~Fight The Dead, Fear the Living~

[Spiritdragon]

The soap shop

"Well I was hoping not to get my head blown off today and luckily I managed that," Temero replied, his voice and face flat even though he was actually joking. Facial expressions were just not his strong point clearly. Well of course they weren't going to get rewarded. Unless you wanted to call the satisfaction of a job well done its own reward; which he did. Plus it was sounding like the sort of dangerous mission that he loved. 'Killing to repay a favor' eh...? Very, very interesting.

Peering down at the ledger, Temero remained silent as he listened to the man speak, voicing no complaint at the warning of the story's length. As if he had anywhere else to go! Ha! But he did make a slight face when the man suggested they go back into the shop. Though he agreed with Tom's logic he really didn't want to go back into the place because it would only make his headache worse. Well, whatever, he wasn't going to argue with a guy that technically saved his life.

So he silently followed the man back in and sat down on the opposite side of the counter from the man, resting his elbows upon it and his chin in one hand as he listened, not really caring about the kid's history and really just wanting the officer to get to the point but not about to interrupt. It was interesting enough considering the kid had been a bit of a Nazi. Funny how things like that worked out.

"Sounds so familiar," he commented softly when Tom mentioned that people had called the kid weird. Hadn't he gotten enough of that for not speaking? Of course this kid was in a whole different category but still, he could sympathize to a certain extent (which really wasn't very much because he still didn't care). "Well now, he's a nice fellow," Temero said sarcastically upon hearing of the 'church incident'. Come now; even he knew that churches were sacred. They were designed for sanctuary, and even though he usually ignored things like religion he couldn't honestly say he thought what the kid had done was excusable. "Musta lost what few marbles he had left." Assuming there had been any to start with. And where had the kid's parents been? Did no one think there might be some danger?

About to say that at least this Geist had a bit of a heart, when he heard what happened next the words died on his lips and Temero shut his mouth slowly, blinking once and glancing out the window as though he would be ably to magically see through the buildings and into the church and see the guy pacing around inside. "So basically you're going in there on a suicidal revenge mission to kill a crazy mo-fo that could and probably would do the same thing to us that he did to that family?" Temero asked, just to make sure he had the entire story straight, adding with a dry laugh, "Sounds like my kinda mission."

"A revolver, six bullets, and a semi-crazy man with a crowbar," Temero corrected him, straightening his posture and stretching his arms over his head to pop his back in preparation. "Sounds like this could be pretty darn fun so you can count me in for sure." He hadn't had a good fight since the zombies had started popping up everywhere; it wasn't like he could just turn this down. A chance like this would probably never come again after all.

[Chanda]

Laughing Mad Down The Rabbit Hole

Grigor Vostok was cleaning his knife when he heard the cacophonous cry of firecrackers downstairs. Immediately he rose to his feet, sheathing his still bloody blade at his waist and grabbing his Makarov, which had place gingerly on the end table. With heavy, lumbering footsteps he strode across the room and down the stairs, his massive frame shaking the house with each step. Not a man with much regard for physical appearances, he had a clean shaven head and a wrinkled, unfeeling face with soulless brown eyes that pierced to the soul. A well-muscled man, all that held back the thick carpet of hair on his chest, arms, and legs was a grimy white t-shirt covered with blood and sweat and some ragged blue jeans tucked into brown hiking boots. From both up close and far away Grigor looked like a walking nightmare, but he wasn't exactly in the business of making friends these days anyway.

He reached the first floor and turned to the right, going into the kitchen, away from the basement and the wing of the house in which Valerie currently waited. He wasn't sure exactly where the sound had come from, but he surmised that if someone were to be looting this house, they would go straight for the food in the kitchen. They would find nothing, however; Grigor's food hung from hooks down in the basement. While cursing furiously in Russian, Grigor threw open every cupboard door in the place. In the ruckus, he didn't even hear Valerie open the basement door and begin to creep through the house...

