Silva crept out the front door of the three bed room surburban house he and what used to be his dad lived there. The road was littered with bodies of U.S soldiers and cilivian personel alike. Silva had both of the hunting rifles his dad bought, a Remington 30-06 model 750 semi-auto rifle with a scope, a Marlin 30-30 model 336w lever action, slung over each shoulder with a back pack with a couple boxes of twenty rounds for each rifle. He also had a .45 Charles Daly M1911 on a belt in a holster, with eight clips of thirteen rounds on the belt with an eight inch black Ka-Bar tanto style combat knife. As Silva slowly emerged from the house he heard a broken sickly gargleing sound, His heart rate spiked as he remembered what made that sound, Silva drew the pistol, since it would be most likely too close to fight with the rifles and he didn't happen to have an assault rifle either. He quickly got on the pistols sights as he kept himself very close to the fence as he made his way toward the sounds. Silva poked his head around the fence and saw a zombie or an infected human with their back to him. Silva decided since it was not of any immiediate threat to him that he would not fire, suddenly he heard a strangled yell and heavy thudding foot steps behind him. Silva turned to see an infected not but fifty feet away at a dead run toward him, Silva aimed for the chest and squeezed of four rounds each hit exactly where they were intended to go, but the vile creature kept chargeing. Silva dodged the creature as he pulled out the knife and slashed him in the side. The flesh was so tough that the knife was nearly yanked from his hand as it tore through the zombie's side. The infected staggered and started to get up recieving another five rounds for it's trouble. Things weren't over yet, the zombie that had it's back turned took notice and decided to try his hand at snagging a meal. Silva spun dropped and shot it in the head, shattering it and sending the skull fragments in all directions. Silva panned his aim around the surrounding area, after he was sure that it clear he took another look at the infected. They weren't all that much different looking aside from the fact that they resembled a human afgter you killed them, buried them for a week or two the dug them back up. Silva made sure he didn't crack the scope lenses on the 30-06 and headed down the street in search for some kind of transportation or other non zombie people.

Kasma shook her head violently, watching the window in front of her with wide eyes as she tightened her grip on the machete her dad had given her so long ago. The disgusting, gurgling noises filled the otherwise silent room of her house, Kasma's ears as well. She bit her lip and picked up Carlos [her stuffed dog] by the front arm, holding the machete out in front of her. Any moment the zombie thing would break through the window and come after her. Damn..she was screwed. She shook her head again and took a step backwards, opening her mouth. It was a stupid decision, but it was her only way out of this situation. "Help!" she shouted, breathing harder now. "Help!!"

Silva walked dead center of the street as to give himself a good distance on each side from house just in case any zombie got smart. As Silva made his way down several streets of which he had never explored before, he kept his pistol and knife at the ready. He was walking down one of the main streets when he heard a muffled yell. At first he thought that it was an infected roaming around calling for others, causeing him to raise his weapons and scan the area. He crept down the street following the yells, of which were growing in volume. Turned the corner of another street to see a zombie throwing itself at a house trying to get through a very durable storm window. A few more yells came from the house, as Silva decided on the proper weapon for the job. The 30-06 was great for range and a good anti-personel rifle and an even better anti-material rifle due to its size and caliber. Which made it not a very good weapon for this task, due to the fact that the round could go through at least 15 pieces of dry wall and still tear a nice whole in you. The range was about 50 to 60 yards, about twenty or thirty yards farther than he liked to use the pistol at especaily for such durable creatures. This was a job for the 30-30, accurate out to 150 yards and reasonably powerful.
Silva holstered the pistol a sleathed the knife. He unslung the 30-30 and took aim, he did not like shooting a rifle from standing position very much unless it was an assault rifle which he could put more rounds down range faster and it felt more natural to do so. Silva squeezed the trigger and the round flew hitting the zombie alittle right a low of where he aimed. this put so hurt on the thing and generally pissed it off. Another round hitting the infected dead center of the chest was enough to drop it, after it went through the spinal cord and the heart.
Silva slung the rifle and unholstered the pistol as he cautiously made his way to the house. He knew the door was locked as with most of these houses were after the disease hit. Silva smashed the butt of the pistol against the glass. The quick strike combined with the small point of impact was enough to break the window, but it took three more hard swings to make the window completely give and let him in. Silva slipped through the window readying himself for any thing.
"Is any one here?" Silva called searching the house.

