his right. Marcus watched the man as he stumbled to the entrance. His skin was still pink and his stumbling looked like it was some sort of injury or allergen.
"Leave him be, the nurse at the gate can deal with him." responded Marcus, and trained his sights elsewhere. That decision was one of the worst decisions Marcus could have ever made.

----

Fire broke out shortly after the screams, and erupted into an inferno surprisingly fast. Maybe it had hit the gas reserves? At any rate, Marcus began lowering the makeshift drawbridge - a couple of tables and a length of rope nailed together, just enough to get one person at a time across to the nearby rooftop.
"I'll prep the other side," he announced to Steve, somewhat selfishly as it would assure his immediate safety, but his companion nodded and started calling survivors up the stands to the drawbridge. Marcus had only just got to the other side when Steve shouted "Stop!" before a large crack was heard - around five people were trying to make it across at once. The drawbridge split and the people fell for what seemed eternity. He didn't stay to look at the remains.
"Steve! Meet me at the tower!" he cried out, pointing to a skyscraper nearby. His prompts were in vain, though, as he watched in horror as Steve was bitten, no, mauled at the side of the stadium. Instead of joining the infected, he pulled the group who was biting him over the edge and fell like the survivors before him. Marcus could only watch his friend fall. All this had happened in a couple of seconds, and already the escape route was destroyed and his friend was dead. He turned and sprinted across the rooftop, away from the horrors behind him.

----

Save for the distant burning, the place was silent. Watching the streets from above he noted how that it seemed there were no survivors. An infected man wandered into his sights and was quickly put down with a sizeable bullet. Marcus was, once again, alone.

Hannah followed Christian into the alley, but she couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable going with him... Not because he seemed like a bad person, she had seen enough of his actions at the camp to know he wasn't a bad person, but he was looking at her with goofy eyes almost like he was checking her out.
Hannah followed still, a bleak smile cracking across her face at the forwardness his body language was saying.

As they walked down the alley Hannah shivered, and looked around, the eerie quiet that filled the air was ominous and unsettling. The dry-wrench inducing smell of wafting rot and burning flesh just layered the hopelessness surrounding the two. "Do you think others got out too?" she asked with a slight hint of hopefulness.

Hannah walked further and as they passed a doorway Hannah saw it was ajar slightly, "Chris!" she whispered, "Look! It's open slightly... We can rest in here...?" Hannah didn't wait for a response and approached the door and pressed her face to the crack and squinted, looking through to see if there was anyone - anything - inside. "It looks safe..." she said absently and opened the door a little and a small creak echoed. Hannah peered in deeper, "it's empty!" she called out behind her, and entered cautiously.

The building was obviously a restaurant of some description, Hannah had stumbled into an industrial kitchen. Hard, metal and cold... But looked as though it was waiting to have its staff walk in and start working at any moment - practically pristine - Hannah ran her hand along a preparation bench, and her hand ended resting on a butchers knife, clasping it firmly, her first weapon.

Carrie Reeds

Carrie twirled her new weapon in her right hand. It was silent and perfectly fitted in her palm, but chilling to the touch. However, Carrie turned away from the nostalgic scene in the distance and towards her new goal.

She walked for a few minutes, mind focused on her surroundings. Although, when she heard soft footfalls behind her, she spun around and stared at the empty street. ‘What was that?’ she thought inwardly. Carrie’s eyes narrowed and her hand clenched over her weapon. It hadn't been long since she attained it but she felt weird as she thought about getting to use it already. Carrie was sure it hadn’t been the shuffle of an infected but you could never be sure. She suspected it was some scavenger, come to rid her of whatever food she had on her, albeit not having any to give. She stared for a moment more before moseying to the side of the street, leaning against the storefront in the shadows.

A man came down the street after what seemed like forever. Carrie was surprised that her gut feeling had been right. Someone had been behind her and she questioned for how long too. His determined walk made it seem like he was searching for something. Carrie stiffened and let her blue gaze take in the rest of his appearance. He looked pale, almost like a phantom, and he had a slim build. His hair was a similar shade to her own but she knew that her hair color was more silvery. His dog tags attracted her attention and she briefly wondered if they were for show, or if they actually had meaning. She could remember her great grandfather wearing dog tags, but only because he wanted to preserve his memory if he died. Nonetheless, Carrie stepped out from the shadows and scowled.

“Hey. Looking for something?” Bitterness laced itself in her voice. Even if he might have just been a passerby, the chance that he might have been bad news was too much. Carrie glared and raised her weapon, tapping it against her shoulder.