Once he'd searched the kitchen to the best of his abilities, he returned to the foyer and found the front door ajar. Whoever it had been had made their escape. He then looked down the basement hallway and found the heavy basement door open as well. This intruder now knew his awful secret; he vowed they would not live to tell the tale. He stormed outside, breaking into a sprint as he crossed the yard. Standing in the middle of the street, he caught sight of Valerie running away far in the distance. Raising his pistol, he held the woman in his sights, but as he noticed walkers creeping around in his peripherals, he decided against taking the shot. Internally he memorized her standout features; black hair, yellow hoodie, jeans.

She may have escaped this time, but as long as she knew about the basement, Grigor would hunt her to the ends of the earth.

~

At A Southern Funeral

Randall's southern warcry and improvised bayonet charge were no match for... basic evasive maneuvers. As planned, the stout southerner's bayonet became rather unfortunately lodged in the wall behind Robert, leaving the man in quite a pick. After a moment trying to desperately pull the gun from the wall, Randall whipped around and grabbed Robert's shirt. However, before the angry fool could attempt to wrestle the ex-solider to the ground, he met with an unfortunate end as Robert's axe descended into his empty head, wedging itself in his thick skull. Randall's grip on Robert's shirt suddenly loosened as his legs gave out beneath him and he slumped to the floor, dead.

Christmas morning! Randall dropped:

Remington 870 Police w/Bayonet

Generally considered one of the most reliable pump-action shotguns ever created, the Remington 870 is a powerful close-range weapon in the right hands. This police model features a 20" barrel and operates with an internal tube-fed magazine holding up to eight 12-gauge slugs, with an extra in the pipe. The 870P is clearly characterized by its sleek parkerized finish and synthetic stock, and comes with a shoulder strap for easy carry. Randall affixed an M9 bayonet at the end of the barrel for quiet kills, a very convenient feature indeed.

Woodland Camo Hunting Vest

Although a bit bloody, Randall's old hunting vest provides a certain degree of camouflage and has a number of convenient pouches and pockets that afford the wearer easy access to their supplies in a pinch. A "one-size-fits-all" piece of clothing, the vest can be adjusted to fit most body-shapes.

The following items can be found inside the vest:

• 14 12-gauge shotgun shells
• A half-empty pack of Parliaments
• A box of butterfly bandages
• A flask full of very strong moonshine
• A wallet with a bunch of useless shit inside
• A keyring
• Sadness and woe

[FMAlchemist]

Corner of School St and Highland Ave

The raucous clamor in the kitchen was her signal to go. Cannibal Carl hadn't ended up where she thought, but at least now she knew where in the house he was exactly. Carefully easing the door open, Valerie stepped out into the hallway. She hesitated slightly, considering whether or not she should take her chances with the man in the kitchen in order to keep her loot. She'd been sorely looking forward to that peanut butter and tuna…. The sound of his furious foreign curses coupled with the memory of his ground breaking footsteps had her out the door and across the yard long before the idea even broke ground, however. Of course, there was also the fact that the man was a cannibal, but, to her, his obvious experience with killing live people outscored the flesh-eating aspect. As much as she loved risky ventures, it just wasn't worth it and Valerie was about as stubborn as a dandelion seed.

Making her way north on Bailey Drive, she glanced once over her shoulder- catching a glimpse of a positively massive man running into the street. The black pistol clenched in his hand instantly caught her eye. Looking forward again, Valerie found little reason to worry yet. She felt confident she could out run him if he pursued and, even if he did manage to hit her from that far away, he'd have to be a complete ass hat to use his pistol on a fleeing enemy with creepers around. There was no way he could have felt threatened by her, so why bother?

Diving between the last two houses on the north west end, she continued to be surprise by the lack of fences and walls. Accustomed to overcoming such obstacles- particularly very high walls which most people couldn't scale without tools- her inability to utilize her talents was rather discouraging. It sure didn't make her job any easier, she thought, glancing at a creeper across the street whose interest was just becoming piqued as she disappeared from sight.