Kasma curled up in a ball in the farthest corner of the room, hugging Carlos tightly to her chest. Her machete lay on the floor next to her leg, she hated holding that thing...Sounds of gunshots outside caused her to whimper quietly and hug Carlos even tighter. If the stuffed dog were real, she surely would've crushed him. She only whimpered again when she heard the sound of someone entering the house. It couldn't be a person...weren't they..all...dead? The voice she heard gave her a negative answer. Still terrified, she lifted her head to shout, "I'm in h-here!"

Kasma curled up in a ball in the farthest corner of the room, hugging Carlos tightly to her chest. Her machete lay on the floor next to her leg, she hated holding that thing...Sounds of gunshots outside caused her to whimper quietly and hug Carlos even tighter. If the stuffed dog were real, she surely would've crushed him. She only whimpered again when she heard the sound of someone entering the house. It couldn't be a person...weren't they..all...dead? The voice she heard gave her a negative answer. Still terrified, she lifted her head to shout, "I'm in h-here!"

((double post, wtfudge...sorry. >.<))

Silva turned the corner of the main room after he heard a reply. Silva nearly shot the poor girl when he entered the kitchen, he had heard her yell back he just didn't really believe that anyone but himself was alive. Silva walked over to the girl who was gripping a stuffed dog and had a machete beside her.
"My name is Silva, I'm not going to hurt you I'm here to help." Silva knelt down and looked calmly into to the girls eyes to reassure her. "Are you hurt?"
It wasn't a very smart question to ask beacuse the only thing that would hurt her would be zombies and if that were the case she'd be dead, dieing, or infected. Still it was an instinct to ask this question it was also polite.
"If you are okay we need to get moveing, most likely there were others who heard the gun shots and we'll have company very soon." Silva informed her.

Silva turned the corner of the main room after he heard a reply. Silva nearly shot the poor girl when he entered the kitchen, he had heard her yell back he just didn't really believe that anyone but himself was alive. Silva walked over to the girl who was gripping a stuffed dog and had a machete beside her.
"My name is Silva, I'm not going to hurt you I'm here to help." Silva knelt down and looked calmly into to the girls eyes to reassure her. "Are you hurt?"
It wasn't a very smart question to ask beacuse the only thing that would hurt her would be zombies and if that were the case she'd be dead, dieing, or infected. Still it was an instinct to ask this question it was also polite.
"If you are okay we need to get moveing, most likely there were others who heard the gun shots and we'll have company very soon." Silva informed her.
(Why suddenly double posts? stupid mateinence.)

((Dx!!! -infuriation-))

Kasma looked up, biting her lip at the sight of a boy. He couldn't be much older than her..a year, perhaps? "The only way I'm hurt is emotionally..B-but...all's w-well.." she murmured. Biting her lip, she shifted only uncomfortably, she felt weird under Silva's gaze. It took her a few moments to speak again, she'd been so terrified by her outside attacker she found it hard to speak. She did open her mouth, eventually, only to give a muffled reply due to Carlos being pressed firmly against her chest and mouth. "You're right..we r-really sh-should be g-get-getting a move o-on.." she squeaked, shifting again. Blinking, she bit her bottom lip close to the point of bleeding. "You..you /did/ get that..that thing out there..r-right? As in..k-killed it d-dead?"

"Pretty sure it's not going to be getting up anytime soon." Silva said remembering the bullet blasting through the zombie's spine.
Silva could tell this girl was terrified, although if he hadn't been taught by his dad to perform under stress he probably would have been in the same boat. Despite the way Silva was able to do things he still was not without compation for people who were suffering. Silva remembered when someone didn't have to be this way and everything was much simpler to deal with, memories of the time before the Rage disease hit flash through his mind. Silva shook his head to clear these thoughts.
"Here let's get going." Silva offered a hand to the girl. "Do you guys got a car or something here?"

Kasma hesitantly took Silva's hand, standing upright. Gah..he was tall. Or..was she just short? Yeah..that's what it was. She leaned down and picked up her machete, slipping it into the sheath on her belt. She looked up at the boy's question, tightening her grip on Carlos. She was fifteen, for goodness sake...still carrying a stuffed animal around? Better than her nightlight.....Kasma nodded, standing straighter as if to appear taller to Silva. "In the garage...it's a hummer...keys are in the thingymajig, and we've got like, five of those red g-gallon things..full of gas...Dad-...Daddy always liked to be prepared." Good god! Daddy?! Argh...she'd promised herself she'd stop talking like a small child. But..she couldn't. It hurt..it sounded too mature to call her parents, 'Mom', or 'Dad'..Kasma shook her head, embarassed. "Food in there, t-too..."

