The Walking Dead - Miami



Six weeks, that's how long ago the outbreak was. It started with fevers and illness. The illness, the fever spread like wildfire. The hospitals filled up quickly, within a couple of days, before beginning to overflow. The Centers for Disease Control, or CDC hadn't seen anything like it and emergency protocols and quarantines were set up, field hospitals in every stadium, school, mall, civic center and venue with enough floor space to accomodate lots of people. The CDC and FEMA worked together to contain and deal with the virus while working with the World Health Organization to try to find their Patient Zero. By day three, it didn't matter anymore. People were dying in droves. The disease seemed virulent as everyone that had contracted it began to die, seemingly without exception. As the nation began to grieve some of the fallen were rising, and grief, loss... those things turned to shock, fear, and horror. Loved ones that had passed in their homes got out of bed, or off the couch, only to amble around the house, searching. Others woke up, surrounded by family, and as they leaned closer in joyful disbelief, they were grabbed, bitten, scratched. Flesh pulled away, chewed, consumed, leaving gaping wounds in former loved ones. Some perished almost immediately, caught by surprise and mortally wounded.

Others defended themselves, again in shock and disbelief as their brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, daughters, and sons turned on them. They possessed new strength, and a mindless sort of determination. Those, unwilling or unable to adapt and defend themselves to the ultimate result, either were eventually killed, or they managed to escape. The wounded soon had the fever too. Horror would set in with them, and they would choose to opt out, or to go on as long as they could before they would expire, and then too rise.

The media at first did not know what to make of it, nor did the police or military. The national guard had been called in to assist, and many were at various field hospital locations. As violence began to erupt, the media considered it rioting, and the police began to make use of anti-riotoing and anti-protesting protocols. Water cannons held them back some, slowed them down. Mace did nothing, nor did tasers, Clubs occasionally had an effect. Law enforcement and the military were soon engaged closely and resorted to guns. The police found their weapons ineffective. The National Guard was almost in the same situation, until the soldiers found that head trauma, or headshots did seem to work. This was passed along to the chain of command, and the tide was slowed some, but the numbers of the ambulatory corpses were growing exponentially now.

Police, medical examiners, and military were able to confirm that these things were dead, and how best to kill them. Enterprising security operators and minute men, militia men began to rapidly post information and videos to the internet. A wildfire of information spread outward. People tried to hunker down or flee, but often there was nowhere to go and the dead walked the streets in droves. Smaller towns had it a little better. Isolated places were better, but most had no idea how they fared.

The smartest, strongest, toughest, and maybe the luckiest were most likely to survive in all the chaos. These days, we're outnumbered, hundreds of millions to one. We are an endangered and almost extinct species. In just six weeks, we have been ruined and almost wiped out. In all the wars, famines, plagues, and other diseases, none have been so effective. And so, here we all are.

In the early days of the outbreak, Zephy kept to her boat with her crew. As the count of the sick began to grow and more she became more and more nervous about being in the marina proper. Packing the boat with dried goods and restocking all her fishing gear she was able to take herself, Zephy sailed her mother and her crew away from the marina. Dropping anchor a good mile offshore she and the crew waited. Even as their supplies thinned they pushed on. When the watermaker broke down on them Zephy had to make the tough call to go to shore in the tender boat.They needed more supplies and parts to repair the maker.

It was in this run that Zephy, Chris and her crew were separated from one another. Leaving the two to return to the boat with little supplies they had and a wake of the dead trying to follow them. Zephy had been grateful that the radios still worked but knew they would soon run out of batteries for them. It was in the weeks to come that those batteries gave out, leaving Zephy and Chris to wonder if her mother and the rest of their crew was still alive. They’d taken shelter at the business office, where a lot of supplies were kept, as well as some spare parts. But it wasn’t everything the boat needed for sure.

Standing on the upper the upper deck, a mug of coffee in her hand, Zephy chewed on her thumb nail lightly as she looked out over the blue ocean water that her yacht gently rocked in with the lazy calm waves. She thought things over to herself, wondering if it would be worth the risk to start making more runs to the marina. Shaking her head a little she jumped when Chris spoke.

Chris stood watch as well, looking out through the bridge ports with his high power binoculars. “The marina seems clear. If we come in around sunrise, the wind will be coming off the shore, washing away the noise. Any geeks out there will have to look into the sun to see us, not something they like to do. We can motor most of the way in with the wind the way it is, and then paddle the rest. We come in, in a straight line from the end of the docks. The angle should be shallow enough to give us some cover. The marina is down from the boardwalk, so if we stay low and come up to the edge of the board walk, we should be able to move in, crouched. Or at least I can. Keep it quiet and see if I can’t get to my gear in my car. I’ve got another gun, ammo, armor, some other useful things.”

He picked up a cup of coffee of his own which was resting on the console. “If I can borrow a spear gun, that would be great, and a couple or three rods. I’ve got a suppressor for my pistol but it still makes noise. A speargun is quieter and the ammo is reusable.”

Zephy nodded to his question, “You know where everything is. I just want you to be careful.” She said as she finally took a drink of her coffee. “I’ve been thinking about raiding some of the other boats in the marina. Easiest way is going to be to cut their mooring lines and tow them out, drop anchor and work from there.” She said as she turned to look at him finally, “What do you think about doing that as well soon?”

“I think that the Marlin doesn’t have enough muscle to do the job. We’d have have to take the Tide Runner in close, which isn’t ideal. Or we could work in tandem, Take the marlin bring it in, drop off someone who boards the boat clears it and fires it up and pilots it out. The other thing to consider, if we bring the boats out… they’re going to drift, even if anchored. But if we start lashing and anchoring them together its not so big of a deal.”

Zephy chuckled a little, “Well we could start by bringing houseboats out. Make a place for people we find, get them away from the shore some. Its not like we’re super far out. And I doubt these deadbeats swim, plus with the sharks naturally in the area… I don’t think it would matter too much.”

“Sharks aren’t that big of a problem… unless we chum for ‘em,” he said. “Might be better to tow, as long as we’ve got some AMSteel line. Some of those boats might not start up too fast, or might take a while to get going. I don’t want to be a sitting duck that long. For now though, I want to see if I can get to my gear and maybe get your mom, Shelly, and Andre out of there.”

“Yeah, I don’t like not having them with us. Don’t feel right.” She said as she finally stepped into the bridge and set her coffee down. “Want me to troll in with you or you want to go it alone this time?” Zephy asked as she pulled her hair back into a low ponytail.

Chris took a moment to fish his pistol out of his waistband, then dug into his haversack and put a quartet of magazines into his left front pocket. The fifth went into his Sig. He fished the titanium suppressor out of his haversack, which had been jokingly referred to as his man-purse more than once. Quickly he attached the silencer and made sure it was good and tight. He’d need to get or make a holster he could use with the suppressor attached.

“I wouldn’t worry about coming with me. I can radio for pickup or for you to run if I’m quick, Unless you really want to come ashore. But it’s not going to be fun.”

“Might be best for me to stay here, see if I can get the watermaker to pump a few more gallons for us. Might set a few lines out see if I can catch anything.” Walking up to him she gave him a quick kiss, “Be careful. I don’t want to be the only one left on this boat. I might start talking to the fish if you don’t come back.” She said as she ran her fingers through his short hair a little.

“Have you tried back-flowing the pumps to see if you can knock out any of the salt in the filters, or is it the pumps themselves,” he asked Zephy. “If I can get to my car I can find a good repair shop that might have what we need, or we might have to find another yacht…. Might look at a boat seller to see if they have records of their boats and the boat equipment aboard.”

“The shop that’s next to the scuba gear place should have what we need, I was gonna try back flushing them and then pulling the filters but I think it may be the pump itself. If we can get the parts, replacing them isn’t that hard, its getting the parts right now.” She said as she let her hand fall to his shoulder and skim down his arm.

Chris nodded. “While I’m there, I’ll see if the Scuba shop has anything worthwhile. I mean basic gear is okay, but.. if they have any spear guns or spears I might pick them up.”

“We could always use more spears around here, I know I’ve lost a few over the years from seals and sharks stealing kills.” She said smirking a little. “Anything really you can bring back is good, but I’d for sure see if we can bring the rest of our crew back.”

“I’ll see what I can do. One thing at a time though,” Chris replied.

---

Half an hour later, Chris was sitting in the Marlin, a little tender boat that would move pretty fast on open water. It was as fast or faster than a bass boat, and it handled well. He sprinted a half mile in, only to run the motor down until he was catching the tide and killed it, leaving only a trolling motor going while he paddled carefully so as not to let the sound carry. Soon he was at the docks and was pushing along where he could until finally he killed all motor, and drifted, coming close in, until he could lash the boat to a pylon, then climbed up onto the dock proper, crouching down against the side of the boardwalk, peering over the lip. There were only a few at the moment, scattered about. A quick headcount revealed just under ten. Not bad.