"Hoist it up, Jaw!" Pack was sitting on a newly painted billboard, yelling for one of his companions from the street to put the new paint bucket into their makeshift pulley shaft. Pack had been at work for hours, painting the sign, and occasionally sounding an alarm for the other homeless to prepare to fight tiny waves of the undead. Ever since the camp had gone to shit, Pack had been leading the homeless and those fortunate enough to find their way out towards Black Falls. Pack felt a little strange, taking the part as a shepard of the people. However, given the circumstances, he felt like a new man. "Thanks, Jaw. Now get down to that city, it's getting pretty quiet here, but I got a feeling that some stragglers will pass through." Jaw nodded gratefully, and they said their farewells.

Pack sat on the edge of the cat-walk that protruded from the side of the large billboard, feeling as safe as he ever had in his life. A couple of the undead were slowly mucking about in their own torn bodies, seemingly doing nothing in particular. It seemed they were most at peace when their were no humans about... or, at least, no living humans... It's like they knew. Knew who was one of them, without a second glance. If only it were so easy for the humans... Pack had to turn down a few people in their haste, noting bites and wounds on them. After those people at the camp began changing, he knew their was no hope in allowing these infected to chase the traveling survivors. Pack watched one of the undead trip over a can two streets over from where he was sitting. The sight of the familiar husk reminded Pack of the events that unfolded not more than four hours ago...

The old woman. Martha. She allowed him in. Pack saw the rash, and remembered what the man had looked like when he attacked him in the alleyway. Pack had been quietly roaming the camp for hours, never talking to anyone but those who spoke to him first. Mainly, the homeless. Pack took a few of his friends, and left instantly. They went out of a back loading bay, and skipped supply scavenging, seeing that there was already someone taking their same initiative into affect. Pack already had food and water stocked up in his bags, he was in no need of gathering more. As they stepped out, they considered locking the door behind them, but Pack thought better of it. He had already known there were others planning to escape. The smart ones would need a quick exit. From there, Pack took Jaw, Annie, and Cooler through the side roads and alley ways, avoiding as many of the undead as they possibly could. When they got near the sign, Pack got the group started. They piled enough goods and boxes up to get onto the cat-walk on the sign. Pack lowered the ladder, and the others came up with some paint. They ended up having to remove the ladder, when the undead began to gather underneath. Eventually, they managed to get around fifty something people on the right track to the safe city. Cooler and Annie left early, leading most of the group onto the roads ahead. And now Jaw was gone.

And now Pack was alone. Waiting. Watching for signs of life. He would wait three hours. If no one had made it by then, he'd head out alone. For once, in his life, he hadn't wanted to be alone. Pack sighed, and looked to his left hand. In it was a remote. He pressed the large, green button on it, and four flood lights lit up from the ground level, making the large bill-board glow in the night sky. On it, was painted in blue paint, on a white back drop, "All Alive, Avoid Downtown, Overrun. Head Through Vering's Alley, Go to B.F." Pack chuckled a bit, knowing he didn't have enough room to write out the entire name. But he knew people would know. He had hope for humanity.

Christian sighed as Hannah asked, her tone laced with hope, if he thought anyone else had survived in the camp. It was possible, after all he hadn't expected to find Hannah, but the odds where not fabulous. So he just nodded, not turning to look at her. "Yeah, it's possible." His own thoughts wandered, curious as to what was next. What would he do if Black Falls had, well, fallen? Move on, forever searching for a safe place to call home... was that even possible now? And what if this place was all it said, safe and untouched? How can one resume their life when everything they knew is dead? Would it be better if he were dead?

He had considered this, lying on his crappy stretcher-bed in the stadium that groaned every time he shifted, considered that perhaps it would been better if he just injected 20ccs of bleach into his bloodstream and await the eternal rest. But something always stopped him; the help he gave was so desperately needed, if he did top himself the undead win and so on. But really, no matter what Christian implied, he was really too afraid to die. His 'calm, cool and collected' attitude conveyed a different tale, but inside, Christian was screaming in terror. He didn't have the first idea of what to do in a situation like this. If he could pray, he would; but he didn't believe in any Higher Being and these recent events only strengthened his beliefs. How could an all-loving creator allow his children to come back and eat each other-

"Chris!"

Christian was snapped out of his thoughts and spun around, to see Hannah moving into the opened door. His eyes widened and he stepped forward, not wanting to enter until... "It's safe...It's empty!" Hannah's muffled voice reached his ears and he moved quickly, not wanting to look like he had been waiting for the woman to check the safety of the place. He stepped over the threshold and quickly shut the door, looking around and grabbing the industrial strength broom from the corner. Christian wedged it between the handle and frame, ensuring that, at the very least, the undead couldn't just 'step inside. He turned and scanned the kitchen, smiling slightly as he watched Hannah pick up a knife.

"Nice." He muttered, running his hand across the bench. His landed on a whisk and he picked it up, looking at Hannah and swished it through air menacingly. "Imma whip them zombies 'till they don't know what's what." He stated in a tacky accent, before spying the dry-stores over toward the back of the kitchen. "Look, this could be our lucky day." Knowing full well the perishable fridge would be a nuclear bomb of rotten horror, he bypassed it and slid the dry-store open. There stood hundreds of cans and boxes and packets of dehydrated and preserved foods. He smiled a genuine smile and turned to Hannah, sweeping his whisk before him.