A red light beat resoundingly against the outside of two eyelids. They parted slowly, then slammed back shut as the blinking red overwhelmed them. Cliff covered his face with his hand and sat up. Gradually, he unshielded his pupils and let them adjust. Outside the window, a streetlight at a four-way intersection was stuck on red. It's blinking was supposed to signify that the lights were malfunctioning, but due to the circumstances, Cliff highly doubted there would be much traffic.
Cliff stretched as he stood, and then walked into the kitchen of his apartment. He opened the fridge and studied its contents. His food supply was unoptimistically low.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath.
It had come as quite a surprise to Cliff that barricading himself in his apartment would prove the best survival mechanism against the rage-infected. But about a week after the outbreak had started, the infected had abandoned most residences and taken to the streets. Cliff had managed to remain quiet enough to stay undetected so far; however, with nothing left to feed him, his options seemed slim.
Still, Cliff did not wish to immediately abandon his home on a whim. He sat down and smoked a cigarette, flipping through an old Playboy he'd read about a dozen times since the incident had started. After growing bored with the James Franco interview article, Cliff retired the magazine to the pile it had been laying in and opened the bottom left-hand drawer on his coffee table. From the drawer he withdrew a blood stained two-way radio that he had recovered off the body of a dead soldier in the one time he'd been brave enough to venture downstairs.
"Maybe today's forecast will be more promising," Cliff said to himself while figuring it to be untrue.
He clicked the dial at the top of the radio and sat it down on the table, kicking his feet up after doing so. A repeating layer of unbroken static emitted for the next ten minutes. Cliff leaned forward and, sighing, he shut the radio off and returned it to the drawer.
"Or, maybe not..."
He stood once more. A slight pain spread across his stomach as it growled. Cliff realized that the average person could go a few days without food, but he also realized that a potential rescue would most likely take more than a few days. Moving towards the coat rack, Cliff slid each arm into the respective sleeve of his dads green Marine Corps jacket, and then placed his cigarettes and lighter into one of the pockets.
He had no weapon. If he was to reach the grocery store or a gas station, he would have to be as stealthy as possible against the feral minded rage-infected. Slowly, he unbarricaded the door item by item and then unbolted the latch. Heading down the stairs, he made his way passed a few disfigured, decomposing corpses and out the door of his apartment complex onto the streets.

"Good, get all the bags you can fill with the canned food since it won't go bad." Silva started to head for the garage door when he stopped. "Hey take this."
Silva unslung the 30-30 lever action and held it out for the girl. The rifle big enough that when it came down to it she wcould keep her distance from the target and be able to drop it without haveing to go through as many rounds as she would have to with the pistol, but small enough that it didn't nearly jump out of your hands when you fired it like the 30-06 did.
"You know how to aim a gun right?" Silva asked before completely giveing it to her, if she didn't know then a gun at this point would be useless.

Kasma stared at the gun warily, slowly lowering the hand holding Carlos to her side. "Ahh..no..Never had the chance to even touch one of those things..." Her voice was quiet, she found it hard to speak in a voice louder than a whisper. Stepping backwards, she looked Silva over more thoroughly. "I'd probably kill mys-self.." Taking another step backwards, she leaned more towards the kitchen. "Just...I'll be fine with this machete...can't be much harder to handle than wooden swords when playing pirates...." She was wearing a nervous expression as she continued to look at Silva, almost as if she'd done something. But..she hadn't..had she?

The streets were surprisingly, ominously barren. Dried blood stained random patches of concrete, and there were countless vehicles lying totaled on the road and sidewalk; some of them were even lodged into buildings, yet there were no signs of life. Cliff duck-walked from cover to cover, using alleyways and the inoperable automobiles as a form of concealment. After roughly five minutes of walking, he came upon the corpses of three soldiers lying mangled on the pavement.
He remembered the day that they had died. In fact, he had watched from his apartment window. The rampaging infected had rushed them so fast that the soldiers barely had time to react, managing to squeeze off only a couple of rounds. Their weapons were scattered near their corpses. Cliff examined them, but they all appeared to be in bad condition due to a combination of weather effects over time and because of the damage they had received during the struggle against the humans that had been infected by the rage virus. Cliff dropped the assault rifle and continued forward, crouching as close to the ground as he could while moving.
Soon, the road gave way to a big square that housed a bank. As he entered the banks parking lot Cliff slowed to a halt. There were a few miscellaneous corpses strewn across the lot, and one of them was now slowly struggling to it's feet. There appeared to be what looked like two bullet-sized holes in it's chest. It's A&F Polo was torn and covered in blood. Whether it was just the person's own blood, or their blood plus the blood of someone else had yet to be determined.
Without thinking Cliff had ducked and was now residing behind a tattered police car opposite the unknown person. He leaned his back against the wheel, making sure it consumed his features so that he could not be distinguished. He would need to think of a new plan quickly. From what he understood, the humans infected with the rage virus had a heightened sense of smell, and it would only be a matter of time before this one distinguished that there was nearby prey.