She couldn't head back to the shed empty handed- hadn't planned on stopping her search for quite a few hours anyway. Either way, she was going get her ass chewed out. After discovering the contents of the Russian survivor's basement, however, that helped rule out a good deal of houses for investigating as potential hide outs. There was no way in hell she wanted to be sleeping in a house within two or three blocks of that psychopath.

Drumming the pads of her finger tips along the handle of her bat, she hugged the south side of the house glancing about for her next place to dash. Too many open spaces, she thought, slightly frustrated. Across the street was the school parking lot- definitely not a place she fancied going. From her experience, schools tended to have way too many creeps hanging around. Of course, Bertrand, Nebraska wasn't much like any other conventional town she'd been to, but that had little to do with it's appeal as a place to crash. It was still way too close for comfort to Bailey Drive.

Slinking around the the east side, she looked both ways for creepers and sprinted across School Street, heading for the corner house, where she could survey the rest of Highland. If all went well, she hoped to keep making her way north until she reached the next street, whatever that may be- staying out of sight, out of mind, and out of the mouths of any hungry creepers.

[Chanda]

In The Realm Of Avoided Crises

Miranda only smiled with a hint of disappointment as young, slim and trim Dexter Souza turned down her gracious invitation. It was natural, understanding disappointment, however, the kind that one exhibits when a friend turns you down for a trip to the movies because they're busy.

"Let him go. When he comes back, I'll be waiting for him and you'll have to hold the rifle," sighed Miranda's father, putting the safety on his rifle in anticipation of storing it.

"Well, that's okay, Mister. You're welcome back here any time. Have a nice day!" said Miranda, waving politely as she closed the door. Immediately the girl traipsed into the living room, flopping down on the couch with a sigh of exasperation. She watched Dexter walk away through the small gaps of the boarded windows.

"Coast's clear, Father," she said, once Dexter was far enough away. The man heaved a similar disappointed sigh, leaning his weapon against the wall as he sat down next to his daughter on the sofa.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get him to come inside, Father. I'll do better next time," apologized the girl, leaning against her father. The man ruffled his daughter's hair lovingly, despite the fact that she hated this.

"It's alright, Miranda. He's just cautious. Once he sees that there's nothing else out there, he'll come back. And then we'll be waiting for him," assured the officer. There was a moment of silence in the living room, until Miranda, eying the light that seeped through the cracks in the boards, spoke up.

"When will I get to leave the house again, Father?"

"When Geist is dead and buried, honey."

~

At The Inception of Operation Geistbuster

Officer Friendly chuckled as Temero offered his services with such lightheartedness. He pocketed his ledger, rubbing his head as he finally managed to stifle his laughing fit.

"If you're going to be helping me out, you're going to need a gun. I don't mind going into a suicide mission solo, but I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I led a young man to his death. If this is going to be a group effort, then we're going in with more than six bullets and our good intentions," sighed Tom, stroking his beard.

"Geist has German WWII weapons and he's been picking people off from the church roof. That means he's probably got a scoped mauser rifle, most likely a 98k. My Smith is not going to outrange his Kar, so if we want to either counter-snipe him or pin him long enough for one of us to get inside the church, we'll need a proper rifle with an accurate scope. A shotgun would be nice too -- we could end up in a close quarters engagement if we get inside the church, so once again my revolver may not be the best thing to use there. Most of all we could really use a third person on the job; one of us would stay outside with the rifle, making sure Geist doesn't cut us down and covering us if any biters were to show up, and then a two-man team to go inside the church and flush out that Nazi son of a bitch," surmised the cop.

"This is all wistful thinking, however, until we actually find these guns. Did you spot a high school when you were wandering through here? Usually in small towns like these, aside from the church shelters, the local police departments will set up refugee centers in schools and hold out as long as they can. It's likely either overrun by walkers or already picked clean, but it's our best chance for finding a rifle."

