~Fight The Dead, Fear the Living~

[FMAlchemist]

205 Bailey Drive, In The God Damn Basement

Of all the things to find in a basement… Valerie wrinkled her already tortured nose at the discovery of the hanging corpses. No zombie epic was complete without a psychopathic cannibal. It was an interesting tactic for staying alive, she had to admit. Hunting humans was decidedly easier compared to hunting animals if you were a good enough liar- or extortioner. Nonetheless, now wasn't the time to ruminate on survival method theories and this person wasn't someone she fancied shaking hands with anytime soon. The scene was simply yet another testament of how radically the world had changed. Not much of a surprise though- she'd been spending the last three months trying to survive people and things which had wanted to eat what she had- whether it be the flesh on her bones or the food in her pack.

She looked to the window, surmising whether or not she'd be able to fit through and escape outside unnoticed. She was smallish and thin. It could be worth a shot, assuming she had enough time to get through before Mr. People-Eater found and came after her. She'd be easy pickings while trying to maneuver through the window- from both the outside and inside. She pressed her back up against the wall perpendicular to the stairs, out of sight. She carefully lowered the sack of food onto the floor and held her bat tightly with both hands. She regulated her breathing as her eyes swept over the room, keeping an ear out for the creaky basement door, which she had thankfully closed behind her, and trying to think of a game plan in what little time she likely had.

The good thing about the lumbering footsteps was she knew just about exactly where the person in the house was. She glanced over the corpses, trying to figure out what the guy must've used to do the poor people in- if all he had was a butcher knife, she was in luck. Both her bat and hatchet were longer, which would give her the upper hand. Either way, she figured she could outmatch the heavy-footed oaf fairly easily if it came down to it. But then- that was assuming he didn't have a gun. Judging by the slammed door, volume wasn't a high priority on his list. She only hoped that the stakes hammered into the heads of the dangling corpses were a sign of no firearm rather than an effort to conserve ammo. Of course, there was always the slight chance that whoever was upstairs was just some poor bastard seeking shelter from oncoming Creeps- but that was getting to be a little too optimistic for her taste.

She released a long, shallow breath- all there was to do now was wait. If she heard the footsteps fade away to a further section of the house, she'd make a dash for the window and try her luck. Otherwise... she pulled the hatchet from her belt, brandishing both her weapons in either hand- this motherfucker was about to be greeted with a blade to face. Or chest. The good thing about living enemies was they felt pain and even just a chop to the thigh could give you a major advantage.

The only downside- it worked both ways.

[Chanda]

Outside the Soap Shop

"Well, you've got a lot of fight in you for a dead man walking. Then again, we see an awful lot of those around these days, don't we?" retorted the officer as Temero continued to mouth off even when staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. The trooper was caught off guard by the young man's sudden swipe, and his gun was batted away as planned. He did, however, anticipate the follow-up strike, and backpedaled just out of range of Temero's punch. In a moment he had re-centered his aim and then...

"Bang bang. You're dead," chuckled the trooper, nonchalantly. With a few more chuckles, he spun his revolver around with the measured caution of a seasoned gunslinger and slid it into the holster at his waist. "You really think I have the time, or the bullets, to go around shooting up petty soap thieves?" scoffed the trooper. "Nah, I've been off duty for four months now. I'm just here to take care of a problem a little birdie told me about. You could call it a bounty, if you're that old fashioned," sighed the policeman. He extended a hand.

"You can call me Officer Friendly. Tom Friendly, to my friends and family. Used to be a cop. Now I'm just trying to make things right around these parts. You from around here, mister...?" asked Officer Friendly, prompting Temero to give his name.

~

Past The Point of No Return

The mirror shattered with such a fantastic sound and flurry of reflective glass shards that Randall's meaty finger squeezed the trigger of his shotgun due almost entirely to the sheer overload of his senses. The spray had severely mangled the ceiling above him, and yet still there was one mirror-throwing asshat left in the house. Randall had wasted another shell, and with that thunderous sound, walkers would soon make their way towards the house. Randall was beginning to curse choosing such a nice house; of course someone would already be living here. Then again, Amber wouldn't take anything but the best.

