(( To avoid confusion, this post takes place sometime over a year PAST the current events in. Aka, this is a flashforward. ))

The two men walked about 20 feet of of the main road in the early light of the day, trudging along in silence for a long while. Finally the first of the two homes that they were to go through came into view and Jon looked to his side and broke the silence. "There they are."

He was wearing relatively light clothing, but dressed in a way that did not expose him to needless injuries. Even though it was getting warmer, Jon elected never to wear short sleeved clothing or shorts, not ever. In addition to the cargo pants and long sleeve shirt, he had a relatively small back pack on with some of what he considered essentials: socks, a change of clothes, some food and water and ammunition. He also carried a can of WD40, which he'd have never thought about if it wasn't for Fuad. In hindsight, not thinking about that had him kicking himself in the ass. Lastly, he had a M14 assault riflle slung over his shoulder, hand resting on the butt casually, and a 9mm Smith and Wesson on a holster on his hip. Out of sight was a pilot's knife on his other waste and a pair of brass knuckles in a cargo pocket.

He took a deep breath that may have been construed as a sigh, which it might have been, and then he kept his eyes forward when he asked, "you ready?"

Dan followed along behind Jon, trudging with a certain jaunt as if the gravity that ground him to the earth was stronger. His shoulders were hunched beneath the weight of his backpack. All of the usual stuff, water, food, ammo. Whatever he had scavenged and deemed worthy of using valuable bag space. Tucked in to a makeshift pouch that ran along the right side of the bag was a Remington 870 shotgun with a forward pistol grip and a sawed off barrel. It made it easy to carry and was also quick to retrieve. He'd also acquired an old cop's duty belt which holstered his 9mm glock. The two pouches on the back of the belt were reserved, one for ammo, the other for that pocket knife he'd managed not to lose all this time.

Dan had lost any personal grooming habits well before they'd set out, but he almost regretted it in a way now. His beard was several inches long, and his hair had grown enough that it had to be tied back into a ponytail with a torn piece of fabric. The thick masses made him sweat more than he would have liked. He still wore his old uniform, only it had changed to match what he'd seen in the past years. The white collar was smeared with so much dirt that it almost matched the black cassock. The robe and the black pants were torn at the bottom from the typical apocalyptic wear and tear. His shoes were the only thing that didn't match and what he'd learned he needed to change most often. Currently they were dark brown boots that were about a half size too large. He'd greedily taken them from a dead body they'd come across at another house two weeks earlier.

The Reverend gave a grunt and nod to Jon's first words, managing to look up for a few moments when the houses came into view. He quickened his step to catch up and walk alongside the man and look at his face. “Yeah... I'm ready.”

Jon actually turned to study Dan for a moment in light of his response he received. Dan had changed a lot and while some of those changes were good, some were not positive--granted "good" was a subjective term. Regardless of semantics, he turned his head back to watch ahead. Jon himself didn't change much, looking almost the same as he had the day he went into, and then came out of, the CDC center. His face, on a bad day (after months of not shaving) had a slight stubble and even that was in patches. His face was generally smooth and he did his best to keep his hair cut accordingly: in the summer, he kept it short to stay cool and avoid being grabbed, and then let it grow out in the winter to stay warmer. The only thing that seemed to change about Jon was his clothing.

"Can I ask you a question Dan?"

The beard was itchy too. Dan found his fingers working their way through it several times a day. The man had let himself go, to say the least. As they got closer, he pulled the shotgun from its resting place and held on tight. He preffered it to the pistol when they were indoors.

When Jon asked him the question, he paused in his movement for a few brief moments before continuing. It was a question he'd heard a lot through the years, even back before all of this started. Before his mind had a chance to rest on any of those memories he shook his head.

“Sure. Shoot.” He shrugged a bit, eyes back on the ground.