Peter planted his knee against the side of the roof and rested his elbows against it. The sniper barrel leveled on a zombies head and he squoze the trigger. the head exploded and the body dropped. Peter made another mark and releveled his barrel. another zombie fell. another mark was made. repeat.

"Your going to need it distance from the enemy is a good thing, the farther away you are the harder it is to hit you or in this case take a bite out of you." Silva handed the girl the gun. "When you aim have the sights lined up, or in simpler form hve the little bar on the end in between the notchon the back."
Silva pionted to each end. Silva knew alot of people didn't like guns but right now likes an dislikes were irrelevant. Silva had just found this girl and did not wan to lose the only person he has talked to in several months because he didn't properly equip her.
"As soon as you gather all the food and say your good byes to the house, we leave." Silva said walking out the garage door.

Kasma's face was expressionless as she slung the gun over her shoulder and made her way into the kitchen, setting Carlos on the counter. She found it hard to hurry, the machete felt oddly heavy. Hmh....She sniffed, pulling a bag out of a bottom cabinet and flung open the top cabinet doors, eventually climbing onto the counter so she could reach the top shelves. One of the downers of being short....Not even ten minutes later Kasma had two bags full of canned and boxed food. Ginger snaps couldn't spoil...could they? Nahh...same with raisins. Grabbing Carlos, she slapped a kiss onto the kitchen wall and ran into the garage, silently shutting the door behind her. "Done...I think."

Walter was walking. Why? because that was the only thing he could do in the situation. He did not think about the past preferring to block it out than think about it as somethings were not meant to be thought of or a man could lose his sanity. His rifle was slung over his right shoulder, and his baseball bat was in his left hand. It was rather awkward to walk that way, but it was for the best. Zombies... awhile ago he would have laughed at the notion, but now it was the only truth that mattered. Some people ran to barricade buildings, and some most likely wished to pretend to be Rambo, and he wanted nothing to do with either.

He would keep out of sight and out of mind, and he would survive because he wants stupid. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't Rambo, and he wasn't a mole hiding in his damn house. No, he was simply a teenager trying to survive the chaos, that was all. A straggler in a world trying to eat him. His long brown hair he had tied into a long ponytail to keep out of his face as he didnt want it messing with his vision in case the hungry monsters tried to make a meal out of him.

On his left stood a empty looking, and he stresses looking 7/11. He quietly walked to the door and pushed it open with his bat, watching that shadows for movement and listening for any moaning. He heard none, so he slid in and with the doors closed he turned and slide the rifle between the two metal prongs. The door wouldn't be able to be pushed open, sure it wasn't the most tactful but it kept the door shut to the outside world which is about as safe as one could be fore a while. In these close quarters a rifle would be useless anyways... although the thought didn't keep his hands from shaking.

He carefully checked every closet, aisle, and behind the counters and found nothing. It was odd that he found nothing, he expected at least 1 zombie or maybe a few zombies. In fact the aisles themselves were fine, even fully stocked which was even stranger. The chaos of the initial outbreak caused many people to go looting but it was as if this little gas station was an Oasis of the old world. He moved down the aisles, it was so surreal although he would have liked lights but asking for electricity is a little too much. He grabbed chips and a bottle of water, happy to have some food as he didn't like looking. The door to the 7/11 was blocked off by the rifle, so he didnt have to worry about sneaking up on him, and for the first time in weeks he was able to relax.

"Alright let's roll." Silva hopped in the passenger seat of the Hummer H2. The thing was a beast, with comfort. The SUV had pristen black leather seats that sucked you down into its depths, an automatic transmition, and large tires. If anything was going to survive in this place it was denfintely this thing. Silva took this time of rest to reload his weapons asess the situation and relax.
"I think just in case we should stop at a gas station and pick up the rest of the gas cans there then we can use the manual pump, that they usually have in the little machines." Silva suggested, he had spent his time before everything totally hit the fan but still looked grim, inorder to research things in the city that would allow him to be able to provide heat fuel and food to survive.

