Interesting...is this the "in roleplay" chat so only people who are in the specific roleplay can see it

Hello, Milo Tanner. For all intensive purposes, I want you to consider me your subconscious. Whatever it is that you're doing right now is not nearly as important as what you should be doing. You've begun to hear reports of the dead rising and attacking the living; I know you have because I've heard it too. So, what will you do, Milo? Where will you go?

Hello, Daniel. For all intensive purposes, consider me your subconscious. Whatever it is you are doing right now is nowhere near as important as what you should be doing. You've begun to hear increased reports of the dead rising and attacking the living, I know you have, because I've heard them too. So, Daniel, what will you do? Where will you go?

Hello, Mike. For all intensive purposes, consider me your subconscious. Whatever it is that you're doing, it isn't nearly as important as what you should be. You've heard increased reports of the dead rising and attacking the living, I know you have... I've heard it too. So, Mike... what will you do? Where will you go?

Hello, Sergeant Williams. For all intensive purposes, consider me your subconscious. As a military man, you've realized the danger of current times and the times to come. I've noticed that you've already planned a route through to Poudre Hospital to look for survivors... how very chivalrous of you. Let's make that journey together, Sergeant Williams, and see how you fare in this new world.

Hello, Frank. For all intensive purposes, consider me your subconscious. You've recognized the danger of the times, haven't you? Let's just call it instinct, a gut feeling. I see that you've already planned to head to the Colorado State Center for Disease Control, or the CDC. A decent plan, where else are you to find safety from a virus? Let me travel with you, Frank, and see how you survive in this new world.

Mike fingers the trigger on his AR-15 as he nervously watches the television for any more news about what was happening. Zombies in the streets? People rising from the dead? This sort of stuff just doesn't happen in reality. He had already called his squad commander but he got no response and he had no idea how to contact the others of his squad directly so he was a soldier without orders. A new soldier without orders at that. He started running plans through his head.

Well, I can sit here and wait for orders until those creatures come knocking.
I can fortify my apartment but that's like painting a target on the walls not to mention I don't have much food stored up here.
Or I can take things into my own hands and actually do something about these creatures.

More ideas ran through his head as he continued to stare at his TV and cradle the unloaded AR-15. Suddenly the TV shorts out and snaps Mike out of his fugue. He pulls out his gun and tool kits and quickly dismantles the weapon, pulls off the casing, and removes the inhibitor that is put in civilian assault rifles to prevent full auto firing of weapons. He quickly puts the casing back on and reassembles the gun. He looks down the barrel before he reattaches it to make sure nothing got clogged and then screws it back in. He wipes oil and grease off his hands and loads a full magazine into the weapon and loads a round into the chamber. He then pulls the mag back out, puts a bullet back into the mag so it carries the maximum amount the magazine can hold (30 rounds) and one in the chamber giving him 31 shots before he has to reload. Which is good seeing as how he only bought one mag with the gun. He never would have assumed he would be needing a weapon in the streets of Colorado. He puts on his military combat vest over his fatigues and loads his pistol like he did his assault rifle: 7 rounds in the mag, one in the chamber. He puts his boxes of bullets into his backpack which he then continues to fill with other portable important items: a map, some canned food, and some other survival equipment. He attaches his tac knife to his leg, the pistol into the holster on his vest, and hoisted the rifle. He squared his shoulders and walked down his foyer and to the front door.

"Time to face the day" he muttered to himself as he flung open the door and began his journey.

Rachel had been sitting on her bed, staring at her computer screen for the past hour. She was at least 20 tabs pulled up on chrome as she scoured news sources, blogs, and YouTube videos for the recent news. Her eyes had gotten progressively wider as each minute passed and by the end of most of her readings she slammed her laptop shut and jumped to her feet. Her mind was buzzing and her fingers shaking as she looked around the room.

"Okay, I'll need to grab my pack over there, but I need to grab my laptop and my -- oh wait, how am I supposed to fit, and what about, but what if..." Her mangled sentences were pieced together with the fear she felt facing this new situation. She felt her mind begin to wander to all the things she could have gotten that last time she was out, all the things she would need to really survive.