Jon took a moment to mull over how to ask the question, thinking about Dan for a moment. Jon and Dan were an odd combination based on their morality and past, and Jon found that odd to a certain degree. He shook those thoughts away and focused on the situation at hand. He could tell Dan was off, this was obvious to anyone who knew him at all, especially the past that Dan came from--again, the opposite of Jon's own. But Jon was very intuitive and unparalleled at reading people and deducing factual information from them based on seemingly trivial things, and he knew almost exactly how far "off" Dan was. He just had to figure out a way to attempt to get through to him. Jon's biggest obstacle was that he was not adept at emotional reciprocation. That is, Jon could easily recognize emotions in people and use them accordingly, even acting in certain ways to exploit them, but that was just the thing. He wasn't practiced in feeling emotions, only using them to attain goals. He was not used to using these things to attempt to fix or help people, and it wasn't easy.

After a few more seconds he finally just decided to ask. "How're you feeling? I know the whole Miguel thing wasn't easy."

Daniel had gotten to know the man pretty well since they first met. It had taken a long time for Jon to 'warm up,' to him, if you could call it that. More so than anything, they both had a subconcious understanding of one another. Through their time together with the old group they'd learned how to feel each other out. They didn't always have to rely on speech for communication. Having been alone together only intensified all of it.

When the Rev heard the name he felt like stopping, but he kept going. There were all these... emotions... clawing their way up his throat. He got a sick feeling, like he might vomit, but he gulped it all back down as he'd done so many times before.

Daniel had met Miguel at a confusing time in his life. His time with the others had made him question things. He'd blamed the old group for getting him involved in all of this shit. For making him leave the church. One man, in particular who he'd long since forgotten. Priests were good at not letting the resentment get to them, but he was still green before the end of the world. He hadn't had enough experience to realize when it had taken him over. And being the only religious person in the group, he had no one to bounce his thoughts off of. Miguel, on the other hand, had been a true God-send. He was raised Catholic and had a good understanding of how the church worked. Since the Episcopal faith had been termed 'Catholic light,' they had a lot in common.

“Well... I can't lie.” It was true that the priests morality and integrity had faltered, but he still held true to some of his principles, one being his honesty. “It still hurts. And the WAY he died...” And he was ever his contemplative-self. “Was god damn awful.” It wasn't the resentment that was eating him this time, but the guilt. “I could have stopped it. I know I could have. If I'd only...” He let his words trail off to be replaced with a sigh. “Or at least spared him some pain...” He had always viewed that as his primary reason for becoming a priest... helping people to resolve their pain. Walking through it with them.

Jon nodded and mulled over everything for a bit. Generally, he was quicker on the tongue, but this was something a bit different, this was a situation where he wasn't acting a certain way, he wasn't trying to hide something, or playing an angle. This was relatively new territory to him. He almost said 'I know how you feel,' but the truth is, Jon didn't, and he wasn't going to lie to him. His true past was a mystery to most, but he was known as tactical and maybe even ruthless, but most knew that at this point, he'd do anything in his power to make sure the most people who could live did so, even if it meant sacrificing others. Some could deal with that, some couldn't, and Jon didn't really care who viewed that in what way.

He mulled over many things, wanting to comfort Dan, wanting to say that "ONE THING" that would make it all go away, and he realized that it wasn't possible, not in light of all this, not in this world. All of those "one things" died but never rose, never reanimated. They were gone. "Some things you can't stop. Some things that happen are outside of your control. Man's biggest misconception is that it had power. We think decisions we make are our own when the truth is that decisions you make, they're often simply reactions to something you have no power over. If it were otherwise, even before all this, people would have made the choices to stop dying, cure cancer, stop wars. There is nothing you could have done for Mig. Nothing I could have done. Nothing he could have done. Can I tell you something Dan?"