Brant craned his neck, twisting his head left and right, while hoisting himself up onto the windowsill to get a good luck down at the alley. From the angle his eyes could see, their didn't appear to be any freaks milling about in the alleyway. He let himself back down, and stooped to grab the pack; slinging it over his shoulder. He tucked the pistol into a side pouch on the bag for easy access, and jammed a loaded magazine in with it, zipping the pouch closed so as to not lose anything while running. He put his hands underneath the lip of the glass pane, and pushed it up. A slight breeze and fresh cool air was sucked in from the alleyway. The normal noises of the city in Little Haiti were gone, some birds could heard chirping, crickets and other bugs could be heard making their noises. But the sound of people, and cars on the nearby thoroughfare were absent. It made Brant shudder, and reminded him of what was out there for him, and what was in here, albeit locked up stairs.

**************************

When he'd first heard it on the news, that all around the world the sick were dying and then rising, he'd figured he'd skip work that day. He'd left his one bedroom apartment and made his way across the street and into the neighbourhood where his mother lived, at his childhood home. Letting himself in, it seemed no one was home. He took it upon himself to start gathering supplies, he'd wanted to take his mother and get out of the city. At that time in his mind, the goal was to travel north towards New York and meet his sister (whom he was estranged from). It seemed like the end of the world was going to bring about one big happy family reunion for the Harlow family, minus his brother who was in a Florida Correctional Facility for the past 17 years on charges of murder in the first degree. He'd gotten his mothers pistol, and a sledgehammer from the basement. He raided the pantry gathering up cans of non-perishables and stuffing them into bags. He looked around frantically for the keys to his mothers old beater, but it wasn't anywhere to be found. He waited there on that first day, watching the TV, sipping some cans of soda he found in the fridge. The hours from the early morning rolled on coming close to noon and his mother still hadn't appeared. The TV was telling him that things were only getting worse as the outbreak spread. The city was getting quarantined, the army was being called in, things were going from terribly bad to much worse.

At that moment there was thud coming from the upstairs bedroom, right above the living room. Brant had gone up, opening the door to the bedroom, his mother was face down on the floor. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. Brant assumed she was just hopped on pills and booze as was her usual routine. He approached her only to find the situation much worse. Trying to roll her over, she awoke, which startled him, she made strange sounds,and her face and lips were pale shade of blue. Her mouth opened with a roar and she pulled herself up to try to bite him. Brant now knew his mother was infected, had died, and turned. She was like the shambling monsters on the TV. He pushed her back, her corpse tried to rise from the floor and give chase. But she was slow. He got out of the room, closed the door, and pushed a towel cupboard in front of the door. It seemed to hold, and had for the past month and a half. Brant in all that time couldn't bring himself to end her suffering, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

*********************

Brant fiddled with the window screen. He was trying to pop it out the frame, but the rusty old thing wouldn't budge, so he grabbed the sledge from its resting place on the ground by his side, and smashed it through the netting, creating a hole for himself. He hopped back up onto the windowsill, crouching his body so he could squeeze through and pushed himself out into the alley. The drop wasn't very far, about 8 feet in height, and he managed to land on his feet, but lost his balance and toppled over onto the rough cement alley.

He let out a coarse exclamation of "Fuck" in pain. His left leg had landed in a puddle of dirty old water, and his pants were soaked. Luckily he hadn't managed to cause any serious damage, bruises and scrapes perhaps. Placing the head of the sledge onto the cement, and using it as a kind of cane, he stood up. In front of him was the closed wooden gate leading out onto the front of the lot, and to the road. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the rest of the dirty alleyway, two old garbage cans, and the backyard, and the fences that separated all the small lots. Nothing to be alarmed about.

Brant walked up to the wooden gate, and gave the wrought iron latch a tug, pushing the door open with his other free hand. He immediately regretted that decision. Standing just a few feet from the door, was his neighbour who was now a shambling corpse. His hideous disfigured, rotted face right there, his pale eyes staring back at Brant. Almost immediately the monster started moving forward and making groans and grunts, attracting the rest of the monstrosities that were milling about in the road.

Brant let out another coarse exclamation of his displeasure at the current situation, and slammed the wooden gate closed. His neighbour turned monster, threw itself at the gate, thrashing about ratting the gate. Brant turned and took off running the other way, letting out a number of exclamations of various kinds indicating his displeasure. He figured by now there was a pileup at the gate, and perhaps it would give, perhaps not, but Brant wasn't going to be around to find out. He hopped the short wire fence separating the neighbours on the other side from him, and made his way out onto the small road in the neighbourhood. Looking up and down the street, there were no signs of the shamblers. Perhaps making it to his destination would be easier. He figured he'd move west, out of the city towards the suburbs, there was an old asylum there, that his construction company had been doing work on (though Brant himself had never actually worked on the site). He figured a large old hospital, with few to no people in it, in a small neighbourhood, far removed from the densely populated city centre would be a good place to hole up, and wait for this to all blow over.

It took three and a bit hours of so of sneaking through the neighbourhoods to make it out to the more deserted suburb where the hospital was. The building was the the end of a long roadway, dividing itself from the rest of the neighbourhood. The gate at the road was blocked by a low stone fence, topped with iron bars and stone crenelations. The rest of the perimeter was surrounded by a nearly twice as tall chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. He could see the top of the old stone building, and some remnants of scaffolding around it. Brant was standing behind a bush on the side of the road, surveying the place, he figured he could get inside the fence by hopping in between the crenelations, and then pulling himself up onto one, from there it was just a matter of getting himself over the spear tipped decorations. What was once meant to keep patients in, was now making it hard for him to get inside, although this meant it was going to definitely keep the shamblers at bay.

Brant's indecisiveness was cut short, as the grunts and moans of one of the walking corpses was heard coming from behind him. He looked around at the thing, before taking off running down the long drive towards the hospital gate. He let out a few more curse words, as he tried to climb over the stone wall, as the creature kept coming down the road, closer, and closer.

It all started off as a vacation for Daisy and her mother. They needed to get away, enjoy themselves and soak up the sun. Three days before they were going to return home, the outbreak happened. They both decided to try to catch an early plane back to PA, but there was no entry or exit out of the state. Miami, as well as the rest of Florida were under quarantine. Panicking, they returned to their hotel room and watched the city of Miami turn from tourist party attraction to a cannibalistic madhouse. All from their window.

The first week was hectic. Moans and grunts of the living dead haunted the streets. The occasional screams of the remaining uninfected echoed down the halls of the hotel. Daisy and her mother, Keri, didn't decide to leave their room and get supplies until they became absolutely desperate. Each armed with a small knife, they left the room in hopes to salvage anything left behind in the streets they could use. Thirty minutes went by before they came in contact with any of the living dead. Trying to protect Daisy, her mother ran towards the walker, stabbing it in the neck with her knife. The move was ineffective. The walker was unharmed and continued to fight Keri, ending it with biting a chunk from her arm. Daisy screamed but quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Grabbing her mothers uninjured arm, they ran for the hotel.

"Mom, it's gonna be ok. I promise. You just have to stick with me. We can patch that up and you're going to be ok." She sat by her mothers side on the bed. Her mother was drenched in sweat and couldn't help but coughing every minute or so.

"Daisy." Her mother started. "Honey, I love you but I'm not going to make it. You just have to promise me one thing." She paused, clenching the sheets as she began to go into a coughing fit. "Survive."

Daisy nodded, watching her mother slowly nod off and go to sleep. She didn't wake up alive. She woke up as one of them. Daisy bit her lip as tears formed in her eyes and began to race down her cheeks. She had to kill her mother... Put her out of her misery. And she did. Afterwards, Daisy no longer had the will to stay at the hotel. She left with her backpack in search for a new place to camp. In the following weeks, Daisy was with two groups. The first one was overcome by a heard of walkers and the second was split up. Now Daisy is on her own, carefully roaming the streets for a safe place.

---

Daisy cautiously walked down the quiet street, littered with trash and the occasional body of a dead walker. She held her bat in one hand and a Slim Jim in the other, taking a bite and trying to savior the taste. She was starving and it was the first thing she'd had to eat in two days. She'd ran out of canned food and dried fruit and wasn't able to restock on her supply. The sun beat down on her already hot, sweating back. "It's like a million degrees out." She mumbled to herself, stopping when she heard that all to familiar groan. Daisy looked over her shoulder to see a female walker. Her hair was matted like a birds nest and her clothes were torn and tattered. Without another thought, Daisy took off. She wanted to avoid a fight if she could.