Then she shook herself out of it, or tried to at least. "Okay, Rachel. This is it. You need to grab your survival pack and other necessities and then find somewhere safe to go. You can do this..." Her voice faltered and she sighed, "Yeah right... It's the actual zombie apocalypse. Why would I survive? I don't even have a weapon..."

Her eyes narrowing angrily, she sighed. "Well, I can at least get my stuff together, right? Even if I sit on my bed and give up..." Shrugging, she slowly made her way over to her closet, pulling out the prepared backpack. She sat it on her bed, packed her laptop, DS and game pack, a notebook, a pen/pencil pack, and a couple of sharpie markers. Zipping the backpack closed, Rachel swung it over her shoulders and then sat back down on her bed. She glanced over to the other bed in the room, a figure under the blankets greeter her sight.

"Hey. Alexis. Hey. The zombie apocalypse is happening. I thought I'd wake you up for it, I mean, you're pretty passed out..." When no response issued forth from the figure, not even a wriggle, Rae began to think the worst.

'Oh god... oh, she's already infected. She got sick and died right here and I didn't even notice. Oh my god. Oh god. What do I do?' Her eyes switched from the dorm door (where the noises of numerous people shouting and running was heard) to her roommate and back to the door. She stood slowly, removed her backpack, and scooted towards the figure of her probably-already-a-zombie roommate. 'This is bad. Rachel sit down. Stop. Don't go look at your zombie roommate. But, if she is infected, I could drag her outside and barricade myself in here. No, that's dumb.' She drew closer to the bed and reached for the blanket. Grasping it tightly, she threw it backwards quickly, ready to run at a moment's notice.

She was surprised to find, however, that her roommate had not turned into a zombie; she had rather turned into a pile of pillows. Rachel sighed and nearly collapsed onto the bed she was standing over; then her mind began to work.

'Oh, she must have gone out last night. Didn't want to worry me I guess... Or maybe she is used to running away from home... I don't know. At least I know she isn't a zombie... wait, I don't really... she's... Oh god, she's out there with everyone else.'

Rachel hadn't really grown close to her roommate... in fact, she didn't really know her at all. They worked as roommates because neither one cared what the other one did -- it was like living alone. Regardless, didn't she have some sort of obligation to help her out? Sighing, Rachel stood up and headed for her dorm door. She looked back at the room, thought better of it, and put her backpack on again; just in case she couldn't come back.

Exiting the dorm proved to be more of a problem than she originally imagined. It looked like everyone was leaving, so as soon as she shut her door, she was being whisked down a hallway by the large crowd. She started to hear talking from her left, a small group of girls. Though everyone else was in a state of panic, these girls were busy gossiping.

"I know, right? She looked totally passed out. Do you think she was drugged?" One of them mocked a sad or surprised look, though it quickly faded.

"Maybe, who knows. Did you even recognize her? She looked like a kid in high school."

"She was small, wasn't she?"

"Yeah. She was dressed funny though."

Rachel's eyes lit with recognition and she maneuvered towards the girls, "That girl you're talking about, where is she?"

"Huh? Oh, in the bathroom. But why do you--"

Before the woman could finish her sentence, Rachel was pushing her way toward the bathroom. Upon opening the bathroom door, Rachel found it to be eerily quiet. As a dorm bathroom, it was relatively large with numerous stalls as well as a showering area. Rachel walked into the bathroom, bending down to look underneath the stalls. She saw no feet, but in one of the shower units, Rachel saw someone sitting down.

"Alexis?" Rachel called her roommates name aloud, hoping she would respond. The girls hadn't mentioned a bite mark, but one could never be too certain. She walked closer to the shower, calling Alexis' name again. She finally rounded the corned to the unit when she called her name for the last time.

"I frigging hate chemistry."

A young looking woman stood alone in the bathroom, wearing a strange mixture of dark clothing and silver lining. She hadn't studied. But the test would be big- it would probably decide her pas or fail of this course. Her family would be disappointed... and she really wasn't in the mood for another long lecture about effort in school. She felt that she honestly had better things to do with her life. Like get drunk. Or high. Especially high. She had gotten from her dealer not too long ago- three shots of heroin. They costed a hell of a lot, but she was rather excited. She hadn't tried this before. Speed had been somewhat a disappointment, and LSD was mildly satisfying. Third time's the charm. Weed was fine but it got boring after a while. And it had been a while.