Daniel thought about the mans words while he continued shuffling along. “All of that is true, I suppose.” He nodded. The priest really could understand what the man was saying, but there was still a disconnect for him. There certainly was nothing wrong with the sentiment. Most people, he'd observed, did in fact go through life making decisions, reacting how they deemed appropriate, but for people like him, it was different. People like him believed everything was predetermined, and that's where the disconnect was. On one hand, it should have offerend comfort... that all of the wasted lives had moved on and left this terrible world for a better place, or at least a place of peace. On the other, it meant that God had put some planning into all of this... that in his infinite wisdom, he'd meant for all of these good people to die in these terrible ways. That he wanted humanity to be lost. Dan bit at his lips in thought. You could always tell when his gears were turning.

“Before all of this it was smooth sailing, you know? I was HAPPY. Things were at peace within me. I didn't have to worry about all of this anger and rage bubbling up.” The first people he'd killed, he'd tried to bury and move on, sweeping them under the rug like a mess he didn't want to dirty himself with.

“You can tell me anything you like, Jon. Just warn me if I need to sit down.” And maybe that southern, easy-going, laid-back humor was something still alive in him too.

If Jon got the humor, it was lost on him as he didn't react beyond putting one foot in front of the other, and then going on with his thoughts. "I envy you. All of you. Everything that you had before all of this, hearing you all talk about it, find some happiness in it and form your bonds over it. Sometimes, I know it's hard for you. Granted, it's hard for everyone, and hard in different ways. But for you and your faith, it's a lot more unique and difficult. I'm not sure where I'm going with this exactly. But, just don't create and shoulder guilt that you don't need to. It'll break your back eventually. There is enough justifiable guilt, loathing, and questioning to go around without creating more of it for yourself." He opened his mouth for a second and closed it, about to say more than he had intended.

Daniel nodded in response, his attention now fully on the man. "I'll be ok. Maybe not now, but sometime." Half truths could still be considered truths, right? Dan was never the one to comfort people by saying time was all they needed to heal. Some people didn't heal. The only comfort they got was in death. "Is that all you wanted to tell me? I get the feeling that you're thinking about something else." The priest was good at reading others too, but in a much different way. He had a strong sense of empathy and usually that was the only tool he needed to use to break through any tough exteriors. He had indeed never heard the man open up about what it was like for him before the rise, other than what he told everyone before, which seemed more like a cover story than anything else.

"I'm sure you've noticed, I'm always thinking, there's always stuff going on up there, most if it you wouldn't want to know about. Anyway, I know I'm not the most...insightful or morally driven person but if it helps at all, you can always talk to me. About anything." He took a deep breath and thought long and hard about where to go next. Very easily, he could have simply said they had to focus on the house, even though they were a very long distance away and Jon was watching it the entire time. He didn't think there was a real reason for him to open up to the priest. If anything, there was a very strong possibility anything he said about his true past would be 100% counter-productive. But maybe something he could say would help Dan in some way. Jon was a firm believer in 'tough love' and sometimes, it would help people to see that things weren't always so bad. Sometimes, seeing how bad, or at least how different, another had it, or how things could have been, it helped one take things into perspective--but it could also shake their faith or make them lose it. Jon understood that all too well.

"Dan, I'm not really sure I'd even know where to start, if I wanted to. What do you think of me Dan?"

That question may have come suddenly, but it came to him just as suddenly. Jon didn't ask others, didn't care and didn't do things to try to sway their opinions of him, but he knew that he was viewed in many different lights, understandably so. He killed without explaining, he didn't try to placate others or allow them to understand. He did things quickly, and although that speed made it seem as if he did things on a whim, it couldn't be further from the truth. Jon was programmed to see things, recognize situations and people and act on them. He was also trained never to question that instinct. Jon could see a man's intent by the position of his feet, hands and the direction of his gaze sometimes. He could tell if someone was lying by their tones and the way they sat.

But he never explained this to anyone, never felt the need. If Jon did something to save someone, even if what he did was questionable, he didn't feel it necessary thinking it was self explanitory.

Eventually, it was most likely clear to everyone that Jon wasn't a CIA computer tech as he said originally, but only a select few knew the truth. Few ever approached him about this however, and those that did were shot down to some degree or the other. This was the first time Jon ever straight up asked someone this question however.