"Dinner is served."

Hannah's face withdrew with confusion when Christian held up the whisk and spluttered out the oneliner about whisking the zombies to death, then she laughed, "very funny". She appreciated the effort he was going to to make them feel comfortable with each other. She watched as Christian explored the kitchen and kept her eyes flicking between what he was doing and out into the actual restaurant, making sure no infected came in. Then Christian spoke, "This could be our lucky day" and Hannah turned to see him grinning at her saying "Dinner is served".

Hannah's eyes widened with hunger and excitement, "Oh my god!" she said excitedly as her hands delved into the pantry and retrieved a packet of nuts. She opened it enthusiastically and began to shovel them into her face, "I can't... Believe how... much food... is just sitting here" she said through bites and swallows of the packeted nuts. "How did no one ransack this place?". Hannah looked around the kitchen and saw a door that said Break Room. She rushed over and went in, spying a row of four or so lockers. She pulled one open and down the bottom sat a backpack, left behind by whoever had been here and left in a rush.

Hannah emerged from the break room with the backpack and held it up, "We can carry some of the food in this!" she smirked, walking over to the pantry and shovelling as much food as possible in the back pack. "We shouldn't stick around one place too long in the city" she grunted as she hoisted the pack over her shoulders. She grabbed the butchers knife from the bench again and held it up, "You need to find something better than a whisk" she said half-seriously half-joking.

Christian's grin did not fade as he followed Hannah into the over-sized pantry and chuckled as she snatched up a packet of nuts and devoured them within seconds. He nodded when she expressed disbelief at how much food was still in the place. Christian looked to the back and saw stacks of chocolate. He grabbed a block and snapped off an enormous slab, polishing it off within seconds and the entire block in minutes. Refills of water for the stand alone water cooler lined the walls, and small bottles of water stacked the back wall. Christian ripped open the tough plastic and drained a whole bottle within a minute. He looked at Hannah - "How did no-one ransack this place?" and shrugged, "they mustn've found it yet, probably ran straight passed." He watched as Hannah moved into a room with the sign Break Room and came hurrying back in, holding up her spoils - "We can carry some of the food in this!"

Christian watched, savouring some chocolate on his tongue. He grabbed a few blocks and walked behind her, sliding the chocolate in. He grabbed few bottles of water, slipped one into his little MEDKIT (it had a special holder for bottles) and put the rest in her bag. "Is that too heavy?" He asked, stepping out to look at her. He smiled as she said he needed a better weapon. Faking offend, he took a step back. "What's wrong with whisky here?" He said, waving it around. He smiled and dropped it, the wire scraping against itself and rolling under the shelves. He looked around, hoping to see a pump shotgun or katana just lying around. Not that he'd have the first clue how to use it... If he had a controller however, things may be different. He sighed, moving towards the locker room, talking loudly at Hannah. "So what did you used to do? Y'know, as a job?"

Christian's eyes came across the First Aid box and unlatched it - seizing the bandages, saline solutions and band-aids. They save more lives than one realises, Christian thought, laughing aloud. He stashed the extra good in his bag and moved back into the dry-store.

Hannah felt the weight in her bag increase when Christian dumped a few bottles of water in back pack. "Nah, that's plenty fine" she said hoisting the bag back into a comfortable position. She turned around and smiled when Christian made a joke about the whisk, "Oh, nothing's wrong with it... it's just too... good" she said sarcastically and laughed a little.

As Christian began to search around the kitchen more, Hannah mimicked him and searched around for more useful stuff. As Hannah searched she heard Christian speak to her and ask, "What did you used to do? Y'know, as a job?". Hannah knew instantly why he was asking, she'd had this conversation before, it was the inevitable sizing up people did before deciding if they were going to drop someone else or not. Hannah stood up and cocked a hip to the side with her arms on her hips, "Look" she said her voice suddenly going stern, trying to lock her gaze with Christian's.

"We know you're a nurse, and can help heal people and keep them alive if they need it..." Hannah breathed in deep and continued, "I've done these conversations before... So don't pretend to be interested in who I was." Hannah shifted the bag on her shoulders, her mood becoming heated, "I'm smart." I can think on my feet better than most people. "And I'm fast" Hannah stressed, "I'm not just talking, I can outrun you for a couple hundred metres..." her eyebrow raised slightly and a smirk emerged across her lips, "I can run for a good 6km's in twenty minutes without breaking a sweat fast" Hannah grabbed the butcher's knife and held it firm in her grip the knuckles going white on her hand, her mood changing from confident to nostalgic hurt "And I can fit into small spaces..." Hannah moved forward, "I've had this conversation too many times" Hannah's voice cracked, "I found the fucking stadium on my own... I helped more people than I could count..." Hannah stepped forward again and her pony tail swished around from her back across the front of her right shoulder, "I've been left to wake up on my own twice... and hours later found the assholes who left me mauled to death or infected themselves..." Hannah stopped her rant and stepped back.