She looked around, and took out a shiny syringe. The needle poked out of one side, until it narowed down into nothing. Lexie grinned with anticipation, and she pumped her left arm tight as the sharp point inched closer to her skin. Half of the shot was injected into her bloodstream as she passed off into an emtpy, relaxing bliss.

A few hours later

She could faintly hear someone calling her name. It was like a voice out of a dream, and the darkly dressed girl in the bathroom stall crept up hazily, smiling goofily as her vision faded in and out.

Lexie in Wonderland....

"Hello?" She tried to say, but the sound was more gutteral and inarticulate than what she had wanted. It sounded somewhat zombie-like. Lexie giggled insanely, and hit her head on the bathroom stall in one of her throws of laughter, causing the stall door to swing open. She smirked knowingly as the figure of Rachel, her dorm mate, slowly came into focus

"My nerdy buddy..." She almost mumbled but her voice was still almost impossible to interpret. Lexie crawled out of the stall laboriously and waved amiably.

Daniel's eyes were focused on the television. The reports were on every channel. At first, he wasn't sure what to think. He could hear screams out in the streets. After shutting the television off, he immediately went and got his mattress and moved in front of his door. He continued to pile various pieces of furniture against it. After finishing his makeshift barrier, he started working on a travel kit. He filled a gym bag with essentials: food, first aid kit, and a change of clothes. Setting that aside, he went ahead and took a look outside. He saw the zombies killing and consuming every living person in their path. He pulled his Glock from it's hidden holster under his hoody, checked to see if it was loaded, and replaced it knowing that it was.

Daniel entered the combination on his locker and set his rifle, shotgun, crossbow, and bow on the floor. To himself, he said, "What should I take?" He picked up the rifle and placed it in a large book bag propped against the wall. Adding the shotgun, he continued to surround them with ammo boxes. There were five boxes of .308's with twenty rounds in each. Included were three 12 gauge ammo boxes containing twenty rounds each and one 9mm ammo box containing 100 rounds. After closing the bag off, the guns naturally stuck out of the top. The bag was heavy and he was afraid of it ripping, but that, he would worry about later. He had four 15 round mags for his Glock and he just pocketed those. He, then strung his bow and grabbed his hip quiver and strapped it to his leg with five arrows. He strapped his knife to his left arm for easy access as well. To finish it all off, he slipped five more arrows in his bag and set it with the rest of his things.

Daniel went to his drawers and pulled out some goggles, which he proceeded to wear. Don't wanna worry about getting blood in my eyes. Walking back out to his living room, he put his gym bag on first. It wasn't too heavy, but that was good since his weapon bag was heavier than he was used to. "I'll just have to deal with it," he sighed. It had taken him a while to prepare and he looked outside, hoping for the streets to have cleared a little bit.

As Elvis speeds down the road at 80 mph on his motorcycle, he isn't paying attention to what's happening around him, and piled onto those two facts, he isn't wearing a helmet. Elvis is screaming, "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time!". As he stills speeds down the road, he spots a guy walking in the distance. It takes about 30 seconds to reach him, but when he reaches this person, Elvis turns his head a bit to look back, while still going 80. As he begins to turn his head back to look at the man, he accidently jerks the motorcycle too much and the motorcycle begins to wobble dramatically. Elvis turns his head back within a second and quickly fixes his motorcycle's position back to the normal straight position. Elvis sighs as a sign of relief and continues heading down the road. About 6 minutes after the almost accident, his motorcycle begins to slow down. Elvis looks at the motorcycle as it begins to now rapidly slow down from a cruising 80 to a slower 50. He atempts to accelerate it, but it does nothing. The motorcycle engine begins to make clickity clack noises.