[robtheguru]

House at the end of Kingston Street

Robert felt Randall's weight on the axe as his lifeless body fell to the floor with a loud thud. Without taking time to assess the situation Robert placed his foot on the side of the corpses head and yanked hard at the axe. It came loose with little effort, tiny bits of brain tissue coated in a thick crimson clung to the head. With the door shut behind him he took the time to walk over to the bed, wiping the weapon clean using the bedsheet. The chances were that with that gunshot, walkers would soon be on their way. It was a chance he couldn't risk and it meant that he'd need to move soon. He hurridly slid his axe back into the loop on his backpack and moved back to randalls corpse after he had put it on. Looking down at the lifeless man he made a decision, he opened the zip of his jacket as quick as he could and rolled Randalls body out of it. Quickly throwing onto himself Robert noticed that the fit was pretty reasonable, although the blood stains would be a constant remind of what happened.

Robert quickly searched through the pockets and decided to keep everything but the wallet, the moonshine and cigarettes could come in handy if he ever needed to trade and the ammo was of course priceless. Kneeling down he picked up the shotgun, specks of blood scattered over the barrel. He remembered Randall trying to fire on an empty chamber and so began to reload. Robert had always been more of a marksman in the army rather than one of those who got up close and personal, but he had enough training over the years to know how to use a shotgun. After reloading it with seven shells he threw the strap over his chest and pulled his mallet out from under his belt. He placed his ear against the door to listen for any distinct noises, but there was nothing. He cautiously opened the door, peaking through the smallest of gaps initially. Seeing there was nothing in the way towards the stair case he left the room and crouched low against the bannister. After a brief scan of the downstairs he felt that now was the time, he stood up with mallet in hand and made his way down the stairs slowly.

[Spiritdragon]

At The Inception of Operation Geistbuster

Well at least he amused the guy... It hadn't been his intent but apparently he had done so and part of him prickled at being laughed at though he knew logically the guy wasn't laughing at him the way he was thinking of. And really his next statement didn't help Temero feel any better either. He uh, wasn't good with guns. He'd never had cause to use them before so he really wasn't practiced with them at all. But he couldn't say that because it was admitting weakness. He knew enough not to shoot himself in the face or the foot or anywhere else, but he couldn't say how good his aim would be. "I really don't care what happens to me," he said instead, not caring if the guy was upset by it or not. He just didn't need Tom getting in his way trying to save him when he didn't need or want to be. "So no need to worry about me." And was it really good intentions when you just wanted to beat someone's face in? Now there was an interesting question.

Close quarters was more his speed but it didn't sound like Tom wanted to do that. Boy he really relied on his guns didn't he. That was going to get annoying. "Wouldn't it be easier to sneak in and take him out without blowing holes into everything and drawing the attention of everything living and dead around here?" he asked. The only real problem with that was the guy would probably shoot them before they could get anywhere near the building. And then there was the problem of breaking in while still staying out of his vision. "How are we going to get into the building?" Temero asked, that thought suddenly occurring to him as well.

"I don't look at the scenery too much, so no," he replied. "But it should be pretty obvious. And we can look for someone else to join us while we're trying to find it." He just wanted to get out there and get this show on the road. What was the point of standing around and talking about doing it when by the time you got done planning you could have gotten the whole mission done in the first place? Besides, plans had a nasty habit of going completely wrong and he had found it was better to rely upon instincts in a life and death situation anyway. And wasn't this a life and death situation? He'd survived this long that way and he really didn't think that was going to change anytime soon.

[Chanda]

In The Soap Shop

"Well, what are we waiting for, then? I have a feeling you never should've graduated from high school anyway, young man," chuckled the officer. "Oh, and by the way. Since you're officially, my second in command now, I figure you could use this..." said Tom, tossing some shiny and metal across the table to Temero. It was a deputy's badge, around three inches in diameter, with a safety pin on the back for easy attachment.