Even with his ears still ringing from the shot, he could still hear the sound of his pick-up truck wheeling out of the driveway with reckless abandon. In his haste to clear the house, he had forgotten to take the keys with him. Amber, the love of his life, was now roaring down the highway, leaving him behind to die in this house with an asshole who threw mirrors at people for no good reason.

She just got spooked by the shot, that's all. Right? Maybe some walkers started to notice my truck and she got spooked. Yes, that's it... She'll be back.

With a furious exhale through his nostrils, Randall pumped the slide of his shotgun. It was admirable weapon indeed; a Remington 870 Police he'd pinched from a deserted refugee camp. He'd chosen to fix a bayonet at the end of the weapon, something that often came in handy when he wished to deal with a freak quietly. It was with this weapon that he would murder this mirror-throwing motherfucker as punishment for separating him from his dearly beloved wife. Then she would pull up in the driveway, in tears, and they would embrace for the first time. Oh yes, that's how it would all play out. He would just have to kill this fool first.

Randall slowly approached the doorway he suspected the mirror had been thrown from, shotgun at the ready. Taking a deep breath, he burst into the next room with a decidely Southern warcry. Immediately he spotted Robert, axe at the ready, and his meaty finger squeezed the trigger once more, only this time, the pin fell on an empty chamber. Internally he cursed Amber, who'd interrupted his reloading earlier this morning by asking him which lipstick color she looked best in. With no hope of reloading in such a short amount of time (the slugs were in his vest pocket, sadly) he resorted to lunging forward with his bayonet, hoping to skewer Robert before he could react.

~

In The Web of a Noiseless, Patient Spider

Luckily, the footsteps seemed to be making their way upstairs, away from the basement. Making her way across the sticky, bloody floor, Valerie approached the window, albeit only to discover something that would likely dampen her spirits even more than a room full of half-eaten corpses. The window was supported on the other side by a sturdy metal grate. Most eerily of all, two bloody handprints lingered unsettlingly on the grimy plate glass window. She hadn't been the only one in this basement who thought of escaping through the window, although considering she wasn't bleeding from the hands, it would appear that she was in decidedly better shape.

The heavy footsteps ceased upstairs, but no sound of doors opening or shutting could be heard, so it was likely that the cannibal was still inside the house. It did not, necessarily, mean that he was no longer moving. Perhaps he'd simply removed his boots, or otherwise found occasion to make less noise. Only time would tell, but Valerie seemed to be running out of that precious commodity.

[FMAlchemist]

205 Bailey Drive, Out of The Frying Pan and Into The Fire

"Fuck," Val breathed under her breath, setting down her sack of food and pacing back across the room, careful not to jostle any of the hanging chains. She wasn't going to get her loot out of the house- not with this guy still around. It seemed unlikely whoever it was would remove his shoes- unless they were trying to be sneaky. With all that glass and other shit on the floor, however, walking barefoot or even just in socks seemed rather unwise, either way. Nonetheless, no longer being able to hear the footsteps was unnervingly inconvenient. The never ending list of variables was becoming rather cumbersome as well. The only thing she could be sure of now was that they didn't know where she was in the house exactly, if at all. Judging by how much time had already passed and the lack of an exit, checking the basement obviously wasn't at the top of their list. She had a little more time...

Her eyes swept over the room once more, counting her options, or, rather, the lack thereof. Her mind wandered to the firecrackers in her pack. She'd originally picked them up to use on walkers in case she was ever in a jam and needed to lure them away. The basement door stood opposite of an open bedroom. If she could slide one under the door, across the hall, and into the room- she'd have a chance to jump him and get out of this god-forsaken death trap, which was her main priority after seeing the bloody hand prints. As it stood now, she was just a locked door away from dying of starvation or by whatever means the sick bastard had in mind. She already wasn't one very fond of being underground or stuck in enclosed spaces. Not the ideal place to be, to say the least.