"Shit." Daisy said between clenched teeth. More walkers began to appear from side streets and empty buildings. Daisy now realized she needed to be out of sight and hopefully out of the walkers bizarre mind. She ran down a nearby alley, not even thinking to check and see if it was clear. Luckily for her, it was. She turned another corner and came face to face with a stone wall complete with arrow tips. It didn't look easy to climb and neither did the barbed fence after it. Daisy glanced over her shoulder, only to see the walkers were getting closer. She took a deep breath and quickly removed her backpack, chucking it over the fence. She held her Slim Jim between her teeth. She wasn't letting that go. Next to go over the fence was her bat. She had her gun on her hip if things got desperate.

One foot at a time, Daisy began to climb. Her first attempt failed and she landed right on her butt. "Dammit, come on!" She yelled in frustration, being careful not to drop her Slim Jim as she reached one arm up and gripped he fence as tight as she could. She struggled to climb, slipping a few times but always regaining her grip. She had to move fast if she didn't want to be dinner for those freaks. They were even closer now and Daisy's heart felt as if it was trying to jump out of her chest. The groans and moans of the walkers grew louder with each step they took. Daisy refused to go out like this. She had to survive. She wanted to keep her promise to her mother. She wanted to live. With all of her might, Daisy pulled herself over the stone wall and maneuvered her way around the arrow tips. Once she was sure she carefully avoided puncturing herself, she jumped down, only to see another fence in her way. She was relieved that she was out of the walkers reach, but she wasn't done yet.

Before her, she saw an enormous building. She couldn't see the name of it. Just the first title which read 'Spring'. As of right now, anywhere was safer than being on the other side of that stone wall/fence. The only direction for Daisy to go was forward. She picked up her backpack and slung it over one shoulder as she grabbed her bat. Daisy was now preparing herself for her climb over the barbed wired fence.

Patrol and recon.

David Schoenberg had hated hearing those words even as a young man, and forty some-odd years hadn't changed his opinion one whit. Being out in the hot Levant sun was no picnic even for a strapping young buck of twenty. A sixty-five year old alter kocker in the Florida sun? Forget it.

But even a man as stubborn and set in his ways as David Schoenberg knew wisdom when he saw it. Mobility was the way to get by. Travel light, travel fast, travel quiet. The first five weeks barricaded inside his condo had been relatively uneventful. The television had died, then the radio, then the power. When the water stopped flowing from the taps, then he knew it was time to leave. So he had gathered what little supplies were left, slung his shotgun across his arm, and stepped out into the wide world.

He hadn't expected things to have improved any. They hadn't. He hated being right almost as much as he hated most things.

The schmucks in charge had loused up the whole thing. Quarantine, evacuation, even outright combat, none of it had gone right. The government he hadn't voted for fell apart, so now it just people, wherever they had holed up.

So for the last week, he had occupied his time with wandering around the city. He usually hid from any of the dead he encountered, and never dared show himself to any other people he may have come across. David had spent several hours patiently hiding in the back seats of wrecks and behind bushes. Firing his piece would be like ringing a dinner bell, bringing every chazzer in earshot. Not to mention whatever living were still alive. He had no illusions, this event hadn't cared if you were nice. Now, the best way to get ahead was to be a real no-goodnik.

David allowed himself a twitch of the lip, a response to the sweat tickling his mustache. It was too hot for this noise. The problem with that, he knew from his service in Egypt, was sweating. Schvits was the best way to lose water in your system and not get it back. He was going to have to find clean water for drinking, or risk dehydration.

He had thought about this earlier, and figured odds were good of finding useful supplies at the marina. There had been a mad rush to leave on boats early on, but surely there were a few. Maybe one with a store of water, or one of those desalination doohickies. He only had about a gallon of water left, it was worth looking into.

"Oy vey," the old man sighed as he adjusted the strap on his bag and started schlepping his way towards the shore. Might as well take on a project for the afternoon.

Boyd awoke on a sunny day. The sky clear with straggling clouds ominously floating far apart from each other. It was also blue with the bright warm welcoming sun introducing the heat. He pushed himself up uncovering his sweaty body with a gray comforter. Stretching his limbs one by one he heard the peak of traffic noise. Loud horns and tires rolling down the block. He reached for his pack, but then stopped. He stood up immediately. Did he just hear traffic? As soon as he acknowledged the sound it had dissipated into the windy breeze leaving him to question himself. Boyd found himself standing in an empty storage shed that had been already ransacked. That didn't matter though because as a person like Boyd, he didn't need much food to make him go on for miles. Being slim fit and desirably fast usually requests large sums of food to be digested, but with the usual camping weekends he was used to not eating all the time. It was hard on him at first obviously because when he wanted his favorite snack he couldn't necessarily have it. That required a run and a run was risky.

Boyd got over and pushed the weird moment beside. He was all sweaty from curling up at night with his heavy blanket. Nights in Miami were still cold, but not as cold as the ones in Wisconsin. He dressed out of the pants and sweatshirt he was wearing and put on the brown checkered shorts and blue long sleeved Hollister shirt. This felt all to awkward for him. He looked around and noticed some duct tape. He grabbed some and with some strength he pulled on it and not before long had duct tape like pants around his legs. (The actual tape didn't stick to his leg because imagine how much that'd hurt?) Just in case a zombie might sneak up on him by crawling or fall right next to him, he'd have his protection around his legs. After his new wardrobe change boyd had grabbed his pack and exited the storage shed. Carefully checking before he left, there was nothing to loot for him. Of course their was the hammer, nails, saw, etc, but he had no use for it. He was on the run and that was it. He isn't expecting to stay somewhere especially on the outskirts of a city. The ocean is literally right next to him and he had decided a long time ago to go there. He peeked his head out from the corner and spotted two geeks roaming around looking for their next meal. They were both facing the opposite direction of him and so he walked out. His hand slipped and the door shut with a loud clang from metal on metal contact. The sound echoed throughout the storage graveyard. Boyd didn't have to look at the geeks to know that he had just invited them to dinner and the meal was him. He took off running in the opposite direction than the geeks. With his ignorance of the layout of storage park, he was running right into the middle of it. He had turned way to many times to backtrack his trail. Before he knew it, he was lost with almost every geek heading his way. He felt like he gathered more attention running around and grabbing their attention. As he ran close to a shed, one of the undead walked around the corner. Boyd quickly grabbed a throwing knife and hurled it at the geek, but the knife missed the head and clattered on the ground behind it. Without taking time to think, he grabbed another knife used to not hitting the target right away and chucked it. The knife struck straight into the eye of the monster and it fell, pushing the knife further into it's skull. Boyd couldn't afford losing his knives. He rolled the twice dead body over and found the knife lodged into the skull. He grabbed the tip of the circle and tried to pull the knife out. After about five seconds it started slipping out of the skull. This was taking to long and three other biters were already coming towards him. He tried again with more force this time and suddenly, they were to close. One of the dead fell towards him, but Boyd rolled to the side and landed on his knees. He reached his hand behind his back and unhooked the kukri from it's case. He grabbed it with two hands, raised it over his head, and brought it down with lots of great force to decapitate the geek. He thrust the knife to the side and cut off the leg of another geek that was coming towards him. He stood up and kicked the head in against the nearest shed. The other one was to close to get enough momentum to do a critical blow so he had stabbed the geek in the chest to push it back and with his other hand he reached for a throwing knife to stab it in the brain. He fell on his butt and sat taking long deep breaths. He was already hungry for today. Boyd put his kukri back in its case and grabbed the three knives with the trouble of the one lodged in the first geek. He took of his pack and grabbed some peanuts, opened the can, and started pushing them down his throat. Once he had his rationed amount of peanuts, he put them away and walked.It didn't take long to find his way out of the labyrinth. Just a quick few turns here and there and he could see more of the city. Keeping clear of getting to the middle of it, he ventured out towards the sea.

After walking an hour or so keeping a steady pace, he had found a boatyard in the ocean. He thought to himself that maybe he could find a boat and drive it into the ocean to stay for awhile until he needed a run to go on. It was a good idea, but lots of work especially since he knew nothing of boats and especially the ocean. He pulled out his kukri just in case he would run into another monstrosity.

"This should be easy." Daisy looked at the fence. "As long as I don't get scratched up by that wire." She frowned. Looking around her, she saw that it was safe. No walkers were in sight. She just hoped none were beyond the fence or inside of the building she saw. With a huff, she sat down in the grass and lied down on her back as she gazed up at the sky. She took another bite of her Slim Jim and smiled to herself. It was the first time Daisy felt safe in a very long time. For a moment, she was in her own little world. Staring at the clouds as they slowly floated by while she ate her snack. After a few minutes of relaxing, Daisy finished her food and dug through her backpack for her bottle of water. Once she found it, she took one gulp and returned it to her bag. She would be content for now.