*Click...Click...Clack........Click.....Click...Click...* The speed of his motorcycle is now a slow 10 mph. He begins to pull over onto the side of the road and quickly hits the brakes. Elvis gets off of his motorcycle and kicks the stand up and begins take a look around. He stares down the road, no cars coming as of now. Elvis walks around, stretching his legs a bit. Elvis then walks towards his motorcycle, he takes a quick inspection of it. "Wheels are good, tires are fine, gas is fine..." he says in a heavy New Yorker accent. He then looks down the road, the city isn't yet in view. Elvis lets out a deep sigh and removes the large backpack from his back. Elvis places the backpack on the ground next to him and opens it up. Elvis opens up the main compartment and rumages through his unorganized pile of snack items which rest beneath his helmet. He spots his black shades. He puts them on and zips the backpack back up. Elvis then sits down near the side of the road, and pulls a carton of cigarettes out from his jacket. He pulls out a cigarette and pulls out his lighter from his pocket and lights the cigarette quickly. He puts away the lighter as a car approaches. He quickly stands up and puts his fist out into the road and extends his thumb. The car drives past, and Elvis gets a good look at the driver as he drives past. Elvis, out of anger, kicks his motorcycle. The motorcycle falls over and Elvis just stares at it. "Just my luck..." Elvis lets out multiple cusses and takes a seat next to his fallen over motorcycle. Elvis takes a long drag on his cigarette and says as he exhales, "This is going to take a while..." He stares down the road on the way he just came from, looking for the guy who was walking earlier to make his apperance. Sadly, he didn't.

Elvis reaches over to where he set the bookbag, he opens it and takes out his small blanket he packed. Elvis gets all sung into the blanket, to keep him warm from the cold wind. He shuts his eyes, and soon drifts off into a nap, thinking that any cars that neared him he would hear and immeadiley get up. He is completley asleep within 3 minutes and a car passes him and he doesn't even wake up.

Rachel watched as her apparently comatose roommate came out of her stupor; she made this odd groaning sound, mixed with what sounded like her coughing or choking, and then started laughing hysterically before bumping the wall. The door came swinging open and Rae stepped back a few steps. Her roommate looked... disheveled, and was still laughing. Her eyes were rolled slightly back in her head, but seemed to focus up on her. Rachel tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. This looked familiar...

It was then that Alexis started uttering some more sounds, slurred and brutal sounding. Then she rocked forward, a hand out stretched at Rachel's form, as she began to crawl at her. Rachel shifted backward as her eyes widened and she began to stutter, "Oh-oh m-my g-god! Z-z-z-zombie!" Rachel started backing up along the bathroom towards the exit. She attempted to keep an eye on Alexis as she crawled at her, while at the same time, looking for a way to defend herself.

"Stay away from me, Zombie Alexis! Wait... what do they usually try in movies? Uhm, oh! I know you're still in there somewhere, Alexis! You know who I am! Wait... that never works." She sounded more disappointed than anything.

As Daniel peers outside, it seems to have cleared a little. The undead that would remain in his path would be occupied with whatever meal they happened to have downed. There are a few civilians standing in the street, attempting to edge away from the feeding zombies in the road. He can see that some of them have deep scratches or bite wounds on their exposed arms. Those lucky enough to have thicker clothing seem to have fared better against the teeth of the undead.

Walking along a dusty unpopulated road in the middle of nowere wasn't exactly prime time in el funland.
Frank Wallace was doing just that, as he sauntered along he reached back and adjusted the left strap on the large knapsack on his back. Satisfied Frank walked in peace for a moment, enjoying the musical stylings of Luciano Pavarotti ("Slayer" if you would've asked him) both earphones dangled around his ears instead of being plugged into them, this allowed Frank to enjoy his music while walking without sacrificing one of the most important of mans survival instincts, the sense of hearing. While mans sense of hearing isn't as acute as a dogs or a cats its still nothing to be ashamed of, besides walking around deaf is a good way to get a knife in the back or a rotting corpse attached to your ankle by the teeth.

Suddenly without warning a large speeding object came hurdling past Frank causing the man to stop on a dime and leap roughly to the side. As the motorcycle sped off into the distance Frank smoothed his ruffled Hawaiin shirt and grimaced as the smell of motor oil and cheap pomade assulted his nostrils. The man seemed to be screaming something but the words were indecipherable.