This. THIS was the only thing the Reverend felt comfort in now. His old job. Listening to others, offering them a helping hand when they needed it. His roots were glued to philanthropy. It had even gotten him into trouble in the past, but it was his burden to bear. When most people thought of their 'happy place,' they envisioned themselves on a snow white beach under the shade of palm trees with a pina colada in hand, but Dan, he saw himself in the booth or behind the screen listening while others divulged their darkness. One thing he believed in more strongly even than the presence of God, was the fact that everyone had a darkness inside of them that they needed release from. Whether they were born that way or were turned by a series of events or interactions didn't matter to him.

Jon's question though, was one he'd only heard a few times. He tried to control their pace more, slowing down a bit before he answered. If it were up to him, they'd stop completely, but it seemed Jon was easier when moving.

"Well... let's see.." It was never a priests place to pass judgement, so he picked his words carefully. "You're a deep thinker. Like me. You don't talk a lot. You're a loner. None of which are bad things, mind you, but they lend themselves to certain... personas." What he saw in Jon was similar to what he'd seen in abused children, or other similarly broken people. "I can tell there's some sort of trauma there... since before all of this. It's different. Engrained in you. A part of you." You could always tell the difference in people who'd suffered prior to the rise as opposed to people who only suffered because of it. It was in the way they carried themselves, the words they used, the way they looked at you. Like a broken doll that couldn't be repaired because they no longer manufactured the right parts. You could use replacement pieces, but it just wasn't the same. "You wouldn't believe the things i've heard through the years. People were fucked up before all this shit too, you know? Anyone that only tells you about the happy memories... they're hiding something, either from you or themselves." He thought back to that first tough confession years back. The abortion. And then to another. Abel the cannibal. He hadn't seen that one coming. Then there were the confessions from inmates. Those got pretty grizzly. The war veterans, always depressing. He tried to bring himself back to the matter at hand.

"Nothing you say is going to surprise me. I guess all in all... I think you're a person, Jon. And with that comes the good and the bad." He spoke with a certain ease of understanding and honesty that could be translated through tone.

Initially, Jon took what Dan said somewhat abrasively, he felt that it was someone patronizing or just casually general. Jon hated cliche responses or offhand anecdotes that people just spouted. He immediately swallowed it down though and listened, trying to at least focus on Dan if anything. Truth be told, Jon didn't think there was a benefit to talking, despite having heard countless times about the positives that would come of it. He wasn't worried that Dan, or anyone else would think any less of him. They'd seen Jon kill, torture, leave people behind and make all sorts of questionable decisions, nothing in his past was much worse necessarily. It was just that Jon didn't think any benefit would come of it. Perhaps part of him was even put off by opening up because of where his thoughts eventually went...

The other truth of the matter is that Jon recognized, on a few separate occasions now, that no matter how bad things were with Dan and the group, he was always at his best when he was helping or consoling, listening and doing what he could, even if it was something minor and trivial. Dan changed a lot since they'd met, and even if it showed itself less frequently now, Dan was still altruistic. Jon didn't understand it, but that side of Dan was admirable.

"I'm not sure you'd be surprised if I told you the truth, my past, whatever you'd call it. Well, you might be. Anyway, if anything, I think it would. I don't know. Things would be a lot more clear." At this point, Jon was somewhat torn between the want to help Dan and the desire to simply shut up and do what needed to be done. He looked ahead, studying the houses intently off in the far distance.

"Jon, why don't you just say what you want to say?" Short of taking the man by the shoulders and shaking him, he wasn't sure how to get him to spit it out. He was also a little afraid of how that might turn out. 'Patience is a virtue,' never sat well with him.

Jon frowned slightly, more to himself than anyone else. The reality is that he was hoping to focus more on Miguel and Dan but somehow the conversation veered off onto him. "When all is done, well, assuming things get easier, maybe we find some place, some where that's safe and there are other people, new people. Do you think you'll be ok?" It wasn't the best way to steer the conversation elsewhere, but it would work.