Clearing her throat, Daisy slowly walked towards the linked fence. It only took her a few seconds. The fences were roughly about ten feet away from each other. She once again, slug her backpack and bat over the fence. Casually, she began to climb. Arm first, leg next. She repeated the process until she reached the top. "Now for the tricky part." Daisy clenched her jaw. Carefully, she poked at the barbed wire before maneuvering over it as best as she could. "Ow.... Dammnit." She mumbled, pricking herself on one of the wires. She licked her pricked finger and wiped it on her pants. This was harder than she thought. Especially since the angle was weird. It took her a few minutes, but she finally climbed over it, jumping to the ground. With a sigh, she grabbed her backpack and threw it over her back. Next, she picked up her bat.

Daisy ran a hand through her curly hair and looked ahead of her. This could go really good or terribly wrong. There was only one way for her to find out. She had to keep moving forwards and hope that the building didn't have any of the infected inside. And if it did, she had to find a new place to go. The thing is, she had no where else to go. No friends to help her, no family around and no where to go. She was completely alone and it hadn't dawned on her until now. The big building intimidated her. It could easily be full of the walking dead and if it was, there was no telling if she'd make it out alive. But she had to risk it. Daisy had to know if it was safe. It was definitely quiet. She didn't hear the usual groan from the freaks. So she pressed on.

Sorry for the long post, I didn't plan for it to be that long just kind of kept building up =/

"Theres no way out," a man's voice echoed in a small room. The words seemed to pierce Damien. Before he could react to the statement, another familiar voice shouted out loudly, "What do you mean 'theres no way out'?" Anger flowed aggressively in his voice as the taller man approached the short and heavier set guy. He extended his hand and grabbed the collar of the fat man. Yanking him closer to his own body, he shouted. "You brought us to this place and your gonna get us out of it god dammit or those things outside are going to be the least of your worries!" Damien said nothing while this went on. He stood by and observed the situation while trying to figure out how to get out of the pickle Donny had gotten the three of them into. Damien met Donny shortly after things went south with the entire outbreak. Donny was supposedly involved in some sort of ownership of this old "crazy house" as he put it. When he told Damien about the place, things didn't sound right or much like the fat brown haired man knew of what he was talking about. He told Damien that the place was a secure shelter that he was positive of that had electricity and a phone connection still available to it. The description of the place seemed almost too good to be true. In most case scenarios, Damien might have dug deeper to seek the truth, but desperate times calls for desperate needs and his desperate needs were to get into contact with his family back home and eventually make his way there to protect them in case the outbreak had indeed reached globally like the rumors he heard.

Still analyzing the small room they were unfortunately seemed stuck in, Damien redirected his attention to the two stranger of whom he'd been traveling with the past couple of days or so. Things began to get even more heated than before when the tall bald man placed both his hands around the fat mans neck and shoved him against the wall cocking back his right hand. Damien decided it was time to intervene at that moment. Reaching out and catching the flying balled up fist, Damien gained the attention of the aggressive man very quickly. Snapping his neck in Damien's direction, he grew frustrated. "Don't you get involved, Damien!" Attempting to break his hand free from Damien's grasp, the bald man pulled his hand down and began to swing again. This time Damien grabbed the man's arm with his own arm clinching it up with his own. Simultaneously, Damien pressed his weight against the mans body and drove him into the wall. While still restraining the mans right arm, Damien looked eye to eye with the bald man who didn't seem so tall standing face to face with Damien. "Don't get flustered so easily. We have to work together to get out of this sticky situation." He tried his best to sooth the beast which normally worked. "You need to tell him," The bald man said attempting to buck Damien off. The attempt was not close to breaking Damien's clinch he had on him. The only effect that his action seemed to set off was a loud sharp bark from a canine figure who seemed to appear out of the corner of the room as it darted to Damien's side. The black and white furry dog seemed to stand guard and ready to defend Damien if the bald man tried something stupid like that again. The bark seemed to gain the attention of the Donny and the bald man but Damien didn't budge at the familiar sound. "Stop being so hostile, your not solving anything." Damien finally stated with a stern tone in his voice. Finally the bald man seemed to come to a more suitable state as Damien released him from the clinch.

"Now then," Damien started up a new topic of speech. "I think our best and well...Or only bet right now is to go through this wall." Damien placed his hand on wall nearest to him. "If what Donny said is accurate, then behind this wall is outdoors." Damien glanced up and down the wall once more before finishing his statement. "And after running all throughout this place, I don't think this place is that study of a building. My guess is that it wouldn't take much to break through this wall with that sledgehammer of yours." Damien suggested toward the tall bald brute. "Not a bad idea." he said impatiently and began to slam his hammer into the wall over and over with all his strength. The sound echoed throughout the room so loud that Donny covered his ears with his hands. Damien didn't get a chance to mention the only issue with this method was. The danger of drawing attention to them from throughout the entire building but also to any other zombies that might have been on the other side of the wall. Damien clinched his on his lower lip in anxiety of the future outcome.

Shortly after he started the bald man already broke through the wall with daylight shining through and onto the the other two men in the room. Damien seemed at ease seeing how there were no zombies on the other side, yet. The bald guy however did not stop after breaking through, he decided to make a clear path by knocking down a space big enough for him to walk through comfortably. Perhaps he was releasing the anger he had built up earlier with Donny. What ever the case was, it proved to not be the best idea as he finished, he walked through and sighed dropping his sledgehammer to the ground and looking up into the sun which he hadn't seen in quite some time. The instant the man let his guard down, a body approached him so suddenly and seemed to catch the tall man off guard and tackled him to the ground. Before Damien and Donny could get to him fast enough, his brief grunts of struggling turned into screams of pain and terror which were obvious signs of injury. Donny was the first to look down at the man quickly confirming his fate, "Hes screwed man, leave him!" The fat man continued on his way in a hurry and his short and stubby body ran off. Before following Donny to his 'safe haven', Damien had to make sure there was no hope left for the man who seemed to have the attack coming as part of karma. Looking down, it was too obvious to even give doubt on from Damien as the amount of blood shed was too much for hope. He felt bad for the man no matter how much of a pain in the neck he was but he knew he had to move on. Damien then sprinted off behind Donny with his equipment in hand whistling and calling for Lobo, his canine companion to follow along. "There she is!" Donny shouted in joy as he pointed off into the distant building. The things that Donny told Damien about the crazy house seemed accurate while Damien looked at it from the outside. Something still seemed off about Donny but Damien wasn't going to investigate further just yet, he just knew he had to keep his guard up. "Over here is the entrance! I know how to get in. No body else should be able to get in. I am one of the very few people who have access to this place. Should be clear of any of those ugly things and any outsiders."

Damien followed him through the entrances. Everything seemed fine and dandy, but that was the problem. It all seemed too good to be true. Damien slowly dropped his speed to a slow walk while Donny kept running and made it to the the big pillars which signaled the entrance of the building. After making it up the few stairs that led to the door, a person suddenly appeared from the side of the steps. He seemed to rise up and awoke by Donnies loud footsteps on the steps. The way Donny reacted, it seemed like he recognized the man who now was stumbling onto the platform which Donny stood upon. Rising to his level, the man said nothing but just walked towards Donny. "Mason! What happened man?" Donny asked the man who appeared to be Macon as he drew closer. Damien was startled by the arrival of the newcomer. "Donny, be careful!" He shouted out to his acquaintance as he reached behind his back and drew his glock from the backside of his waistband. He began to sprint towards the steps when Mason reached out to grab Donny. Donny then seemed to snap out of the confusion when he stumbled on his own clumsy feet as he fell to his back. Helplessly now, Donny looked up at Mason as he almost simultaneously fell at the same time but on top of Donny. "Fuck!" Damien thought as he began to draw his sights of his weapon on Mason but aborted the mission when he didn't have a clear shot when Donny began to tussle on the ground. Leaning up one more time with an attempt to get to his feet, Donny once again fell to his back but sliding enough to potentially kick Mason away. It was at that exact moment that Damien had to take the shot in a hurry. Still sprinting to Donny, Damien drew his gun and fired it once. The bullet missed by a hair when Mason dove for the leg of Donny taking a chunk of meat off Donnies calf. A scream then pierced the nearby atmosphere at what seemed to almost be as loud as the gunshot that previously went off. Damien then stopped running to get a more steady aim and shot when Mason lunged once again at Donny who was stumbling to his feet once more now closer to the steps that he previously walked up. Damien exhaled his breath and took one more shot which found its target be blowing off a fraction of Mason's upper right hand side of his forehead which caused him to instantly his the ground. The gun shot seemed to startle Donny after it blew past him to reach its target which caused him to trip and fall after already being off balance. Falling with his back facing the steps, the back of Donnies head seemed to land flush on the corner edge of one of the solid steps. It was then that Donny became silent and motionless. Damien knew it was bad when Donnies lifeless body began to leak blood continuously down the steps. Damien put his weapon back where he pulled it from and rushed over to Donny to see the severity his state.