Kasma ran her fingers along the side of the hummer, eventually turning her gaze to Silva. "I really think you should drive. I'd kill us both..." She murmured. She hopped into the back seat then, making sure the bags of food were safe with her. "I'm pretty useless..." Kasma looked up and gave a nervous smile, sitting cross-legged and holding Carlos tightly. No way she was putting on a seat belt...

"Wait you don't know how to drive," Silva almost laughed. "Well neither do I."
It was true, his dad taught him how to shoot fight, and how to solve complex equations used for long range shooting. But he never taught him how to drive, and come to think of it Silva never asked or even thought about driveing. Yeah he had driven on video games and stuff like that before, but not in real life.
"Well do you know at all how to drive, cause i've never got behind the wheel,ever." Silva looked back at the girl, speaking of which he had not found out the name of. "Hey by the way what's your name?"

Gawain was tired. It was only an hour earlier that he was forced to kill his own parents, using an assortment of kitchen kives, pots, pans and of course his own speedy acrobaticness. Using a convenient sledgehammer to smash open the skull of another one of those possessed freaks, he had holed himself up in his garage, still wondering what the hell was going on.

He took this time to mourn a little, but not too long before deciding that getting prepared is probably a good idea. So he took a few things out of the garage; a metal baseball bat, which he tied to his back with a bungee cord and some duct tape. Two hatchets - a sharp but quick hand-axe, about half the size of a regular axe which he put them in their respective cases and taped them onto his pants; making it easy for him to take them out in case he needed them. He even found some cleats, and managed to put some small nails through the front of them - flat end towards the toes, obviously - and would probably hurt like a bitch if you kicked someone now. He was about to remove the barricades from his door, when he remembered one last thing; his prized eagle knife, which he called 'Annie'. His eyes gleamed evilly as he picked up that ungodly blade; a 15 inch blade, sharp as can be. He grabbed his small sharpening stone and shoved it in his jacket - which had pretty big pockets considering its size - and made his escape. Which you don't need to hear about since he actually only met one of those freaks, and killed it by stabbing it through the back of the head with Annie a few times while it was just standing around looking pretty. How nice.

But returning to present time, Gawain realized that in his rush, he had forgotten to grab two of the most important things of all; food and water. But considering that there was a 7/11 'conveniently stored' nearby, it really wasn't all that big of a deal. That is, if you consider that there a rifle barring the way of the door. He raised his knuckle to the glass, and knocked on the door.

"Hey! Is there anybody in there? If there is, do ya think you could, you know, open the door? I'm kind of in need of supplies and stuff.. and yeah, open it. Today. Possibly even now." Gawain called out. Not the smartest idea in the world, but then again, Gawain wasn't the smartest person in the world.

Kasma giggled nervously, crawling into the front seat with a squeak as she struggled to keep her pants pulled all the way up. She'd forgotten a belt inside..Oh well, she'd manage. Making herself comfortable in the front seat, she turned her gaze to Silva. Had she made a new friend? She didn't know.. "I'm Kasma..Weird name, right? Mama was always blah like that.." Her eyes were bright as she grabbed Carlos from the back seat and placed him in her lap, stroking his head. He was the only thing she had left of her dad, besides the machete... "I kinda know how to drive...but before I start driving this damned thing, ya gotta tell me where to go.."

"Hey! Is there anybody in there? If there is, do ya think you could, you know, open the door? I'm kind of in need of supplies and stuff.. and yeah, open it. Today. Possibly even now." Walter let out a tired sigh. Of course someone had to ruin the quiet atmosphere he had established. All he asked of God was an hour of silence to rest, but even that seemed out of his grasp. He couldn’t tell if the man was of the Rambo type or the Stupid type, but it didn’t matter. If he didn’t open the door the man would probably howl and yell and then he would be surrounded by zombies and makeshift a gun/lock would only last so long.

He quietly moved to the door the gun still wedge. He took a moment to stop and look at the man outside. He was armed with a knife, albeit a big knife but nothing to have to worry about. Worse was out there than a stupid guy with a knife, although he wanted to be far away from this guy as soon as possible. Anyone who screams in this world just because a door is locked is not someone he wanted to be around. His survival came first, and it would be impossible unless he was with people that stopped and asked Why? Once in awhile.

He took the rifle out of the door, and held it loosely in his hands before stepping back. Once the man came in he would stand by the door to ensure it never opened. He did not trust the new man, and would shoot him if he did. He had done worse in these times, he didn’t trust anyone anymore.