She tucked the hatchet back under her belt and crouched behind the old, unused furnace, slipping off her pack. She would have to be fast. After lighting the fuse, she had roughly 25 seconds to put the matches away slip her bag back on, get up the stairs as quietly as possible and slide it under the door. Then all she had to do was wait. That close to the door, she'd easily be able to hear footsteps on the cluttered floor- shoes or no shoes. Then it was only a matter of carefully slipping out into the hallway. She'd have to go from there, depending on if she got that far and how things went.

[Spiritdragon]

Outside the soap shop

A lot of fight, ha! If only he knew the irony behind those words. Temero didn't enlighten him, he only smirked silently at the man's joke. They definitely were surrounded by deadbeats. Literally! "Gotta have fight to survive out here," he commented. Giving up was for the weak anyway. He had seen what happened to those who stopped fighting in the ring. They had been completely obliterated and he figured the concept still applied. The ring had just been made a whole heck of a lot bigger.

When he felt his fist swipe air Temero had a horrible feeling he had just screwed up royally, a suspicion that was confirmed when he ended up with the gun pointed directly at him again. Well, I'm going to die now, he thought. But the sharp retort of the gun never came and neither did the tearing pain of a bullet going through him. Instead surprise and then a bit of respect flickered across Temero's face as the man chuckled and holstered his gun. Sly old man, he thought ruefully, admittedly a little amazed at how fast the man had moved and by his show of mercy. That would teach him to go taking swings at cops. Well, probably not actually, but it was a fair warning. They wouldn't all be this nice now would they?

"No I guess you wouldn't," Temero agreed calmly as though he hasn't just been a trigger pull away from dying. But that wasn't the interesting thing about the man, he was more curious about what he said next. "A bounty huh?" he repeated, a note of curiosity coloring his voice. He didn't mind vigilantes when they weren't after him, in fact he thought they were rather fun. "What kind of bounty?" he asked, almost tempted to join the man if he would let him. Just maybe. At least until he finished looking for this 'bounty'.

"Temero Anderson, nice to meet you," he replied, shaking the man's hand firmly but not too much so. "I guess I should apologize for taking a swing at you there. You moved faster than I thought you would." I was a real compliment from him even if it might not have sounded like it. "I'd imagine it isn't easy for a former lawman to walk around here and see what this place has become," he added, trying to make an educated guess because he didn't really know if Tom cared about the mess the nation had become but he was willing to bet that he did. "No I'm from up north but I took to wandering around," he finished, shrugging slightly. Eventually he would hopefully find a place where he could set up camp and stay permanently but he hadn't been able to locate a suitable area yet. Perhaps foolishly he still believed it existed out there somewhere.

But who would have thought he would actually get along with a cop? It was rather odd to consider, especially since they'd had to run from cops before when they got wind of their underground boxing. And now here he was considering going along with one and possibly helping out with whatever it was he was doing. Times had certainly changed hasn't they?

[GrayPerdition]

Convenience Plus, corner of Minor Ave. and Rt. 23.

In an earlier time, Spencer would have looked absolutely ridiculous, he knew. Holding an obnoxiously colored bat and crouching behind a faded store sign, he was surely an amusing sight. The sign behind him had once had the words 'CIGARETTES SOLD AT STATE MINIMUM' in large black letters, but most of them were faded, and others laid on the ground aspersed around his feet. A grungy red stain was splashed across the arrow of the sign, though Spencer chose to ignore that. His bright blue eyes rolled in their sockets as he scanned the streets around him. There were a few ghouls shambling about, but they didn't seem to notice him; he guessed he was too far away. Around the gas station/store, and throughout the town for that matter, Spencer saw many large silos. Many of the roads were dirt, and much of the land surrounding the town was green and unoccupied. This was a textbook farming town back in the day, wasn't it? He thought to himself absently.

Spencer peered around the sign again, and sighed heavily at the sight of the bikes outside the store. He hadn't seen any other stores during his short walk, and he assumed that this town was too small to have any other note-worthy store. He returned to his cover and frowned to himself; he needed to get in there. Spencer slipped the strap of his bag over his right shoulder so that it ran diagonally across his torso, and wrung his hands around the handle of his bat. He placed a hand on the ground and was about to shove himself up and around the sign, but a loud scream from inside the store made the thin man drop to the ground.