The kitchen was eerily silent, and Hannah's voice lowered to an embarrassed whisper, stressing her point again, "I've been left on my own twice... both times woken up alone, both times seen the people that had promised to stay lie to me and end up dead... but I'm still alive..." Hannah coughed and cleared her throat and her voice returned to normal, "That fact i'm still alive should be enough evidence that i'm not some dick head who makes mistakes". Hannah looked back up and connected eyes with Christian, "All I'm saying is I'm smart.. and I'm fast... and I can get to places most can't"...

Hannah stepped forward again, "If you don't think i'm worth travelling with... then just go now... I'll be fine either way."

"Damn!" Pack narrowly avoided the brick thrown at him from below. He should have known this would happen, after all, most people were used to others keeping the good things to themselves... He knew some people would stray from the path, and he knew they'd come back, with either a horde of zombies behind them, or crazy accusations of how Pack had screwed them over. Pack remembered perfectly well that the man standing below him had taken a left at Dane St. and not a right. He had a perfect view from atop his perch. But the man insisted that Pack had screwed him over, raving on about how he was no messenger of the people, that he was the Charon of the survivors. Charon. Pack chuckled a bit, as he regained his posture. Unfortunately, however, this was no laughing matter. This man managed to not only blame Pack for his own mistake, but he also brought some friends along... Around a dozen or so shambling husks.

"...and you have no right to just throw me out there, you damned fiend! You were trying to take our souls to hell, fucking Charon! Let me up, now! Or I will kill you, and so help me, you and your kind will go straight to hell!" Pack yawned. He knew the man was bluffing. And besides, he would have let him up, if there wasn't a chunk of his arm missing. He knew the distinct bite marks, by now.

"Listen, man, Chuck right? Chuck, you're dead. You're just as dead as those creatures down the alley. You fucked up. But you can still save others... Take this. Run away, lead the Undead, and shoot yourself. You won't suffer. You won't turn. The infected will more than likely avoid your dead body, not that much solace can be taken from that." Pack removed the light-weight pistol from his left side coat pocket. A police officer had given it to Pack when he had been bit, and asked Pack to shoot him. Pack had a few other guns, but didn't really know how to use them. He generally stuck to his baseball bat for protection. "Please man, I am sorry that you fucked up... people do it. It's in our nature. But please, don't fuck up my life, or other people's lives. Do the right thing..." Chuck's eyes were starting to glass over. Red, repulsive boils were beginning to burst on his face. Chris looked to be on the verge of vomiting.

"Fuck you." Before Pack could respond, Chuck lifted the gun and fired. Pack knew a man without previous firearm training could never hit him from this far, but the shot still caused him to scramble back. Chuck aimed for a second shot, but the gun already clicked empty. Pack could hear the weapon click hungrily faster and faster. "Oh.. no, no!" Pack was still on his back, thanking the stars that he had not been shot, when he heard the gun ting and click against the hard, cold alley way ground. The disgusting screeches and moans of the undead filled the alley. The sound of scurrying, escaping feet echoed down the tight walkway of the infected. Then, a few minutes past, and the sounds of the shuffling monstrosities ceased. The smell of blood and vomit finally escaped Pack's nose, and he finally sat up from his position.

"Sorry, man..." Pack whispered to Chuck. Pack had a feeling he might flip out. So he left the man one bullet. A single, last chance escape plan, to avoid the pain and suffering that many have suffered before him. Instead, he chose to make his last human acts those of hindrance. Pack would pick up the gun later... maybe. If he remembered. He had two other pistols in his left coat pocket. With some strings. A little bit of soda. Hell, he was well off alone, if he wanted. He could survive for a few weeks on this sign. But he didn't want to. Human nature, maybe. Right about now, Pack wanted someone to talk to, that wasn't trying to blow the top off of his fucking lid with a hand-gun.

Marcus scanned the road below. He was on the roof of the last tower block that could be jumped to from another, and now - save for the stairwell and fire escape - he had nowhere to go, not that it mattered. If the infected could work a fire escape or a locked roof hatch, he may have been more careful, but there was little need. The street was quiet, no survivors and few infected were seen. The smell of smoke still hung around, and the sky had become a dark grey, but whether the fire was still raging, or even if it was spreading, he couldn't see from this roof.

"...ooking for something?” came a quiet voice around a corner that was just out of hid vision. At this distance it was hard to tell, but the voice sounded feminine. It also sounded annoyed, so Marcus assumed there was another person there. He continued listening for a short while.