"G'damn'd kids and ther g'damn'd motorcycles, yahd think wit the apahkalypse goin aroun theyd pull 'ey're heads outt 'ey're asses."

In truth the rider of the motorcycle was most likely not much younger then Franks 20 years, possibly even older, calling younger people "kids" was a habit acquired from his father, since the old mans death people had often commented on the similarities between the two, much to Frank's discomfort.
Frank slowly extended his reach back around to his right shoulder and pulled his well used machete about a third of the way out of its sheathe.

"Safety first..."
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About fifteen minutes later (or six dead trees and 48 clumps of dead grass as the well practiced traveler took to calling it) Frank spotted a small black lump on the horizon, figuring it was the same person from earlier Frank put a little bit of spring in his step.

Stopping roughly 10 meters away, Frank drew his machete and brought up the large nail studded riot shield strapped to his left arm, the shield had been heavily customized and was the largest variety Frank could find, in truth it had cost more then two months of mortgage on its own but in Franks capable hands soon earned all that money back in the form of blocking many an undead fist. Frank crouched slightly and began cautiously moving closer and closer, Frank grunted and almost laughed when he came upon the form of a sleeping man near his own age. The guy looked as if he'd just walked off of a broadway show for "Grease".
The guy was a bit on the scrawny side but judging by the many scars on his face and the bit of wiry muscle Frank could see he could handle himself.

Frank calmly re-sheathed his machete and re-strapped his shield to his back over his knapsack. Reaching down to his hip he pulled well worn flask from his pocket, the last legacy of his Father and uncorked it, as the sweet burning sensation of good ole Jameson whiskey burned down his throat Frank smiled and gently kicked the sleeping biker.

Slowing his speech a bit to calm his northwestern accent Frank softly said,
"Rise an shine Mr.Pomade, seems like yah gorra bit of bike trouble, less see if we can fixer, if not guess yer stuck with lil ole me till we get to town."

Elvis woke up by a kick and heard the words, "...shine Mr.Pomade, seems like yah gorra bit of bike trouble, less see if we can fixer, if not guess yer stuck with lil ole me till we get to town." Elvis looked up to the man, Elvis could only stare at his hair. He made a sign of digust on his face when he saw the man's strainy and long hair. He did this because he takes great pride in his hair, and likes to compare his own to others. Elvis removed his shades from his eyes and placed them on his head calmly. He was still not fully awake yet. Elvis then yawned and rub his eyes. He was now wide awake. Elvis' eyes seemed to pop out of his skull when he saw this man who towered over him, not only this, but he had a huge object strapped on his back. Elvis threw the blanket off himself and stood up quickly, almost falling over in the process.

"Who the hell are you, man!? Huh? Whadda want!?" Elvis yelled in an New Yorker accent with fear in his eyes. Elvis reached into his jacket and pulled out a comb, thinking it to be his switch blade. Elvis held the comb out in front of him as if it were a switch blade, still not fully realizing what it was.

She faintly heard the word "zombie", which made Lexie feel a sudden surge of shame. Rachel is supposed to be smart- zombies absolutely can't exist. Sure, the entire world was all out of wack, but this just stood out as absurd. And yet she knew this couldn't have came out through her hallucinations. Soemthing was up, and she tried, dizzily, to make sense of the haze that surrounded her.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous." Alexis snapped, her eyes narrowing into angry slits. "You're supposed to be smart, not some faggot retard."

Her words were slighty better than before, but it still took effort to comprehend. She looked over herself grimly and wondered if she really looked as bad as an undead rotting corpse.

"And fuck you for calling me ugly!" She said in a pained slur. The anger was now rising up inside of her, but the influence of the heroin still kept her from doing anything drastic.

He walked down the long, seeming endless stretch of highway. It was nearly dusk, but he was almost there. He pressed on, his SCAR in hand. He moved fast, low, and quietly. He remained slightly crouched down as he ran and he kept his rifle up infront of him, occasionally looking around.
I sure as heck hope I can rendevous with someone, he thought to himself. He had gone dark, his radio turned off. It would only attract unnessecary attention. As he approached a fenced off complex, the army reserve center, he moved towards the side of the road. He noticed that the gate was closed and locked, but he wouldn't let that get between him and his goal, and possibly rendevous. He dropped his SCAR, letting the strap catch in, and he started to scale the fence. He was fortunate the fence didn't have barbed wire along the top of the gate. He leapt off the fence, immediately lifting his SCAR back up and looking around the complex. Nothing. No sound, no movement, no call signs. It didn't seem good, but he didn't know what was inside the building yet.