With a steady mantra of "Shit!" running through his mind, Spencer shimmied under the sign as best he could. As he looked around once more, he saw that the few ghouls who had been scuffling around mindlessly had all turn in the direction of the convenience store. An annoyed sound left Spencer lips, and he stood up on the other side of the sign. He looked into the small store again, and this time he saw two of the men (through the single door that they had conveniently stopped in front of) were arguing loudly. The third was on the ground in between them, lifting himself on shaking arms. Spencer watched on as the third got to his feet, while the other two were busy yelling. Knowing that the ghouls would likely invade the store soon, and that the third man (by the look of him) would soon cause a distraction for the other two, Spencer readied his bat and stalked towards the store. Just as he thought, the two arguing men began to scream as their turned friend jumped at them. They probably wouldn't be distracted long, but Spencer was fast. Hopefully, fast enough.

Spencer risked waiting another moment, despite the ghouls now inclosing on the store’s parking lot, for the men to be drawn away from the door. He watched as the two were forced away from the door, and past the two of the three windows of the small store. Knowing that he didn’t have much of a chance, he ran in a crouch towards the door, pulling it open roughly and slipping inside, his heart hammering in his chest.

The place was empty, so he knew that he wouldn’t get much; and for a moment, he immediately regretted his decision to come inside the store at all. Another loud scream to his left drew his attention, and he glanced over only to see that a second of the masked men had been bitten before the third managed to get control and stab the first turned man in the forehead.

The last man standing yelled in that ugly language, Spencer heard the proclamation, along with running footsteps, and fled the C Plus. Loud groaning began in the corner of the room, reminding Spencer of his small time frame. He did not want to get stuck in a confined space with one of those things. Fortunately, the fleeing man would most likely draw the attention on the few ghouls in the area, so he probably won’t be attacked from outside. Probably.

Fortunately, Spencer was smart enough not to leave one of those things alive behind him. He crossed back over toward the two bodies, raising his bat as he did so. Instead of waiting for the man in the clown mask to jump at him, Spencer slammed his bat down - once, twice, thrice - into the man’s skull. With a stubborn huff, Spencer straightened (only after wiping his bat on the man's clothes) and took to scavenging the store.

In his frantic search, Spencer didn’t find much other than dust. He did happen across a dropped bag from the man, who had worn a strange lizard mask, that had run from the store. It didn’t have anything in it, unfortunately, so he dropped it and continued. There were a few things he didn’t need, so he left them for fear of being slowed down. On the ground, near another dead body, Spencer received three individually wrapped pieces of jerky – probably dropped in the struggle – and slid them into his bag. He stepped over the body, and went to continue away, until a gleam of surprising white caught he eye. He bent down and reached into the dead ghoul’s back pocket. Smiling at his luck, Spencer opened the cigarette pack and counted seven of the clean fuckers hiding in there. With a smirk, Spencer turned towards the door. The store held nothing else for him, sadly, but he could find someone who smoked (and didn't want to kill him).

Spencer exited the store swiftly, jogging over to where the bikes were stacked. He took the one in the best shape, which wasn’t good, and hoped onto the seat. As he hooked his bat to his be, he looked down to where the third man was getting devoured by ghouls, and decided to go the opposite way down Minor street (or up, because it was north), across Rt 23.

[Chanda]

Outside the Soap Shop

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping to meet up with a local, get some information," sighed Officer Friendly rubbing his chin. He perked up when Temero asked about his bounty he perked up.

"Perhaps bounty wasn't the right word. That would imply a reward. Perhaps a better phrase would be 'killing to repay a favor'," chuckled the policeman. He retrieved a ledger from a pouch on his belt and began flipping through the pages.