Temero was promoted to deputy! Where's the office party?

"You'd be surprised how much a badge can help you now that the world's gone to shit. Don't worry about it; I've got like ten of those in my squad car. We use to give them to Eagle Scouts and volunteers. People these days don't know the difference, though. They see the badge, the gun in the holster, and the uniform, and they'll trust you. Or they'll shoot you. Never can be too sure," joked Officer Friendly. Rising from their seats, the two left the shop and began their search for the high school.

~

At The Corner of Union Street and School Street

The school wasn't hard to find; Bertrand was a small town, and Tom had already been through half of the town, so that did considerably narrow down the area to search. Once you found School street, it wasn't exactly rocket science to deduce where the school was. By sticking to backyards and staying out of the open as much as possible, Tom and Temero managed to reach the corner of Union and School, which Tom figured was a good place to scope out the school. From behind a broken down pick up truck, the two survivors squatted, passing between them a pair of binoculars.

School street was littered with broken down cars and trucks, and around the front of the school in the drop-off lanes were a bunch of road blocks that had been long overturned. Two large red cross posters, now covered in graffiti, were draped across the front of the school, confirming that the high school had, at one point, been a shelter of some kind. A row of double doors that had been barricaded and caution-taped now lay hauntingly ajar, with shards of broken glass all around.

"I don't know. The school itself seems way too quiet. If it really was overrun, there should be walkers crawling around all over the place. They don't like to stay inside when the food's all outside," thought Tom aloud. "There could be survivors inside. Problem is, we don't know if they're as friendly as I am. And if this was a shelter, they could have guns. Guns that they might point at us," he continued.

"I spot about five walkers between us and the front doors. Shouldn't be too hard, but I don't trust the front door too much anyway. If there were a trap, that's where it would be. We could head down the golf course and try to find a back door or a window we could break into. Not much cover there, though, so they might see us coming. What do you think?" asked Officer Friendly, rubbing his chin in pensive thought.

((Now would probably be a good time to look at the map, TEAM SPIRIIIIIIIIT!!!, so you can have Temmy contribute to the plan.))

~

Between Scylla and Charybdis

As Robert descended the steps to the ground floor, he would find the interior devoid of walkers, although the distant sound of raspy moaning was hardly comforting. A quick glance out the open front door would reveal four walkers shambling toward the house from across the yard, coming out of the wilting cornfields and slowly making their way over the wooden picket fence that separated the fields from the yard. Through a window in the kitchen, Robert could also spot two walkers who'd been roused from their idleness in the cornfields behind the back yard, meaning he was sandwiched between an awful situation and a slightly less awful situation. The gun on his back was, ironically, a double edged sword; while it would make short work of these zombies, it would also knock out almost half of his ammo and possibly draw more walkers. A bit of a sticky situation indeed.

[Ambrose]

Kellogg Avenue and Marshall Avenue

Dexter left the young girl with a smile and a wave, as well as a promise to return before it got dark. If it was one thing he knew, it was that he would rather take his chances with the living rather than the dead at night. As he made his way through the street, he kept a hand on the blade at his waist. He'd already encountered a few stragglers, and was definitely not going to be caught off guard if more of them showed up. He looked behind him, trying to memorize the look of the street in case he needed to make a quick getaway later. As he turned forward again, all of the looking had been in vain because before him stood a group of roughly six walkers. Their dead eyes trained on him the same way he would eye a juicy hamburger just months before.

"Fuck," he cursed. They were closing in fast, and Dexter knew that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to take on all of them at the same time. The trick came in separating them from the heard. Running in a straight line would get him killed as they didn't tire, or run out of breath. That was one of the benefits of being one of the living dead. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he wondered if this would be it. He took a deep breath and ran.