The bites told a pretty clear story. Mason had been bitten some time ago on the arm, perhaps holding his arm up as a shield. Bad idea against the biters. The fever had most likely burned him up, and then he'd resurrected in the last month sometime. Overall, he wasn't that decayed. Perhaps he'd been protected form the elements inside the building. He wore a set of work clothes, what qualified for business casual in most cases. Miami had a much less strict dress code than other places in the US. If Damien decided to check the man's pockets, he'd find a PDA, out of charge, but possibly useful, and a meat cleaver that had a line of red gore on it stuck through the man's belt for easy access, as much good as it had done him. He had a wrist watch that still seemed to be keeping the time as well and hadn't been bashed in any mucking about.

Donnie was considerably better geared, with water, some food, and a few other things (leave that up to Hellscream)

For the moment the area outside of the Asylum seemed to be clear, at least toward the front. Who knew if there were any more geeks inside... Or how many... and of course how many heard the screams and gunshots.

Daisy jumped, stopping in her tracks when she heard gunshots and screams. "Shit!" She was scared and angry now. That meant there were walkers inside. And if they weren't walkers, they were people just killing each other. She'd seen that happen plenty of times before. Something inside of her told her to keep going. In any other circumstance, Daisy would turn around and go a different way. She always wanted to avoid trouble if she could. This wasn't a world she was used to and people were different now. She had to remember that rules didn't exist and every man was for himself. "Just go check it out. Peek around the corner and that's it." She said to herself. With a head nod, she began to pick up her pace. Jogging towards the front of the building, she stopped once she felt close enough. She pressed herself along the brick wall and poked her head from around the corner. There, she saw a man standing over two dead bodies. One of which was a walker and the other a person. The walker must've attacked the other man with him. He was sprawled out with blood trickling from his head.

"Damn. That sucks." She stepped further out from behind the corner, observing the only man that stood alive. He was very tall and obviously tanned from the sun. Kind of sweaty and he had facial hair. She couldn't figure out how old he was. Mid twenties was her best guess. Seeing the man turn his head towards her, Daisy quickly retreated behind the safety of her corner, hoping he didn't see her. She'd run into men before and not all of them were kind. Most were rude, others tried to force her to join their group of all men. She saw nothing good from that. Not in this new apcolyptic world. She had to keep her 'What's the worst that could happen?' thoughts at the top of her mind. Because the worse could definitely happen nowadays. There was no if, and, or buts about it.

Chris peeked over the edge of the boardwalk and then quietly drew his pistol with it's suppressor. It was a low profile one so he could still use his sights. There were a couple of walkers around the marina, close enough to be dangerous to him anyway. There might have been more, but for the moment it seemed decent enough. He stabilized the pistol on the boarding and then squeezed the trigger back on a smooth steady breath that died away to nothing. The gun bucked in his hand but the slide system on the Sig could take out a lot of the recoil, and with a big can on the end the muzzle barely did more than twitch. The sound was nothing more than a small pop, not the thunderous boom or ear-splitting crack one would expect. The closest walker, some twenty-five feet dropped bone limp. Chris sighted for the next nearest one, almost fifty feet out. He breathed and squeezed again but his sight wobbled a little at that distance. The shot took it in the cheek and blew out the other side, but did nothing to really harm the walker. The next shot which came right after though dropped it too. It had been carrying a sawed-off shotgun uselessly in one hand and fell face-down atop it. Chris grimaced.

Chris climbed up, avoiding the stairs and made his way to the close one. It was, or had been, a man of mixed decent with a pair of what had been cargos that were shreded, a tank top, and a loose comfortable shirt. The color of most of it was unrecognizable. Turning the body over, he found a pair of brass knuckles in one pocket, and a magazine with thirteen rounds of nine millimeter ammo in it and a $10 roll of quarters. The pistol must have been dropped somewhere, for all the good it did him. Chris pocketed both the knucks and the magazine. Could be good for trade, or if he found a '9' the magazine would fit it could be useful. The rounds themselves were of value anyway.

Moving on to the second body Chris looked it over. There was a semi-worn leather jacket that seemed to be in useful condition. Quickly he peeled it off and rifled through the pockets. Ten rifled slugs were in the front left pocket of the jacket and three buckshot were in the right. Over the leather jacket had been a blue Eastsport backpack. Chris tore into it quickly, and found four road flares. Quickly he put the jacket on and slid on the pack. It would be hotter, but zombies couldn't bite or claw through the material so it offered decent protection. He found a wallet with ID, looking it over. It was a picture of another bi-racial man with the name Jorrel Robinson, he'd been twenty-four years of age, not an organ donor. As Chris studied the body, then looked over at the other he shook his head, noting a couple of tattoos. Both were affiliated with a small time gang Miami Murder Kings. Heavy voodoo bent to their flavor, but guns still seemed to work fine. "You guys are a little ways from home," he muttered as he flipped Jorrel over. He found eighty bucks in cash in the front pocket on one side, but decided it was just funny money now and tossed it. The double-barrel sawed off though.. Chris picked it up and checked it over, popping it open to find a pair of spent buckshot shells. Tossing the empties aside, he peered through the barrel. It seemed fine, but the man pulled off a piece of Jorrel's shirt off and pushed it into the barrel, only to pull a radio antenna off a car and push the cloth through while he made his way toward the lot. After doing this a few times and finding no sign of rust in the barrel and only minor to moderate residue from previous discharges, he figured it was safe to use. Then again, out in the elements for so long, it could fall apart on him or blow up in his hand first time he pulled the trigger. he'd have to really check it out at the boat. Just in case though, he loaded a couple shells of buckshot into the tubes and snapped it shut, then threaded it through the straps of his pack at the bottom so he could reach back and pull it out quickly.

It was then that he spotted a man approaching the marina, trudging along with a determined stride, head down a little. As far as Chris could tell, he was more watching for walkers. And then off of another street that he could see, came another one. The body language was different from a walker for sure. Chris withdrew his pistol, checking to make sure he had one in the chamber. Hunkered down between a pair of cars, he checked to make sure there wasn't crawlers under either one, but they were clear. From there he peered around the metal to see what these two people were about.

Schoenberg cautiously approached the marina, shotgun raised against any potential threats. Inwardly he groaned. Most of the slips seemed to have been vacated, and what few boats were left had obviously been worked over pretty danged good. "Oy gevalt," he complained aloud. "This whole place is ferkockt."

He made a slow advance towards the nearest boat, a 24-footer with a prow crumpled against the pier. It seemed a miracle that it hadn't been holed below the waterline and sank. While Schoenberg was pretty sure whatever gonif had come before had taken any food, water, or weapons to be found aboard the cruiser, there would be plenty left. A craft man could certainly find some use for, say, a bit of wire or a plastic bag. Back in the service, they'd have to knock together stuff just from whatever they found out in the middle of the damned desert, using skills MacGyver would've envied. A bit of wire or a plastic bag would've been a blessing.

He leaned out and gave the deck of the boat a nudge with his foot. Seemed steady enough. Cautiously, the old man stepped across the gap, onto the deck. He winced at the sudden lurch as the boat rocked into the water. "Be careful, you stupid old momzer," he scolded himself.

It must have been just enough noise.

David heard it before he saw it. The chazzers always made that rasping moan when they were on the scent, enough tummel to warn anybody. David looked back to the relative safety of the pier, but he could tell from the sound it was just one of the things. No sense abandoning the floating wreck and anything that might be on it for just one. He stepped forwards cautiously, sweat pouring from his forehead. Damn this heat.

There it was, seated in the sumptous leather pilot's chair. The chazzers weren't smart enough to undo seatbelts, so all this one could do was reach and moan. Not likely to get up. David looked over the graying corpse, saw the bandage wrapped tightly around the arm. No wonder the boat had crashed. Chazzers couldn't drive from nothing.

It moaned some more, and David was satisfied it was restrained. Sighing, he shrugged off his backpack, reversed his grip on the shotgun. The butt was walnut, heavy and hard. He had done this a couple times before, back in Egypt. "Sorry, buddy," he said as he took a couple deep breaths. "But if you're gonna sit there like that, not much point on wasting a shell, nu?"