"I was stranded on the side of the highway, you see, and who should happen along but this nice fellow named Harvey who nursed me back to health. Harvey happened to be from Bertrand, but some asshole murdered his entire family and basically forced him to flee town after the outbreak hit. Now, I would suggest that you dig the wax out of your ears now, because this is a bit of a lengthy story," warned the cop. "I think it would be better if he headed back into the soap shop. We won't be out in the open and the stuff will mask our smell."

Officer Friendly led Temero back into the shop and sat down at the other side of the counter, motioning for Temero to do the same. Having found the correct page in his ledger, he pulled some old reading glasses from his pants pocket and set about to listing off some of the information.

"Before the outbreak, there was kid who used to live here. I don't really remember what Harvey told me his name was, but I know that now he likes to call himself Geist. Kid's grandpa was a World War II vet, brought home a lot of war trophy German weapons. Apparently in high school good 'ol boy Geist got involved with a bunch of Neo Nazi shit that I really don't understand. He started collecting all this weird German stuff from World War II. Crazy kid, but everyone just wrote him off as a bit of a quiet weirdo," began the trooper, sighing.

"Anyway, once the outbreak hits, Bertrand gets passed over by FEMA because it's too small and too out of the way to build a shelter here, so everyone in Bertrand was pretty much left out to dry. St. Paul's Lutheran Church opens up its doors as a shelter for anyone who wanted to come. They didn't have guns, but they had a lot of food, heavy wooden doors and high windows. Anyway, apparently Geist rolls up with a bunch of old German weapons wearing a gas mask and a white jumpsuit and shoots up the place in the name of the Third Reich, killing around fifteen innocent people," continued Officer Friendly.

"Geist left one family alive, and that was Harvey's, because he knew that they were Jewish. Geist, being a sick motherfucker, burns Harvey's wife and daughter alive. Harvey managed to escape in the chaos, but he knew Geist would come after him, so he slipped town. According to the last guy I talked to -- he's dead now, tried to kill me for my gun, strangled him to death -- Geist is still holed up in the church. Apparently you can't get too close to the place or he'll shoot you dead. Doesn't exactly seem like the kind of guy anyone wants to fuck with, but hey, I owe Harv my life. Plus, that church is bound to be full of food and supplies, so I figure there's more to gain from this than just honor," Tom reasoned.

"That's about all I have, really. Sounds like a shitty action movie if you ask me. I'm not exactly sure how one man with a revolver and six bullets is going to kill a heavily-armed psychopath holed up inside a church, but I guess I'll figure that out as I go along," chuckled Officer Friendly. It was becoming increasingly apparent that this cop had little regard for his own safety or the safety of others.

[Ambrose]

Highland Avenue, In The Fortress of Solitude

Taylor knew he was being mocked from the older man's tone of voice, if the use of the ridiculously advanced words weren't enough to tip him off. He sighed and dropped his arms to his sides, for people like Clyde, he would never be anything more than a kid, regardless of what he'd been through. It was one of the things he'd loved most about his father, the respect he'd given Taylor.

He couldn't help but break a smile as the older man continued his charade and finished it off with an accompanying accent. He puffed his chest out a little, proud of what he was about to say. "Yeah, I came 'cause I figured you might need some stuff. My house is just over that way," the boy turned and motioned in the general direction. His voice died off instantly, and his eyes widened as he noticed the three Freaks, moaning and stumbling as they made their way closer and closer to their location. His breath caught, and he froze, his hand still pointing toward them. It hadn't been the first time he'd seen them without the security of walls around him, but it was the first time he'd faced them without his father. Without the protection of a gun, machete and knife that the man had always carried with him, Taylor felt like the child he was. Without any weapons on him, there was no way he would be able to reach his house without encountering the Freaks, and even if he was able to outrun them, they would then know where his hiding place was. They were unrelenting in their search for food, and Taylor knew that they wouldn't stop trying to reach him unless they were killed. Again. It wouldn't be such an issue because he was pretty sure the walls and doors would hold up against their attacks, but their presence would notify other Freaks that might pass through.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he wiped them away before turning toward the stranger. "Help me," he pleaded.