As he made for the front door, he switched on the flashlight on his gun and pointed it in through the window. No movement. Good. He reached out for the door handle and tried to turn it. It clicked. Locked., he thought to himself with a sigh. He cautious knocked on the door and waited for a moment. Still no movement. He nodded to himself, spun around, and kicked the door open. He went into the dark building, looking down each hall with his flashlight, then headed off to the left, the shorter hall. He got to the end of the hall and to a door leading into offices. He peered in, then shone his flashlight through the glass. He knocked on the door. Once again there was no movement. He turned the door handle again, this time the door opening right up. He walked in, looked around the room, then headed for the door across the room. He opened it up. There was nothing but papers filed away and filing cabinets.

"Useless." he said to himself aloud. He turned back toward the door to the hall and headed down the other way. He turned the corner, raising his gun and looking down the short hall. Their seemed to be an armory at the end. Maybe I can get some ammunition here, he thought to himself. He went straight for the door and cautiously opened it. All the weapon lockers were hoped and ransacked. He looked through a few. Damn. Nothin'. He continued to look around the room, but found nothing. He let out a sigh, then left the room. There was nothing of interest here, and there was no one here. He went back to the front door, looking outside. It was almost dark. It was easily a two hour walk into the center of town. He sighed softly as he tried to make a descision.

"I suppose I could head for the hospital in town for survivors." he thought aloud. He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Hospital, it is. I ain't got time to waste here scratchin' my ass." With that, he headed out, scaling the chain gate again. Once he hopped down, he pulled up his SAM-R sniper rifle. He held it up, looking down the road ahead of him, scouting out a safe path. He saw the bridge he needed to get up to and cross. He hung his head in frustration.
"Bastards're hoggin' that damn bridge" he thought aloud once more, "And I need to get my ass across it." He brought the scope up to his eye again, zooming in further to make absolute sure they were zombies and not people. The way they moved was unnatural. They were definitely zombies. He put his finger to the trigger and took a shot, the bullet whistling through the air and clean through the head of one of the zombies. Brain matter and blood exploded out, and the corners of his mouth curled into a grin.

"Hurrah!" he shouted, pegging off another. He moved in closer, aiming carefully at each. He had no desire to waste bullets on a stone bridge. As he stared down the scope, he heard a grunt to his left. He immediately pun towards the noise, a zombie barely a yard from him. He pulled out his side arm and fired aimlessly at it. It took three shots to the chest and one to the head before going down, but he had shot 7 bullets. He knew this because his clip was out. He sighed at himself.
"Careless bastard. 'Yur wastin' bullets!" He removed the clip and pulled one from his ammo bag. It clicked into place and he returned it to it's holster. He took up his SAM-R again and panned around the area, looking for any zombies in the vicinity. He spotted a few and made a mental note of them. He turned his attention back to the bridge, shooting the last zombie on the bridge before he slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled up his SCAR. He turned the flashlight on again, the sun starting to set, and he made a sprint for the bridge, running past the large cornfield to his left. He ran up the ramp onto the overpass and looked around for and zombie stragglers on or around the bridge. Seeing none, he continued on past the bridge, headed west towards Fort Collins. He kept a good pace, but wasn't sprinting any longer. He wanted to conserve energy. A dead soldier is a useless soldier.

(Sorry about the length. I've been excited about this roleplay, so I had a lot to write. Haha.)

Chuckling Frank swatted the skinny guys arm and thrust the flask into his face, forcing him to grab it or have its contents spilled on his shirt.

"Calm down Yorkie, leesee aboucher bike." Unbuckling his shield Frank set it on the ground along with his knapsack and machete, looking over his shoulder Frank once again looked at the man and decided taking off the machete may not have been the best idea, at the risk of looking threatening Frank left it were it was.