They had taught him to aim for the temple whenever practical, so he did, making sure to lean back away from the arms as he did so. Once, twice, three times, a fourth for good measure. When David was done, it was like someone had dropped a watermelon off the roof. He panted, leaned a hand on the dash, tried to catch his breath. "I think I need a minute here."

Brant clambered up onto the stone wall between two crenelations. His hands grasped the bars of the fence tightly as he strained his neck to look back, there were three freaks following him in hot pursuit, snarling and flailing there are arms as they came forward. Putting both his arms atop a crenelation, Brant hoisted his body up, kicking his legs, to get on top of the wall. The tube fence was still in the way but now he was safe from the freaks on the ground.

The monstrosities came crashing into the stone wall below, not paying much heed to its existence. They pushed up against it, snarling at him, reaching for him, looking at him, there rotted faces were disgusting and Brant looked away quickly. From his tall tower he surveyed the inside of the fence. There was a ten foot wide walkway between the outer stone wall and the inner wire fence. Past that fence the round continued to a roundabout circling a small dead garden right in front of the veranda and entrance. There was no sign of the monsters one the ground leading towards the building, which gave Brant some relief, he was safe in his own personal castle.

Brant took off his bag, and slid it between the bars of the fence, placing it on the other side but still atop the crenelation. He did the same with his sledge. He was unsure how he'd climb over this fence, spear points atop made it seem dangerous. He figured that if he just climbed up and tried to roll over he wouldn't suffer too much. And so he did try to roll over the top, and it went almost as planned, except for a long scratch down his arm from one of the tips. He cursed at this, and the sight of the blood seemed to incense the three freaks down below on the other side with more rage and hunger for his flesh.

He put his backpack back over his shoulders and grabbing his sledge he jumped from atop the crenelation, bending his knees as he landed in the walkway. He figured climbing the tall and barb wired topped fence would be far more dangerous than climbing the decorative exterior fence, and saved that as a last resort option. The gate house at the entrance seemed a far more reasonable approach. It was a small adjacent to magnificent main gate, he figured such a thing was opened electronically, and was probably now locked, and without power moving it would be a task. This was good, as the exterior fence needed to hold off the freaks. But the inner gate was a plain chain link fence locked with a padlock. The padlock being on the outside gave Brant the idea that the sight was abandoned, another good sign, looks like he'd been dealt a good hand, forgetting that he was also dealt the apocalypse. The door to the small gatehouse was locked, but Brant broke in easy enough, he smashed a window with his sledge and cleared out the glass. He peeked his head in first to see if there were freaks inside, and fortunately there weren't.

He crawled through the window, it was a small room, there was an old timey chandelier dangling from the roof, which obviously didn't work There was a swivel office chair, and an intercom and electronic switch system for use at the gate. A small closet was in one side of the room. Going to it he tried to open it, expecting it to be locked but it wasn't. Pulling open the door, there was a guard uniform hanging, a bucket and some some janitor's supplies, and a set of keys dangling from a a large nail put into the wood. Brant snatched them and climbed back through the window into the open world.

There were many keys on the ring, and he spent a few minutes trying to obtain the right one for the padlock, but eventually found it when the lock opened and the gate gave way. He closed it behind him, now locking the fence, but with the padlock on the inside, a dead give-away to any other survivor investigators that there would be someone inside, perhaps alive, or perhaps now dead.

He strolled down the lane passing the dead garden and came under the veranda and up to the main gate. Once more he fumbled with the keys until he found the right one to open the main doors, being extra careful to not make much noise. Behind one of the pillars was a corpse, lying back against the wall, it wasn't stirring but Brant didn't want to take any chances.

Entering the psychiatric hospital it was dark, light came through the windows, but not much illumination was provided. It was getting late, and Brant's adventure's all day had worn him out. He was standing in the main hall, directly in front of him was a long dark corridor leading to cells he surmised, and definitely not the direction Brant wanted to go. There doors to his left and right, and he took the one to the right, which lead him to a staircase. There was a door though, with the title "Parlour" on it. He approached and opened it slowly, it creaked and screeched, he swore, if there were freaks in there they had just heard that. As the door opened, there was no smell coming from the room, a good sign that no rotting freaks were inside. He noted a small desk, a TV, a few couches and chairs, a dead plant, a coffee table and some books. But no freaks. Brant entered, he did a thorough search of the room, satisfied he lay down on the couch and slept.

His sleep was rudely interrupted by shouting, and yelling, and screaming and gunfire. Brant took up his sledge and ran from the parlour into the stairwell, into the hall and looked through the doors on the window out onto the veranda. There was a dead freak, a bitten and bleeding man, and a man standing over it all with a gun in his hand. Then he heard it, a stirring in the building, the sound of movement, of feet, many feet trudging along the corridor leading to the cells, and their moans and howls and snarls.

Brant threw open the door to the outside world and yelled at the man "Leave him, get in here!"

Daisy carefully watched the man, but he did nothing. He was just staring at the bodies and she wasn't sure why. She'd watch him a little longer before sneaking into the large castle-like building. Just a few moments later, she heard another man yelling, telling the bearded man with a gun to get inside. Who was he and how long had he been here? How could she have missed that? Fully stepping out from her hiding spot, Daisy looked up to where she'd heard the voice come from. It indeed was a man. He looked to be in his thirties. She wasn't sure if she should go join them and go inside the building or not. She wasn't sure if they knew each other and how all of this would play out. For the first time in a while, she didn't feel any bad vibes coming from these people.

"Dammit." Daisy mumbled. From the tone of his voice, he must've seen those freaks running around. They must have been closer than she thought. Her hopes of finally finding a safe haven began to crumble. What was she going to do? Follow these men into the castle or stick around to see if any walkers were coming? Taking a deep breath, Daisy spoke out. "What's happening?!" She yelled. Her voice was a little shaky. She was nervous. "Got room for one more?"

Damien could not believe his eyes. How clumsy was Donny to have fallen three times in such dire moments. Damien felt saddened by his friends death and partially felt like it was his fault that he missed the first shot. Maybe if he wouldn't have missed that initial round he fired, Donny might still be alive. It was an unreal feeling he was experiencing. He did not like to see death, no matter the scenario. The fact that this was possibly his last hope of ever finding human life again was sickening.

He stood there motionless as time began to pass briefly by. Damien stood in a daze over his acquaintances corpse. Thoughts began to race through his mind even faster now. Would he ever find a safe place with Donny now gone. Would he ever be able to return home to be with his family and protect them. How long could he stay on the run on his own. His thoughts were interrupted by a bark. It was Lobo. Through the previous events that just happened, Damien had totally forgotten about Lobo's presence. He then realized that no matter what, he wouldn't be alone. He looked down at his canine companion as he felt a sense of calm and warmness fall over him seeming to bring him to harmony. Lobo continued to growl without barking this time with his attention facing ahead of Damien and by the entrance to the building Donny brought them to. Damien finally realized that Lobo had something catching his attention. Damien looked up and seen a girl darting into the building. "What the hell?" Damien mumbled to himself. He would have normally drew for his weapon but the woman figure did not appear to be a threat and appeared to be fleeing from something. From Damiens little experience, the walking dead did not ever seem to run from anything. "The buildings unlocked?" Damien questioned himself in confusion. Damien began to approach the doors slowly. In the same slow pace, he began to reach around and draw his pistol once more, preparing for any unpleasant surprises that could possibly arise. Just as he edged up closer, he heard very feint foot steps from other side of the door.

The delay in the sound was not long enough for Damien to register how to react but instead was shocked at what he now seen ahead of him. A man busted open the door from the inside in a panic it seemed. The man stood a tall roughly six feet. He had the appearance of the average blue collar working American male. Trustworthy or not, Damien had taken greater risks than what now stood ahead of him than in the past. He spoke words signaling for Damien to enter the building for safety. The outside did not seem dangerous at the exact moment, but what rested inside could not possibly be worse than what walked out there. Damien then rushed into the building signaling for Lobo to follow suit.