Kennett Street, House at the End of the Row

Dexter felt bad for the little girl, losing a parent at that age was something disastrous, but in today's world it was even worse. What used to be tragedies were now horror stories. The frown remained on his face however, regardless of how horribly he felt for the child, he still had to think about himself. It had been a hard lesson he'd learned about not trusting strangers, regardless of how innocent they may appear.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his head. Dexter took in his surroundings again, checking to see if any dead had managed to wander into his sights. Strange to think Melanie would be left here alone. She was very young. Had this been a few months ago, he wouldn't have thought anything of it. This was a small town, everyone most likely knew everyone else, and looked out for one another. Dexter felt at home in small towns because it reminded him of the community he had so loved and been a part of when he had been a child himself. How many nights had he and his sister stayed home alone when his mother couldn't make it? There had always been a neighbor or two who would stop by to check up on him.

Those days were long gone now. The only neighbors this family had now were ghosts, or the dead. The child didn't appear to have any weapon to protect herself, and even if she did, she was weak. A walker would be able to easily overpower her and have it's fill. Any father would be stupid to leave his daughter unattended like this today, even if it was for a short trip to the store. Dexter made eye contact with he girl once more, and felt terrible for doubting her kindness as she offered him food and water. He did desperately need some, and very few people today would just offer some without expecting anything in return. But he would not approach her sweet face any closer than he had already come.

"I can wait out here," he called back. "I truly appreciate your offer for food and water, and I graciously accept, but I would feel badly coming in without your father at home. Imagine what he'd think if he came in and found me with you, he might shoot me on the spot. That is, if he's got a gun?" Dexter prodded to see how much information he would be able to get from the girl about her father before he returned. When she made no comment in the affirmative or the negative, he continued. "How about this? I'll go check out a few houses around here, and come back in a little while. Maybe your dad will be home by then, and he and I can talk. When's the last time you saw a walker? Are there a lot of them in town?"

At worse, he was avoiding an ambush and would be able to return better prepared. At best, he was just going to increase his supplies and have a guaranteed meal in a little while. Either way, in Dexter's mind, the best option was to stay out of that house until he'd met with an adult.

[Stein]

There comes a time in every person's life--

Every man's life--

Every gay man's life.

When he has the chance to just stop and reflect on his life.

To wonder how he got where he was at that very moment.

To ponder the choices he's made thus far. In both the areas of life and love.

For Makarios Lillis, this time came at a very odd moment. It hadn't come when he decided to come out to his parents. It hadn't come when he'd been confronted with his first gay bashing bully. Nor when he graduated. Not when he was applying to Julliard. Not even when he had gotten accepted. It hadn't come when he decided to take a year off before actually going. Hell! It hadn't even come when the world went to hell with no sign of coming back.

That moment came when he found himself in...

"...Nebraska." He grumbled with gritted teeth.

Makarios looked around him, wondering where had he gone wrong in life to end up in Nebraska of all places. He obviously hadn't taken a good set of life choices to land him here. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't that it was

"Nebraska." He let the word out again, closing his mouth as if it might try and find refuge back from its place of origin.

No, it wasn't that he hated this place in particular, he just had hate-more hate relationship with the Mid-West.

Surveying his surroundings, the city seemed to be a ghost town. He had, of course seen walkers whiling he had been scavenging for supplies, but his general rule was not to attack them unless they noticed him first. That rule had helped keep him alive up to this point. But, he couldn't help but want to let out some pent up aggression. The group he had been with had dispersed quickly after a falling out, and it was all the better for him. He hadn't exactly felt safe with that group. One of the members, Kenny, had honestly seemed close to the point of aggressive madness. The female of the group, Sophia, hadn't seemed too friendly either. Their group was a classic story of convenience and when they'd met their end destination, they'd split.

But now Makarios didn't really know what to do.

"I've got to find them..." he whispered, "or.....at least someone." He had learned, even when thinking out loud, not to be too vocal about it. The small park he was in seemed to be untouched by the infection. No walkers milling on the grass, no wreckage. Nothing. It stood out from the rest of the area, looking reminiscent of normal. It took him back for the briefest of moments before he snapped himself out of it.