The priest couldn't help but chuckle a tad at that. "I'm not even sure I can be around other people right now. You're enough for me. Just fine for me." He ran his hands through his beard. "Right now I just want to lose my old self... have some sort of fresh start. If that's even possible. I want to forget Miguel and the others." Dan missed his guitar. And singing too. He hadn't sang since Miguel died and hadn't had his hands on a guitar since well before then. "I need to find my music again. My voice. That'll heal me. It has to." He paused for a good second or two before continuing. "I think it will, anyway. I was dating this great girl back before all of this. She committed suicide. I couldn't console her, no matter what I tried. And I moved on from that, after a trip to Europe and taking a job in Missouri. Then after this... when I killed my first people... people, mind you, not zombies... I had a hard time resolving that. Really went off the deep end for a while, but I got there after realizing I had done it out of necessity. I hadn't been a part of this survivalist world for long enough to justify it. But as time went on, I learned. The others taught me. You taught me. And eventually I had to kill more people anyway. All the while, my faith relationships morphing, being molded by the resentment I felt. Why had God taken these people from me? What did he want from me? My strong sense of purpose was stripped from me. Then Miguel helped me find my way again.. He... really understood me. We had a connection I hadn't felt since my family. We came from similar backgrounds. Our Catholic guilt." Dan laughed again. "Our Catholic guilt made us close."

Daniel sighed, trying to blow out those thoughts and emotions that were creeping their way back in. He had always been an extremely sensitive person, and everyone in the group knew he was prone to crying. But that had changed with Miguel's death, as had everything else. He looked up from the road and back toward Jon once more. "What about you? Who do you miss? Are you hoping to find others?"

Jon adjusted his arms, rolling them to adjust and get some comfort back. The rifle and backpack weren't heavy exactly, but walking with them and their straps for hours with them digging into one's shoulders could have an affect after a while. He listened as Dan talked, happy that he was at least laughing and talking, not really sinking into any form of depression as Jon was worried would potentially happen. "You know, I hate when people start a sentence by giving the disclaimer that they're 'gunna be honest with you.' It implies that up to that point, they weren't being honest with you. Anyway, I'm gunna be honest with you. Don't lose your old self. Nothing you've told me about your past screams out hide or deny it. Adjust it, yeah, that's good. In this world, you have to adapt. And nothing I've witness first hand makes me think you need to forget anything. Remember it. It's what makes you different from that first person you killed. It's what makes people seek you out, enjoy you, feel they can talk with you."

Jon couldn't help but think, but refrained from saying, it was something that makes Dan different from Jon.

"And I'm not a very religious man by any means, but from what I understand of God according to Christians, he can be a pretty forgiving guy. If God didn't want you to kill that man, he'd have struck him down with lightning, or smited him. From a more..." Jon took a second to think, coming up with a word that didn't sounds condescending or accusatory. "Relevent view of that time, think what that man would have done elsewhere. Think if he came across a mother and a child who had a can of food. Or maybe a mother and daughter who had nothing. You may not have done it thinking about that, your intent may not have been to stop him to prevent harm on anyone else, but you did. Maybe what God gave you was a chance to make a difference in people's lives now. Today."

He took out an old beat up bottle and took a quick sip before continuing. "In terms of the future," Jon made an indifferent look with one eyebrow raised as he shrugged. "I'm not sure." He took a long few seconds to pause and think the next part out. "Frankly. I'm not sure I miss anyone. Or anything. It's... I guess for me, all of this is the same as it was before. You know that old saying, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm damn sure that today, or before all of this, no one missed me. Yesterday, today. A year ago. I've never had anything or anyone. My parents died early, they were my only family. After that. Fuck, I don't know where to even begin. Anyway, regardless. I'm not even sure I have anything to miss. Or anyone." Jon's tone changed a bit at this point, it seemed to be a bit bitter. Maybe cynical. There seemed to be hints of longing too. In essence, it didn't seem to be Jon talking, at least not Jon as everyone else knew him. Cold, concise, to the point. Short and relatively emotionless. Any form of emotion in Jon would catch people by surprise, let alone these specific ones.