When arriving inside, his ears did not like what he heard. The sound of more activity in the building and not normal human like sounds. Before Damien could speak or do anything for that matter, the situation got more jumbled when that same girl that he had seen rush in the building, now came out from the shadows. She seemed more nervous and shaken up than Damien did. Damien wondered if these two were together and taken over this building for a safe house of a sort. Those thoughts were quickly cancelled when the woman asked out loud if they had room for one more. Assuming this was the first time all three of them were meeting, Damien decided to take initiative. "I don't have a group or anything, but me and Lobo here wouldn't mind tag teaming with you two for the time being to find a good safe place." The two people he had just met seemed like they had anyone else accompanying them. They seemed like they were in the same position Damien was in. What were their motives and purposes was unknown but at the moment, he knew that numbers meant everything for survival. "I'm Damien, this is Lobo," Damien reached down with his right hand to place his hand on Lobo's head. Lobo seemed uneasy of the building. Damien knew from the outside that this building had a lot of potential safe places to bunker down in. It also had alot of potential places to run to or hide at. There was no way this man was capable of clearing the entire building alone no matter what it was full of. Therefore Damien knew that there was no way the building was one hundred percent safe. "Would you mind explaining to me whats going on and what did I just get myself into?" Damien turned his head and eyes toward the man while asking the question about the status of the building.

Brant ushered the man in from the veranda to the front hall. He introduced himself as Damien and his dog as Lobo, Brant thought it an odd name, but would rather not make snide remarks with a stranger he just met who was wielding a pistol. As the door was about to close, a yell from outside drifted through the air and into Brant's ear. "room for one more?" was all he caught. He rushed back to the door propping it open again. There was a short lady, with black frizzy curls for hair.

"Quick get inside, too much noise out here already!"

He took a quick view of the outside standing on the veranda as the woman went in, there were more than a few, maybe three dozen walkers now coming up to the fences.

Fucking brilliant, now we can't leave Brant thought to himself.

He came back into the hallway. Looking at the man and his dog, "Your gun really got em' roused! Had a nice sleep here last night. That corridor leads to the cells... err, well I think anyways."

There was banging on the door, groaning, grunts, howls, at least one was right on the other side of the door.

"Come quick. Introductions later."

Brant dashed over to the door leading to the stairwell. He opened the door, the stairwell was pitch black, no windows, no light coming in from the parlour, and barely any coming in through the now opened door of the hallway.

"It's safe, I swears. Right across hallway is a parlour, it's clear, I slept there last night. Don't know about up the stairs or not though. Might be a basement haven't really checked."

Brant led the charge through the darkness, bumping into the wall on the end of the stairwell. Feeling his way along the wall, he found the door handle, and opened it to the parlour. Light filled the stairwell from the parlour and Brant dashed inside.

"My name's Brant, Brant Harlow, I came into this place yesterday. Seem's relatively safe, better than outside at least. It's a pleasure to meet you Damien. Wish it coulda been under some better circumstances, but things ain't going so good lately. Obviously."

Daisy ran through the doors and into a hallway where she saw the two men. She couldn't tell if they knew each other and as of right now, she didn't care. Daisy was worried about what was going on. Looking out the window, she saw dozens of walkers at the very gates she'd just climbed minutes ago. It must've been those gunshots she hears.

"Thanks a lot, man." Daisy frowned, looking at the man with the dog. She could hear walkers moaning and groaning, making their way towards them. She wasn't sure from where though. "Walkers are in here too?" She looked towards the door she heard one clawing at. "Great." She frowned.

The man with the dog introduced himself and his companion. She nodded at them. Daisy opened her mouth to speak but was cut off as the other man instructed Damien and herself down a dark stairwell. She hesitated to go. She didn't know them and this could be some sort of trap. But Daisy had been in worse situations. She also knew that the more people in their group, the more chance of safety she had. Biting her lip, she followed the two down a dark hall that led to stairs. Once they were safe, the man who's name she had yet to learn, spoke up. He introduced himself as Brant.

"Name's, Daisy." She looked at Brant and Damien. "It's nice to meet you,too." She studied both of their faces carefully. She would normally reach out a hand as a proper greeting. Shaking hands was the 'American way'. But she decided against it. Things weren't the same anymore and shaking hands wasn't the first thing on her mind. Safety was all she was thinking about. She felt a furry little head nudge up against her leg and she reached down to pet Lobo, the dog. He began to wag his tail, tilting his head up and giving her hand a little lick. She figured he wasn't dangerous since he'd approached her nicely.

"Is there another way out of here?" She asked, looking Brant in the eyes. He was the one who'd brought them here and she didn't want to be stuck. "How do you know those freaks can't get to us? 'Cause I don't wana be some dead guys dinner and I damn sure don't want to be trapped." She paused before speaking again. "I'm just sayin'." She ran a hand through the tangles of curls that sat atop her head.

"Is there another way out of here?" the woman named Daisy asked.

Brant turned his back on the strangers and shuffled over to the couch in front of the coffee table. He plopped himself down on the dingy old sofa. He looked at the TV mounted on the wall.

Wish there was power, could watch some DVDs if there was

His eyes turned back to the woman, and he began to try to explain their plight.

"Well, I, only been in this room, that there hallway, so, I don't really know. Far as I know only way out is through that front door. But I could be wrong. Suppose we could bust open a window to clamber outta."

He sat down at the coffee table, his jar of pickles was on the table, and he reached in grabbing one from the brine and took a big bite out of it. Still holding it he beckenod with hsi hadn to the couch or the other chairs in the room.

"C'mon, you all can sit if you'd like. We might want to make some kind of plan, I'm fixing to stay, you two and the dog can stay too if you want."

-Little before the Asylum-

A fenced in backyard like any other yet something was obviously wrong. Grass had grown wildly and tall, the blades shielded by the wooden boards. Scattered throughout the isolated area were plastic, overturned chairs. Some broken, bloodied and even untouched while hidden by the overgrowth. A rustic grill tossed to the side and forgotten, the embers long since extinguished. The tell tale signs of mayhem slowly led up the porch where the glass door was shattered from the outside, covered in weeks of grime and blood.

All was silent save for the sounds of splitting wood. The creaking and crackling had shattered the graveyard like aura as one of the fence's board had began to shift to the side creating a gap.

In the alley between two houses, three figures were standing just outside the noise's source and gently had worked their way through. One of the males were ready to open the gap, his form was the thinnest and lankest of the three with a greying goat tee. One of his trade mark items were his hunting cap upon his short, black hair as his head turned to the only woman in their group. Also the smallest.

Crunched down on one knee, his voice was laced in deep southern origins when he spoke. "If you see any of them da-gum walkers about, Bel, then haul your ass back. Got it?"

"I know the drill. Just make sure nothing's nipping my ass from this direction alright?" Isabel said, her eyes hovered warily over the gap before her body pulled to all fours. Shortly she pulled out her hand made machete and braced to defend herself, her eyes darted for a moment to the alley's end. There she spotted Ted, an African American man around her age and just as edgy watching her with a worried expression. Unable to pause she took a deep breath then nodded to Burt who then jerked the gap wide with a grunt.

Gingerly, she first stuck her machete into the cover of grass and hacked a small peek hole. She scanned the scene from her low view point, her heart thumped hard inside her chest until it seemed her ears were drowned in the beat. Slowly and in utmost caution, Isabel edged her shoulder though and afterwards the rest of her was a breeze. Her hands scrambled along the dirt and flattened the grass blades as she squeezed into the yard. Isabel's eyes whipped about the once innocent scene which had been ravaged by the infection's touch and time's decay. If she hadn't seen this scenario over and over in just under two month's span the world went to hell, then her horror would've been immeasurable. Now she was just numb to it.

She turned behind her, suppressed a giggle at a nervous Burt. The man's shoulder had propped up the board and looked like he was about to join her shortly, causing Isabel to calm his paranoia. "Seems all clear, you can start coming through. Quickly."

When Burt motioned for Ted to go through, he widened the gap and finally Ted crawled in. Mean while Isabel stood watch for any biters to appear or pull up like snakes in the grass. Last thing any of them wanted was to put down one of their own again. Once the last man was inside, Burt jammed up the opening to prevent any unwanted surprises from shambling in their wake letting Isabel and Ted waded out ahead. Isabel was the first to step upon the porch. Her hands upon the lawn mower machete and raised high to right during her approach up the porch. Shoes crunched over the glass covering the dirty floor when she entered the building. Light filtered into the gloomy kitchen through the window remains, grimly illuminated the interior. Dried blood was pooled upon the floor and dragged off to somewhere Isabel didn't want to think about. She pushed down a shiver then walked farther in.

The sounds of a feeble gait caused her head to snap up, her sight spied the image of a fresh corpse staring with dull, murky eyes. At first glance it had once been a sixteen year old boy.The face had been wounded and half eaten, a gaping hole where it's cheek should've been, the evidence had killed off any mistake of life. For several seconds it stood there, tilted it's head eerily as if it noticed her for the first time. There was a handle of some sort of knife stuck out of the center, dried blood surrounded it where it was repetitively stabbed in the chest cavity. It seemed some amateur's last attempt to survive gone wrong.