There was a small street wide enough for a car to fit through behind the houses to his left. It was there that he turned and continued his pace. The walkers behind him followed as he knew they would. There were two leading the pack, their ability to run faster not impeded by loss of limbs. Dexter crossed Knight Street and crouched behind the first house to his right to catch his breath. There was little he could do, they were approaching, and unless he thought of something quick, he'd be zombie dinner. He quickly removed the straps of his backpack and placed it at his feet, knowing the weight and bulkiness of the thing was doing little to help his speed or stamina. Weeks of eating nothing but tuna and grits also didn't aid his position. Moving quickly, he held the base of his baseball bat in his hand, and removed the water bottle, looping it through his belt before peeking around the house. The rest of his things could be left behind for now.

The walkers approached, and when the first was close enough, Dexter shot out from his hiding place and whacked the thing's legs so it fell sloppily to the floor. In a quick movement, he stabbed what used to be a young woman's head, and left the knife while grabbing the bat with both hands and swinging with all his strength at the head of the second closest creep. Breathing heavy, he pulled his knife free and started running again. The only option he had was to double back to Melanie's house. Her windows and doors seemed fortified enough that they would protect the both of them from the rest of the walkers, now four, until her father returned. Hopefully with a gun in his possession.

As he crossed Kossuth Street he wasn't sure how many more blocks he had to go before he had to turn left once again. Figuring the strategy he'd used to begin with was a smart one, be ducked behind the first house to his left once more. He had a few seconds to breathe before he would get up again and cross through the side of the house back to Marshall Avenue. As he crouched, his breathing was labored, he didn't hear the clumsy footsteps behind him. It was only when the walker's groans were at his neck that Dexter turned. Instincts took over and his right leg shot out to the walker's. With a loud crack, the thing fell, and Dexter didn't bother with killing it before jumping to his feet and running back to Marshall Avenue. No more breaks to catch his breath. His lungs burned and a stitch formed on his side, but as he made his way through the street, the girl's home came into view. Relief flooded him as he climbed the steps.

"Melanie?" He managed to called out, but knew that even without an answer, he would get inside of the house. It was that or death.


Highland Avenue

Taylor didn't want to run towards the freaks. Every fiber in his being warned him to do the exact opposite. If anything, he wanted to at least have a weapon for himself, but Clyde had spoken too fast, moved too quickly and started running before Taylor'd even had a chance to protest his plan. He took off beside the older man, and as he did so, wondered why they hadn't just taken refuge at the house they'd just left. Was he that concerned with Taylor reaching his home? Frowning as he ran, the boy felt something wasn't quite right with the situation. But now was too late to do anything about it, as they were inching closer and closer to the freaks who seemed in a frenzy due to their proximity.

Wanting to give himself a wider space between himself and the freaks, Taylor shot out to the right before Clyde. He wasn't sure what that would do, but he was only focused on his house how. His eyes were trained on the last house to the right, the one with brick and white fence surrounding the backyard. His childhood home with the Christmas lights that hung before the living room window that his parents never took down. The one place where he could feel safe in a world that now belonged to the dead. For a split second, his mind faltered and remembered Clyde, who'd promised to help him to that safety. It was then that Taylor made a mistake that had been made by many before him. He turned his head to make sure his new friend was alright. His eyes caught Clydes as he easily avoided the three and they turned, seeming upset that their meal had come so close to their grasp. As Taylor was about to turn back, his foot caught on the curb.

He faltered and tripped, skinning his knees in the process. A pained yelp escaped him, and he immediately regretted it as the freaks' attention was now solely on him. His eyes widened and he scrambled, sliding backwards on his butt, his hands behind him scouring the grass for something he could use to protect himself as the freaks drew closer and closer. His eyes jumped to Clyde, the tears pooling in them once more, making him appear younger than he was. He saw a glint in the man's eyes and knew that it would be a miracle if he did anything for someone else. If anything, Taylor would be distraction as he picked his house clean of everything, even the weapons.