Hiking his bag up, he looked around him again.

Nebraska.

How had he ended up here?

He shook his head, beginning to walk north on Minor street until he hit Kane. As he looked up the road, there seemed to be slightly more walkers up ahead than down Kane street itself. But, something told him to keep going. Flexing and stretching, he trudged forward, prepared to run and fight at a moments notice. His destination? He knew not where, but maybe there would be other, more trustworthy people there.

[robtheguru]

House at the end of Kingston Street

This plan in hindsight had not been the best, he had taken this guy on his appearance and assumed a simple distraction would be enough but he was prepared. There wasn't much in the way of options now, he was in the corner with a gun and attached pig sticker aimed right at him. He had been fired at and even shot before, but from such a range there was no chance that he would walk away. Everything seemed to move slower in the couple of seconds the man entered the room, his own movement, the flash from the end of the gun barrel, even the flow of the grease covered hair of this bloke.

Robert stared at the barrel, the lump of a hick clearly had some brains and that was a mistake he would need to learn from in the future. He looked straight at the bayonet that inevitably was going to be coming his way. Then as could be expected with his gun empty, the greasey intruder charged forward. Rob dipped his shoulder into the door and spun over it, the frame shaking as the wooden entrance slammed hard under Roberts body weight. As his spin came to an end he hoped that the hick has buried his bayonet so deeply into the wall that it was useless, but with his initial misjudgement there was no guarentee of anything with this man. With an almighty downwards and diagonal swing, Robert lunged at the other man in the hope of burying his axe deep into his flesh.

[Chanda]

In The Antechamber of Nonexistence

Clyde resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow as young Master Taylor mentioned his house and all the 'stuff' inside of it. Oh boy, he'd just hit the jackpot. Now he even knew where it was. He contemplated knocking the kid out right now, but he figured it would be easier if he could be led to the stuff instead of having to search all the houses in the direction in which the boy had motioned. Plus, perhaps he could be of some use in giving those three the geeks; worst case scenario, the kid might get bit, but then Clyde would just leave him behind and continue on his merry way. It was funny just how little consideration for others Clyde had; while others had certainly grown colder and less trusting since the apocalypse, Clyde was always prepared to sacrifice others for his own gain. Truly he was a man who would thrive in this new world.

"Hey now, don't worry about it, Mr. Taylor. I'll make sure we get to your house safely. You have my word," pledged the ex-convict, reassuringly. "Just a moment, I left some things inside."

Clyde entered the house and returned moments later holding his axe. He'd done his best to wipe the blade clean of blood; once again, walking around with a bloody axe didn't exactly exude a pleasant aura.

"Let's see. Three of them. Hm. Shouldn't be too hard..." thought Clyde aloud, formulating a plan in his head. One or two walkers were never much of a threat; you could easily kill or outrun them. But three and up tended to be a bit more of a problem -- Clyde only had two weapons, so if his axe were to get stuck or his knife kicked away, there wasn't much he could do to walker number three. He also had to consider the kid; his death wasn't preferable, so he had to make sure that he wouldn't be in too much danger. Clyde cleared his throat, indicating that he was done thinking.

"Alright, here's the plan. We'll head down on the street and run straight at them. Then, once we get close, I'll peel off to the left and you'll peel off to the right. They'll probably be too busy turning around to catch up to us, so we'll have a good head start on them. Then we'll both come back together once we make it around them, and we'll make a straight run for your house after that. Sound good? Let's go," explained Clyde, not really waiting for an answer before descending the porch steps and stepping out into the middle of the road, motioning for Taylor to follow. The three walkers immediately noticed them coming into view and picked up their own pace, hurrying towards dinner.

"Okay, Mister Taylor. I'll see you on the other side. Don't stop running for anything," advised Clyde, who promptly took off running toward the zombies alongside the boy. Just as the pack of three was close enough to offend his nostrils with the strength of their stench, Clyde darted to the left, just outside of their grasp as they struggled to turn around so quickly. Without even a glance in Taylor's direction to see if the boy had the same success, Clyde continued running in the direction of the boy's house.