*Crack*

The voice of someone shooting. Only one bullet, in the distance behind some buildings. Was somewhat fighting the infected? If he could see, he would help, but he wasn't going to give up his vantage point. At any rate, no other shots were heard and the city returned to silence. He turned back to face the voices.

Kat was tired and bored. She'd been walking for days and had come across lone strangers here and there. A couple of them had promised to be her traveling companions and said they'd watch her back, but how many times had they tried to screw her over? A hand reaching out through the darkness toward her gun, well, that guy had lost an eye. Another one, thinking to force himself on her, she'd stabbed him in the crotch with her dagger. She'd had enough of traveling with lone men, but she was lonely. She had been heading toward the stadium in the city when it seemed like all hell had broken loose.

Now, the sky was darkening, a dangerous time to be out and about alone. There was a stench in the air of burning flesh, and the stadium she had been making her way to was now seemingly up in flames. She was just glad she hadn't been there when whatever had happened went down. Kat leaned up against a brick building, sighing as she watched the smoke rise up into the air. She wondered idly if there had been any survivors. Surely there had been a decent sized group in there. The woman turned and began to make her way back out of the city, leaving behind the biggest hope she'd had all week.

Kat had been walking for a few minutes when she saw the lights of a billboard flick on. Arching a single eyebrow, a slow grin spread to her lips. None of those dead walkers could have figured out how to turn those lights on. She picked up her pace, settling into an easy jog toward the billboard. She squinted, reading the words on it. Avoid downtown, hah, thanks for telling me now! she thought. B.F. Hm. She tilted her head, suddenly making out the form of a figure sitting up on the ledge. As she got closer, she realized the billboard was surrounded by the undead. How the hell did the guy plan to get down from there?

Kat glanced around, trying to find a way that she could signal the lone figure without attracting the undead. Slipping backwards into the shadow of a large tree, she pulled out her flashlight and pressed the button a few times, blinking it in the direction of the billboard. Hopefully he saw it. Hopefully he knew of others. Hopefully he didn't try to steal her stuff, like the others. She really didn't want to have to go stabbing someone else's eye out again.

Rikter adjusted the strap of his guitar as to keep the neck of it from hitting anything. If there was anything he hated more musical wise than having to tune the guitar was a popped or broken guitar string. But, "Dragunov" was tough, so he was able to rest assured. He'd been walking for quite some time, yet still no sign of who or what caused that sound...Maybe he was just imagining it? But, before his mind could agree, his suspicions were confirmed as a woman stepped forward from the shadow of a shop, holding a long piece of metal resting on her shoulder. That had to be the source of the sound; only problem was, this woman looked like she meant business. But, looks...She was quite a catch, and had a very unique sort of beauty to her. Seems Rikter's luck was turning up after all. She was dressed in what looked to be some sort of off time uniform, her gaze focused and cold. Given the shade and shimmer her hair had, he assumed that the silver locks were given that pigment from being dyed. But still...Something about this woman made him blush, just a little bit.

However, her rather cold and commanding voice brought him back to reality. "Hey. Looking for something?" Rikter cleared his throat as he walked closer, so he wouldn't end up having to shout, his Russian accent apparent in his speech. "Well, I suppose you could say I am looking for someone. Two specific survivors. But, that is just a main goal. I'm looking for survivors in general right now. It's good for people to stick together in tough times like this, no?" He kept his hands up where she'd be able to see them, constantly eyeing the piece of long, slender metal. She may very well be ready to take his belongings, and if that were the case, she'd have to kill him. Rikter was carrying things too precious to him to let some thief take it without a fight.

"My name is Rikter Jonathon Reznov Jr. My friends call me R.J. You are?" He introduced himself as politely as he could. Given the current situation, pleasantries weren't exactly something that would flow smoothly. This woman could easily attack him, or even have other waiting to jump him! Or...Or...He paused and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. Those few years of duty he served military wise had created a part of him that was always paranoidly creating scenarios. He hoped for the best now, keeping his hands up as he rolled his shoulders to keep his arms from getting stiff, the dog tags hanging down to his chest jingling once again, and quite audibly at that.

All Christian could do was stare, his lips ajar as Hannah snapped at his question. She was right, he was interrogating her - he needed to know whether or not she'd be a liability. Now, he wished he had never asked. He stepped forward, now only a meter from her as she had advanced on him and he looked at her, searching her eyes for... something. He didn't know, but he knew his own face would be giving away his guilt. He let her finish, her voice soft.