Crouching Frank poked a hand under the bike and gently lifted it upright. The lefthand mirror was cracked and bent but otherwise no outward damage could be seen.

"Yah busted yer mirror but thats an easy fix." Leaving in the broken glass Frank pinched the mirror between his thumb and pointer finger, with a small grunt he used his right hand to bend the small steel "arm" that kept the mirror attached to the bike back until it was more or less aligned with the other.

Looking closer at the rear end of the bike Frank whistled softly as he surveyed the damage, in the crazy swerving the bike had gone through earlier the bikes chain had snapped and the rear wheel was missing a few nuts, either somebody had sabotaged the bike or it just wasn't the skinny guys lucky day.

"Well chum, ifn yahs got a spare chain, a socket wrench, four lug nuts and half an hour I could get you rollin again, otherwise I suggest you salvage the leather off of yer seat and side bags there and jury rig a little extra armor on yer jacket, were this road leads aint nowhere nice."

Andy Lin Miller, hello. For all intensive purposes, consider me your subconscious. You've been learning a lot lately, about a certain virus. This virus has been causing a lot of problems no doubt, bring people back to life and what not. Just recently, you've been given a job to drive from New Mexico to Canada. You plan to document the situations you encounter on the way there. As you reach Loveland Colorado, you notice a few civilians on the side of the road. You ask your crew to pull over for an interview.
They first decline you, but when you ask again they stop the van. You open the door and they pass you your survival pack as well as an emergency weapon. You take the pack as part of your contractual obligation, and then, with their word that they would wait for you, start the walk back to meet the civilians.
From here on, it is your story to tell.

As Rachel watched Zombie Alexis' face contort into confusion and anger, her own slowly turned from doubtful into embarrassed.

"Oh, no, no; I wasn't calling you ugly. It's just the way you were crawling and laughing, you looked like a zombie! And no, I haven't been playing too many video games. The news and blogs and, and, and even YouTube has stuff about.
"You know that new flu they were all talking about? Yeah, its turning people into zombies! That's why I thought you might have been a zombie. But since you're talking to me, I guess you're not. Which is good."

Rachel smiled nervously, knowing she had started to ramble. Her face was still flushed in embarrassment, but when she relaxed she remembered what those girls had said.

"Are you okay? You look just a little rough. N-not ugly, just... like you didn't sleep well. Or something." Rae stammered, not wanting to embarrass herself again.

As the man swatted his arm away, the comb flew out of his hand. His reflexes reacted greatly when the man thrusted the flask into his face, he grabbed it almost instantly. "Calm down Yorkie, leesee aboucher bike." Elvis was still holding the flask, his eyes now less buggy, and his adrenaline was decreasing.

"Yah busted yer mirror but thats an easy fix." Elvis watched as the man simply grunted and fixed the mirror's position.

"Well chum, ifn yahs got a spare chain, a socket wrench, four lug nuts and half an hour I could get you rollin again, otherwise I suggest you salvage the leather off of yer seat and side bags there and jury rig a little extra armor on yer jacket, were this road leads aint nowhere nice." Elvis thought over the possible results when traveling with this man. "He's big, looks strong, and carries a shield, great protection!" he thought to himself.

"So how would I do that? How the hell am I 'spose to make an armored jacket from bike leather? I never even passed workshop in high school!" Elvis held the whiskey flask back out to the man and began to slide his arm out of his leather jacket. "Can you do it, y'know, as a favor? Y'know, you kinda owe me one for not cutting your throat with that comb!" he said in a friendly tone, obviously joking around. "By the way, the name's Elvis." he said with a smile.

As you fling open your door, you are greeted by a sight seen only in movies. There are six decaying corpses feeding on three, recently deceased victims. They seem relatively preoccupied with their meal and did not react to your exit. This scene is directly ahead of you on the road.
To the right, the way you would go to head towards the marine recruitment center, is a clear path. To the left, there is another zombie, he looks fresher than the other ones. He is attacking a young woman; she has seen you, though the zombie has not. She outstretches an arm towards you and cries for help. You can see the tears on her cheek and watch her scream in response to the zombie biting into her forearm.

You have multiple options, Mike. What will you do?