"Do you know...." He seemed to be aloof slightly, and it wasn't that he didn't know what to say, it was that he seemed to want to say numerous things at once. "Before all this, I had nothing, no one. The only thing I had is what I did, my job. I found comfort in that. Everything I did, I convinced myself that it was to make the world a better place. Years of isolation, lying and decieving. Years of worse. And as long as people could sleep at night, the world was better for it, I guess I was fine with that. I've..."

Part of Jon almost looked ashamed as he spoke, either ashamed or simply empty. Or maybe a bit of both. "Killing. Surviving. Hiding things. None of that is new to me. All that was there before all this. Now I feel like I wasted my whole fucking life for nothing, because the simple truth of the matter is that nothing I did mattered, because now the entire fucking world is dead and over, and nothing I did meant a fucking thing. Not to anyone. I don't get to see people just, I dunno, enjoying whatever it is about what you people did when you went about. That was sometimes the only thing I had. Aside from work. I'm going to die some day on this fucking earth and no one is going to know me, remember me, think of me or mourn me. Not here or anywhere else. You talk about forgetting the past, and maybe I'm taking it out of context, or a little too literal, but fuck. You have stuff to remember. People. Things you did. You know people some where will remember you, even if you were just a guy on the other side of some screen. But you loved, you did all that. Those memories make you who you are. Who you were has kept you from becoming a thieving,raping, scum of the earth murder like so many of the other people . And if you don't think that means anything, you really need to get back to who you were, before it's too late." At the end, Jon seemed almost angry, but if anything it wasn't that he was angry at Dan, just angry. Maybe angry at everything.

The priest stayed silent as Jon went on. He let several minutes pass before he attempted a reply, choosing carefully what he'd pick at first. It was surprising that he seemed to actually be expressing some emotion, however muted or hidden.

Finally, he smiled. "I must sound like a real dickhead, huh?" One hand left the shotgun to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck. "Still though... I think there's a lot more complication. I killed those people, and maybe in doing so I was able to help other victims... but ultimately, when it really comes down to it, weren't they just there because they were hungry? Because they wanted shelter? There's no denying the way they went about it was fucked... but I guess I can't help but try and sympathize with them even though they terrorized me. Not sure what that says about me. But they had faith in something too. Maybe not in anything good. I dunno. We were all thrown into this impossible situation with little warning. People do what they have to do to get by. It's selfish and violent in most cases, but I'm not on the level yet where I can just say 'fuck 'em,' blow them to hell and not give it a second thought. You've been able to resolve that. But you're telling me I shouldn't lose sight of who I was, that I should remember all of the things that made me who I am. And it's that mentality that's stuck with me. I just wasn't built for this new world. I'm not even sure how I'm still alive, really. Well, to be honest, it's thanks to you and everyone else that I am."

"God. God is a different subject all together. I became a priest because my relationship with God has never been easy. I always had plenty of time to ask questions in doubt. And that still continues to this day. I never saw him as this omnipotent, peaceful father figure. When you think about it, he kind of just threw us to the wolves, if you believe what the bible says about creation and all that. And furthermore, he murdered thousands of people without a second thought, just because they disagreed with him. Again, assuming you believe what the bible says... which people like me kind of have to. So, in my mind, this is just him doing his thing. Not interfering. We're as alone now as we always have been." Maybe those words sounded strange coming from a priests mouth, but he hadn't become a priest because he was devout in the first place. "I wonder how the rest of the loners are faring."