"Hannah... I'm... well, I am sorry..." He started awkwardly, eyes on his shoes, rubbing a hand across the nape of his neck. "I want to say I didn't mean it like that, but... I can't lie. I wanted to know if you would hold me back but now..." He paused, his eyes flickered up to hers. He felt awful and stupid; he had only known her an hour or so, and yet he could tell she wouldn't be a dead-weight. She was clever, he could tell. And used her initiative. But it was her bright spark of hope that, surprisingly, Christian found the most, well, comforting. And he knew he didn't need to dig around her, because he did want to travel with her. And he did deserve the guilt trip she had sent him on, telling him she had been left twice, but survived. He didn't realise she was fast, but when he thought about it, she did look it. All slender and toned... He dragged his mind from stumbling into the gutter and sighed.


"I'm sorry. I think... I think we should travel together... To Black Fal-"

The crack of a gunshot, though muffled, smacked Christian's inner-ear. His head spun, eyes narrowed. Muttering aloud to no-one in particular. "The undead can't shoot, not enough motor control..." He looked at Hannah and smiled. "It could be another person... survivor." Hannah had already changed the way he was thinking. He still didn't think they should run to the rescue. But a reconnaissance mission didn't seem such a bad idea. After all, Hannah was small and fast. And clever.

"Should we investigate... Travel buddy?" He grinned stupidly, hoping she wouldn't stab him.

Just over her head, Christian spotted a door in the kitchen. Maybe a weapons cache. Or even just a shovel...

Pack sat for a lonely five minutes. The longest in his life, he'd wager. He knew that Chuck had to be dead. He was already infected, if he hadn't been chewed to bits before he turned... It was looking quite badly for Pack. He knew he could easily escape the undead below, but doing so alone would have felt like a failure. Like he hadn't-

There was a flash of light. Pack had seen it from his peripherals as he looked down. Three seconds. Four. And another flash. Pack stood up. "Holy shit on a fucking shingle." Pack saw the third flash, and there was no mistaking. A real, honest to god, preferably non-cannibalistic human being! Pack quickly stood, making sure not to tumble over the edge of the sign with his bulbous packs moving him this way and that. He stood, using the back drop of the sign as a way to highlight his body, and did a little hop, with his hands above his head. Pack couldn't help but yelp laughs of joy, and he had never felt better. His sign was working better than he hoped! Pack stopped his victory dance, and pointed above his head at the words painted on the sign, using very large and awkward body movements to make sure the person could understand. They seemed a few blocks away, but they would know his message. He pointed his finger at the sign, then put both hands high over his head, and pointed to himself. He then pointed the direction that would take anyone to Black Falls. He had signaled that he needed a traveling buddy, that he was a friendly and energetic guy, and that he would be willing to help show the way. Not that he fully expected his entire message to get through, but he knew enough of it would. He then did another little, comical leap, and even threw in a heel clip. He was feeling happy as hell, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

Still grinning to himself, Pack pulled a bottle of whiskey from his left bag. From his right bag, he managed to pull out a tattered rag, and a lighter. Taking a huge swig of celebratory whiskey, Pack prepared to clear the way of undead. He stuffed the rag in the three-fourths full bottle of whiskey, and lit the tip of it with his lighter. "Here you go, guys. Your time is done. Now, get the fuck out of my world. I got people to help!" He then dropped the bottle. It fell as if in slow motion to Pack. Sparkles of fire and glimmering glass drifted down into the center of the twelve or thirteen undead. As it made contact with the ground, the whiskey splashed about, lighting when making contact with the flames on the rag. It wasn't anything like the movies or video games Pack had heard about, where they would explode in flames and scatter bodies. But it worked. The flames splashed up onto the pant legs and clothes of the infected interlopers. They began to swing about, and try to escape their inevitable fate. However, each one had eventually fallen to the ground, either still slightly lit, or in smolders. Once the carnage below had ceased, Pack looked in the direction of the flashes of light, and gave the biggest, most important thumbs up of his life.

As Christian apologised Hannah's frown lessened and she returned to her normal pose and regular tone of voice. Hannah's eyes softened too and she closed the gap between her and Christian with a brief hug and "Thank you" then moved back. Christian began speaking again "I'm sorry. I think... I think we should travel together... To Black Fal-" a blaring gunshot - muffled slightly - filled their ears. When Christian's words leant a possible nod to survivors in the area Hannah's eyes widened, "You're right!" she said in a hurried whisper, "But a gunshot can't be good!" Hannah looked to Christian and moved towards the kitchen doors that opened to the restaurant, she held the door open and spoke casually "It sounded not too far away didn't it? We may be able to get a better idea of where to go out on the streets" Hannah beckoned Christian to follow and moved into the dining area.

The restaurant was rather fancy to look at; the walls covered in a mahogany wood that were a rich dark red and lovely silk curtains framed the windows out the front that seemed to follow the front of the building the whole way. Hannah cautiously moved out to the center of the restaurant and flashed a quick look behind her to see if Christian was in the room too. Hannah's knuckles whitened as she gripped the butchers knife in her hand, ready to swing it at anything that got in her way. "I don't see anything in here... or out on the street at the moment..." Hannah moved around the tables, "This place looks like it wasn't actually opened when the outbreak really went to shit..." Hannah continued as her walk around the restaurant became more casual as she concluded it was empty.