Shit! Isabel inwardly curse then tightened her grip. Seconds seemed like hours while adrenaline poured through her veins, her breath slow and steady.

Time was rushed back into the present when the biter rushed forward. Without hesitation, Isabel's blade came down at an angle where it stuck fast and deep. Blood splattered from the force, the red specks dotted across her tensed face.

It shuddered once. Then her momentum brought it to crumble into a heap near her feet, her body followed through with the motion. Isabel exhaled in relief when it stilled. Immediately her shoe pressed down upon the downed walker's head half eaten side, her hands straightened her grip before she mentally counted in preparation.

1...2...3...

She abruptly jerked her weapon free with a sickening crack. Coagulated blood stained her blade as Isabel stepped back then scrapped it clean against a wall edge. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied her companions crouch behind her and glanced around. Knowing she was wasting time, Isabel returned to the corpse and started to work the knife out of the chest. The putrid smell filled her nose enough to wrinkle causing her stomach to churn with flips. One last hard tug and the folding pocket knife came free in its gory glory. Her hand held to her mouth, mostly to stop the sourness from vomiting out, while she wiped the knife clean on the walker's shredded flannel. Her hands then started to frisk the body and soon was rewarded. A package of Jolly Rancher hard candies, completely untouched, in the right pant pocket. It might not be the healthiest choice but was better then an empty stomach.

Isabel smirked then hastily unzipped one of her belt pockets. Her attention shifted upon the walker's teeth and noticed the blood smeared there was recent. Curious, her hand gradual stuck the recently acquired pocket knife into the maw where she pulled it apart to look in the hazy light. Thick and stringy chunks showed it had recently fed however she couldn't tell what sort of meal had been unfortunate enough to been it's last. She pushed the possibilities out of her head before the sounds of crunching caught her attention. It was very soft, little surprise she missed it at first while she pressed her back against the hallway door then edged towards the corner. Isabel's eyes caught what she suspected: a biter gnawing upon a fresh kill. From the blue uniform and handgun loosely in hand, Isabel knew the victim had once been a cop. It would only be a matter of time until he was up and walking again. Not in a pleasant way.

Again, Isabel took a deep breath as her head darted to the pair. She signed for the two to cover her and received a nod from Burt in return, his impressive rifle, the only one he was able to save from his collect, repositioned over his shoulder when he drew his crowbar. His fingers gripped tightly, he followed behind Isabel's lead. Slowly she crept towards the slurping undead, distracted by its current meal, her machete ready to bury itself into the soft neck. Her right foot lead to prod for creaky boards in her path. Sure enough, one gave a loud creak from her weight and caused the walker to pause. It's head pulled up, sniffed the air like a coyote, before it rested it's sunken sight upon Isabel. Then it weakly scrambled upright.

Acting quickly, she cut the distance between them. Her steps no longer careful as she swung her machete horizontally at the neck. The muscles gave way easily, spliced from the sharpened blade, severed from the body. A heavy thump echoed in the house when the head hit the floor followed by her deep breathing. When the body slumped into the floor did her vision the rest onto the torn up carcass in the room's corner. The victim was a white male, his belly and thighs down had been chewed to a mess of guts, stringy meat and blood.

Isabel averted her eyes and settled on the other. Her body hunched over, hands started to scavenge through the corpse's tool belt where this time, she only found an unopened sardine can. It seemed this poor fellow had come in here to scavenge for supplies only to be bitten, his arm covered in a distinct mark she had seen on her cousin. Isabel had been about to pull up she she spotted something black wrapped about the corpse's wrist: a diver's watch.

It's little hand ticked and seemed unaware that the world had ended. Isabel smirked at the irony then unlatched the item, adding it to her other wrist, a faint belief she could at least use it for something even if it stopped.

"Watch it Bel, that other corpse is moving." Came Burt's warning, his knuckles tighten and thumped it into the severed head. Bits of skull and brain was smeared in the process.

Isabel caught the half eaten's hand stir. It followed up with a raspy moan causing her to rise to her feet fast. Slowly it fell to its side then tried to crawl toward her, the ragged leg stumps and entrails dragged in its wake. Included the woody scraping of the nightstick at its side, skin and gory covered the end. It's arms pulled itself along as it ate up the distance until it was only a bit away. The hand reached out and tried to take hold of her shoe.

Crack!

Isabel sank her weapon into the head, split it wide and exposed the brain to daylight from barricaded windows. Once more she lowered herself to search the fresher walker. Unlike the prior two, this one had a distinct lot in life and used it to survive when she turned him over. First she went to the belt where she found a 9mm handgun, handcuffs, a nightstick and finally a badge pinned upon the chest. Isabel's expression took on a look of pity at the fallen survivor. To live so long and she guessed he died when the poor sap had tried to salvage alone.

She loosened the nightstick's string then attached it to her belt, the badge and finally the handcuffs placed in the same pocket she put the hard candy. It was a tight fit but she managed it. While she checked the handgun's clip, Burt had noticed Isabel stash away the cuffs drawing a smug comment. "Got something kinky in mind for those I reckon?"

She rolled her eyes at the smirking man. "No, I figured if I can find some keys then maybe we can use it for when I sleep walk. Last thing I want to do is wander about in the middle of the night right into a crowd of walkers." Counting about seven rounds left in the gun and placed it, with the safety on, in the back of her pants. She added playfully she she rose to her feet. "Besides, I would have to find someone to use them on me first if I did. Most those in our group are more family to me then friends with benefits."

"Right." Burt replied, his capped head shook in mirth at her words then followed her out the door.

-Present-

Isabel, Burt and Ted had made their way into the Asylum a short time ago. Isabel had found a broken window where they had made their way inside and edged from room to room. They had only made it into two rooms when they thought they heard a muffled gunshot followed by voices in the vents. Isabel knew voices meant life. She only hoped whomever they belonged to had found her sister and had kept close to her. The idea of Reyes becoming like Miguel sickened Isabel, her hands hardened her grasp on her weapon for comfort against the worst possible scenario.

"Keep your eyes open and alert. Walkers could be anywhere in here." Ted cautioned, his hand cracked his glow rod.

It casted a sickly but bright yellow light over the three. Barely reached a foot outwards, it was better then scrambling about in utter darkness. He pulled out in front to lead the way being slightly more armored with thin phone book pads on his arms and shin, complete with work boots. They were tied with Xbox cords salvaged weeks ago.

While they scanned the hallway, Isabel's nerves were jittery. Not only was her machete held ready to hack any walker which came across their path, Burt's crowbar and Ted's pickaxe had mimicked her example. Isabel only paused once to glance back. She calmed when she spotted Burt was still close behind before they opened the door to another room, unable to see more then a little ways in front of them. It was bad as being blind and completely helpless.

Her senses tried to make up for what her sight lacked. The newly gotten nightstick tapped softly against her thigh, each step brought it into a slight swinging motion, during her attempt to keep their formation close knitted. She was almost riding Ted's ass the whole search. Every new sound suddenly became a threat despite it being made by their very steps, her head swiveled in habit into the shadows and had no luck in seeing any hidden danger.

It was a large room from what little she could tell. Ted kept close to the wall, gently prodded it with his pick's head flat side to ensure he didn't hit a gap or make any loud sounds. Every moment was painfully slow to Isabel. Her heart felt like it hindered her hearing, weakening her chances to survive, until they reached another door after they quietly closed a double set. They huddled together filled by uncertainty at what possibly could lurk in the area they were trapped in. However, shuffling steps after their stop declared they were not alone.

"Hurry up and open the door. Something's in here." Isabel whispered the obvious, her knuckles were now whitened by her fright. This was a bad idea, she could easily tell when Ted reached for the door and tugged it down. It jingled but didn't open. Her heart leapt into her throat as the sounds drew closer, drawn by the noise it seemed.

"Fuck..." Ted cursed her own thoughts. He unloaded his tot bag from his shoulder then tossed it down and gestured for Burt to open the door. "Isabel, you and I will cover Burt while he opens this. They cluster together and get too close then pop them with your shotgun."

Isabel nodded and backed as close to them as possible. Ted tossed his glow stick to her and her hand caught it easily. She tossed it to the ground in front of her while she glimpsed Ted reach into Burt's bag then brought a camping lantern. He set down and turned it on, filling the other side of the room with pale blue light. Burt had already started his duty to work on the door, likely locked from the other side, open while Isabel and Ted held them off. None of them had counted on being close to the voices they had heard so they didn't bother shouting. Isabel, alongside her companions, had learned that a long time ago help was never coming.

Ted let off a shot with his handgun into the first walker to emerge into the light. Unaware the sound would alert others to their presence.