His hand wrapped themselves around something hard, metal and heavy enough to cause damage. Using both hands, he lifted it and used the momentum to swing it across the freak's face that was closest to him. As the thing fell to the side, Taylor scrambled to get up and dropped the metal, only realizing afterwards that it was a broken piece of a stop sign pole. With his heart practically in his throat, he made his way to his home. Quickly, he opened the side door, and glanced behind him to see Clyde hot on his heels. With a slight shake of his head, he slammed the door shut and locked it behind him. Thinking quickly, he ran for the cabinet where his father kept his pride and joy. He'd been told not to use the revolver unless it was absolutely necessary. The sound attracted other freaks. But now seemed a good a time as any. Running to the front of the house, he moved to the window, where his father had left enough opening through two of the wooden boards to look through. The freaks were rounding in on Clyde, and with his ax, Taylor was sure he'd have little trouble taking one of them out. But it would be up to the boy to take out the other.

Having been comfortable with guns even before the outbreak, Taylor was an even better shot now with more training that his father had given him. He aimed with deadly accuracy at the freak's head and took it out with an earsplitting noise. He'd forgotten how loud a gun shot could be. He noticed Clyde easily take out the other and it was only then that he yelled out to him. "You would have left me to die!"


Taylor's Gun

Smith and Wesson Model 625

The Smith & Wesson (S & W) Model 625, is a six round single & double action revolver chambered for the .45 ACP (also known as .45 Auto) cartridge & .45 Auto Rim. The 625 in .45 ACP will headspace the cartridge in the chambers without use of moon clips, but since the extractor cannot engage the rimless cartridge, moon clips are needed to facilitate ejection. Based on S&W's stainless steel revolver frame, the Model 625, was introduced as the .45 CAL MODEL in 1988 as a limited edition model intended as an International Practical Shooting Confederation (ISPC) commemorative. It was equipped with a 5 inch (127 mm) barrel with a full-length underlug.

[robtheguru]

House at the end of Kingston Street

With the front door leaving an imprint in the carpet when it had been booted off its hinges, there was no way he could shut the door and barricade it. The sound of groans grew closer and with a quick breath he turned and ran to the kitchen. As he moved he put his mallet back under his belt and reached behind his back to draw his axe. He also hurriedly unclipped the front clasps of his bag so that should it get grabbed, he could slide right out of it.

Through the window he spotted the two walkers shambling across the lawn, they were far enough apart that he felt confident he could take them. Inside he would have been thinking twice, but with the openness of the outdoors he fancied his chances. He approached the back door and opened it, making sure to shut it properly behind him. As his hand left the handle he realised that one of the walkers had already made a shambling sprint towards him. Less than five metres away Robert made a quick counter charge, slamming the top of the axes head straight into the walkers face. The weight of the blow knocked the undead mans nose deep into his face, the force knocking him down to the floor. However, with a groan and a shuffle on the floor, there was still a threat. Raising his axe high above his head he brought it down hard, cutting deep into the skull. The blood and gore that coated the nearby grass was a sign that it was a successful strike, however as he tried to pull the axe free, it he was met with resistance. With one more quick tug he sighed with relief as the axe came free. His relief soon turned to panic as he felt a large weight force him to the ground.

As his back cracked over the stuff in his backpack, his eyes met the gnashing face of the other walking. Robert had been lucky enough to get his forearm onto the walkers chest to provide just enough of a gap between his face and the hungry creatures. The walkers hands were tightly gripped on the jacket that Rob wore, making it hard for him to wriggle free. Thankfully the arm holding his axe was free, he quickly dropped it and made for the knife in his pocket. The walkers teeth edged closer as gravity pulled it closer towards the every tiring survivor.