Hannah reached the door of the restaurant and placed a sweaty free hand on the door knob. "Quickly get what ever else you need Chris..." she said quietly as she peered down the street, "We shouldn't hang around too long, that's my number one rule when out in the city alone..." Hannah peered down the street spying a large billboard with a message written across it and... "Someone's on top of that!" she said bewildered, "How the hell did he manage that?" Hannah turned her head to look at Christian, "there's a billboard a few blocks away, but you can see it from here... A man's up on top of the catwalk connected to it..." A smile broke out across her face, "There are survivors..." Hannah's eyes met Christian's with a stern stair as if to imply that what she said next was law, "We're gonna get him Chris..."

Hannah looked back down the street to the the sign, "We're not gonna be able to grab his attention from here... if we go down Dane St we might be able to come out a street or two near the sign..." Hannah kept looking down the street, her hand still grasped on the door knob "We'll be able to get his attention from that distance and see why he's still up on that sign... Just incase the infected are near... Or if he's infected too..." The end of her sentence trailed off with a sad tone that could be very true. Hannah looked down to the grown not liking that thought, as she raised her head up to look back to the sign, the man on top was gone... "He's gone!" gasped, she kept looking out the window to the billboard, "we've gotta go see Chris!".

Kat raised an eyebrow, watching the odd movements of the guy on the billboard. She was in luck, he had noticed the light. And now he was doing some sort of… odd dance. Pointing at the words, yeah, I got it, she thought. Did he- was that a heel kick?! Seriously, no one does that in real life. Kat let out a laugh; the sound was almost foreign to her now. It the first time she had done so in days. Maybe she had finally found someone she could travel with safely. The thought lifted her spirits, and she laughed again, but quickly covered her mouth, looking around. What was that? Shuffling? She had been still for too long, not paying attention. Good way to get yourself killed, Kat. Or worse.

She glanced around, squinting in the darkness, when she once more heard the shuddering moan and the shuffling feet of an undead human. Kat slid her flashlight back into the flight suit pocket above her knee and slipped her knife from its sheath just in time to spin away from the reaching hands of an undead. "Hell no, not tonight, you fucker!" she whispered. Moving quickly, she slipped up behind the thing and slid her knife through it's head, watching it twitch and shudder to the ground. Kat had to resist the temptation to retch up the little bit of food she'd eaten that day as she slid the blade back out and wiped it clean on the now dead person's tattered clothing.

She tucked her blade away once more, glancing up to see the dozen or so undead beneath the billboard lighting up. Kat grinned. "Clever, you are." She turned in the direction that he had been pointing, the direction of Black Falls. She would meet him in the trees beyond the clearing instead of making him double back for her. Darting out from her spot in the shadows, she headed for the trees, glancing back to make sure the guy was ok climbing down by himself. The oversized military backpack bounced on her back; it looked hilariously large compared to the tiny girl carrying it, but she had gotten used to carrying bags just like it during her time in the Air Force. She moved quickly and made it to the trees in no time.

Kat slipped behind one tree and pulled her flashlight out again. She turned, hoping the stranger was close behind, and flashed the light once to give him an idea of where she was. A grin broke out over her face as she heard his footsteps drawing nearer. But when the shadow finally reached her, she realized that he was heavily hooded and wore a strange, creepy trench coat. Oh God, please don't try to kill me, she thought desperately. I might be able to outrun him if I have to… She took a deep breath, trying to not let her fear get the best of her. He had seemed friendly enough from all the craziness on the billboard. She stepped out from behind the tree, waving.

"Good idea with the sign there," she called out. She moved closer to him. Man, he seems tall. Oh wait, everyone's tall compared to me. "Hey, I'm Kat," she said in a friendly voice, though she ran her flashlight over him, looking for any signs that the undead had torn his clothing or gotten a chunk of him. He seemed well enough, not that she could really even see his face at all. It made her uncomfortable.

Getting down the sign was the easy part. Hell, the smell of the charred bodies that he descended towards wasn't even half bad. The hard part for Pack was to decide on running back to where he had previously seen the light, or running ahead a bit to meet them further. If they made it this far, surely they hadn't wanted to wait in one place for too long. In either case, it wasn't hard to decide, since he knew they would end up going that way anyways. So, he ran. Hilariously, might I add. Every bag on his body seemed to shift his weight this way and that, even though the truth was that he was running in a straight path. As he turned a corner, a flash of light was just switching off, and he knew his train of thought had been true.