Robert gripped tightly onto the knife and pulled it from his jeans pocket. With a quick flick of his thumb he opened the blade, the horrendous smell of the walkers breath was now becoming unbearable. He let out a muffled cry as he began to maniacally stab at the side of the creatures head. Blood began to drip onto his chest from the ever bigger hole being carved into the walkers skull. The grip on his jacket loosened and he rolled away, leaving the two walkers to rot. He stood up, the adrenaline fuelled panic quickly snapping him back to the severity of the situation. He picked up his axe and made his way towards the fields that lined Kingston Street. The voice in his head spoke to him, 'Do not try that again...'

[FMAlchemist]

Intersection of Highland and Kellogg

Dashing from car to house to car, so far Val had pretty effectively been able to escape the notice of any creeps. Given, there weren't a whole lot of them about, but that was probably to be expected of a town this size. Either that, or most of them were all lazing around in some clever hiding spots… which was, in her book, worse than a whole mob of them. At least you could see a horde coming- but a hand and gnashing teeth springing out from behind an unchecked bush was a slow and painful death at best.

Her fingers twitched for her mp3 player resting on the exposed skin of her collar bone. By then she was more than half way down the street, keeping her eyes carefully peeled for any other signs of life- undead or otherwise. If there was anything she truly loathed most since the world went to pot, it was the ever increasingly dead silence of the cities and towns. No cars, no sprinklers, no doors slamming, no white noise… she sighed lightly and felt the nagging for some tunes morph into a sudden urge for a smoke. Maybe at the next house she stopped at….

She froze as the unmistakably distinct, albeit faint, sound of voices wafted over the eerie stillness- coming from the corner house not but a few yards away. She quickly dashed from the car she'd been hiding behind to the southern corner of the house, moving closer to the edge to try and overhear what the two were talking about. After running into Cannibal Man, she wasn't about to just go waltzing up and introducing herself- not until she found out who she was dealing with and whether either of them had a gun at least. But even if they did, would they fire it? And if so- out of lack of morals or lack of sense? She'd seen enough walkers on her way up the street to know it would be a bad idea, either way- but who knew?

She peered around the corner, catching a slight glimpse of a younger boy and the shoulder of what looked like a man. Looking past them, she noticed the three creeps shambling their way and quickly retreated back out of sight. Uh oh, she thought initially- wondering if she ought to help. Nah… it was only three- they could handle it. It might give her a chance to see if they have a gun or not, as well. She watched silently as the scene unfolded, stepping out from behind the house instinctively as the boy fell and the man simply kept running. The poor kid didn't even have a weapon, she noticed- disturbed. It looked a lot less like they were partners and more like they were in a race for who could get to the house first....

She stopped mid step as the boy grasped what looked like a broken pole and knocked the closest advancing zombie off balance. She ducked behind a nearby tree again, relieved whilst she watched as the kid promptly slammed and, evidently, locked the door behind him. So much for partners... she observed, a subtle smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

In an instant, she was out from behind the tree and dashing across the street, her eyes trained on the slowly rising creep the boy had stunned with the pole and apparently forgotten about. Crawling and finally staggering to it's feet, the thing limped it's away around the back of a tree, attention now on the man. Without warning, a gunshot ripped through the air. She slowed, eyes quickly searching for the source as she slightly changed direction, aiming for another nearby car for cover. Watching the man preoccupied with one zombie as the other crumpled to the ground with a bullet in it's head, however, it seemed obvious how this was going to end if she didn't do something....

"Heads up, guy!" she called, followed by a squelching smack as she drove the side of her bat into the last remaining creep's face- not but a foot or so away from the exposed back of G.I. Joe. There was a second smack as she slammed her bat into the back of the fallen zombie's head- creating a burst of blood as the bone caved in. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve as the scent assaulted her nose, she took a step back, hand innocently raised.

"You would have left me to die!" she heard the kid call out from the house window where, judging by the lack of firearm in the man's hand, must've been where the gunshot sounded from.

"Might want to use those fancy words of yours to talk that kid into letting you in somehow," she scoffed, "Because he just rang the dinner bell."

As if right on cue, a small choir of groans began sounding from all four directions of the intersection.