Pack made a bit of a light jog of the last stretch of land between he and his new companion. As he approached, he spied that his traveling partner was a woman, decked out in some military grade gear. Not that shit you pick up from Walmart for Halloween, either. Very real, very militaristic gear. Pack wasn't sure whether to jump for joy or dive behind a tree. What if she had a gun? What if she shot him! No, no, she would have done so while he was on the sign. Still, Pack was a little worried. Pack made a slowing stop about three or four feet away from her, just as she said:

"Good idea with the sign there." This brought another one of his little grins to his face.

"Thanks. I was starting to worry that it was attracting more infected than living." Pack shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously happy to have met another person. "Listen, let's begin the formalities while we're on the move. The longer we stay right here, the closer one of those things get." The two went walking towards where Black Falls would be, dead or alive.

"Hey, I'm Kat." The woman said, sounding a bit chipper. Maybe she was happy to have found a person who had lived as well. Pack grinned again, seeing the swath of light from her flashlight move this way and that.

"I'm not bit, trust me. This coat, keeps the teeth at bay if they ever get too close. I've got two other shirts under here, and although the coat is old, it is leather. Saved me from a bite, once from a bulldog, once from one of those... well, fuck it, Zombies." Pack kicked away an empty can, as they walked through a small street. Pack made sure they avoided working street lamps, and main roads. "Sorry, you know, if I look funny. Long ass story. Where'd you get that bag? Sorry, I've got a thing for bags." Pack turned his body towards Kat to show her the twenty plus bags across his body. "It's why they call me Pack. My real name's Damien, but I prefer Pack. Suits my persona." Pack ducked under a half-assed boarded up, abandoned building's door. "Short cut, to the next street over." Pack could hear her behind him. He wasn't going to kid himself and pretend that he hadn't noticed her good looks. But he wouldn't fuck up his chance at a traveling partner by ogling all over her. "You know how to use a gun? A hand-gun? I got two left, I lost my third one. Guy was turning... thought I'd give him an alternative. Bastard tried shooting me, instead. Fucked up world, huh?" Pack stopped long enough to wrestle the gun out of his left, largest bag.

"I didn't keep it loaded, since I'm not much good with guns. But here's the couple clips I found. Take em'. Just don't shoot me in the ass or anything!" Pack knew he was rambling on, but he was glad that Kat had some good responses. He was in the mood for conversation. "When we exit this damn building, we'll be able to go straight down the side streets, and out of the city. We'll need a vehicle, though. But, assuming we won't get our mitts on one that works, we'll be hoofing it for a couple days." Pack stepped out of the window, rather than attempting the door he knew to be always locked. So far, so good. They saw only a straggler or two, one of which had been stuck under a light post. When Pack stepped out from behind a fence, he fell back over. A truck zipped by, loud music blaring from within'. Probably some drunk teens getting a kick out of the whole scenario. Pack stood from the spot he had fallen, and looked back to Kat, who was eying him curiously. Everything seemed so much brighter... too bright. His eyes began to water from the pain. Then he realized, his hood had fallen, and his pale skin was exposed to the wind and the lights down the street. He could feel his small pupils dilating, and he scrambled to get the hood back over his head. "God, it is so bright out here at night! How can you stand it?" He said, almost defensively. He turned, and pointed. "We'll go that way. The truck that just passed us, is heading for the freeway. Those punk ass kids will get out, and try to push other cars out of the way. They won't last long. We can try and save them, but worst case scenario ends up with us driving out in a fancy new ride. Win, win."

It was getting boring from up on the roof. Cold too, despite the inferno that seemed to stealthily creep forwards. The survivor(s) he heard earlier had disappeared and the world became silent. Even the infected were gone - he was truly alone. He scanned the streets more carefully, but the waning light was making it harder for him to see anything. Looking back towards the stadium, he judged that it would take between 3 to 7 hours for the fire to reach where he was at its current rate, assuming it didn't burn out, but he knew how unpredictable fire could be.

He was about to give up and head onto the streets when a noise picked up, a faint rumbling getting louder very quickly. In a distant part of his memory, he felt he recognised the sound. Looking on the streets, he was almost blinded as a truck appeared from nowhere - a god-forsaken truck! - that was seemingly driven by infected...or teenagers. It swerved left to right and music could be heard very loud, a periodic 'wub wub' almost shaking the roof. The truck passed quickly, clipping a car on its way and loosing the remnants of its bumper, then, with a turn of a corner, it was gone. Seconds later, a group of people - numbers hard to tell - appeared where the truck had come from. Infected? Was the truck escaping? He trained his sights on the hooded one.

No...a human, and next to him a woman - albeit a small woman in combat gear. He recognised the uniform as Air Force and remembered the backpack, comically big on the woman, as being a particularly heavy if big one. He shouted down from the roof, waving the rifle laser across the street in circles. "Hey! Up here! You mind if I come with you?", then, without waiting for a response, he sprinted down the interior stairwell and almost threw himself onto the street, glad of human company.