Jon's face and tone lost the majority, if not all, or the feeling and emotion that was there a moment or two ago. When he looked up and spoke, it was just as it was before: concise, cold, and almost robotic. "If there's one thing I hope you do leave behind and forget, it's that people do things out of common sense or need. If they wanted food, they'd have killed a rabbit, or foraged berries. If they wanted shelter, they'd have gone about it differently. Not everyone has faith, not everyone's affected the same way by all this. People like that, who go in with the mentality to kill first, that was there before. It just didn't have a chance to come out because society kept it in check. If they came into your church and all you offered them was food, shelter, and more and the their intent was to kill you and take, then the issue is that they weren't there for those things. They were there to kill, steal, destroy. The idea that there is good in everyone is a fallacy Dan. I'm not saying the potential isn't there, but the potential for something to be doesn't make it so."

"Most people, who and what they are today is simply who and what they were before, just multiplied. People who are alive are not alive because of luck, well, only to a degree. But your faith kept you alive, because it kept you safe where you were. It made people feel like they could come to you, made them feel guilty thinking of stealing from or harming you. People who are alive had it in them to survive this whole time, while others were geared towards other things. Those that hid behind things, or put up facades, those were exposed when this happened. Not all of that is bad. A man may have been a family man to the end, willing to die to protect his family instead of being worried about himself and fleeing. I'll bet those kind of people died happy and content. Some could argue they died happier than most of us are happy being alive."

Jon looked over at Dan, waiting for him to look over in hopes that it would make this next part sink in. "But Dan. For your sake, and for the sake of those around you, don't ever think everyone is like you, that they find happiness where you do or that they do what they do for reasons the same as yours. Not everyone has faith in the things you do, some have no faith in anything. Never forget that when you meet someone, they may cut your throat and take your gear, but they may only take the gear as an afterthought. You can still have faith in people while letting caution guide your actions. That'll keep you alive a lot longer."

The priest listened intently, but Jon only half convinced him. Even after everything he had seen he couldn't believe without fail that people like the ones who had attacked him were evil. Maybe it was his ego. That he thought that he could reach everyone if he was just given a good opportunity.

"I hear what you're saying... there's just something in me that makes me only see gray. I can't see black and white." And then a moment of pure honesty. "And.. if what you're saying is the absolute truth then it means that all along i've had this evil inside me. That I've had the capacity and motivation to murder. I don't know if i'm ready to accept that yet." He made an audible gulp and his eyes started to water a tad. Such a crybaby.

The priest did look over for the last part and nodded. But all of that was really a given, right? To be cautious when around others? Dan had long since moved on from that wide-eyed attitude toward outsiders and newcomers. Sure, he was more willing to give other survivors a chance than his fellow people might have, but there was always hesitation now. Afterall, he had made a vow to himself that he would never get tricked again. Trust was not doled out with ease to anyone who hadn't proved that they deserved it.

His gaze turned back to the houses ahead. He squinted and craned his head forward. There was a shape near one of the corners of the house. And it moved. "Did you see that?" Could have been an animal. Could have been his imagination.

"Yeah," Jon replied flatly. He'd seen it for a while and while he knew it wasn't a living person, he didn't know what it was exactly. From this distance, it looked like a human sitting down but it hadn't moved this entire time until just now. Prior to that, Jon could have easily wrote it off as a pile of junk or debris. Now Jon wasn't so sure, but he was convinced that it if was indeed human, it was not a living one. They were about 2 minutes away if they walked at a fast pace, but they'd slow down now since they were not only closer, but there was some sort of activity. Jon found himself checking over his gear without even thinking about it; making sure gear was tight and in it's proper place, firearms were in the right order and things were not missing or out of sorts. When Jon spoke next, his voice was significantly quieter and what Dan would recognize as his "business tone."

"Just keep quiet for now, the usual. We'll get closer and take a better peak, listen a bit and go from there. You good Dan?"

Dan simply nodded and went to step off but Jon put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Dan. With people, today, all this, tomorrow. It's better to be cautious today and give people the benefit of the doubt tomorrow. But here is some advice. When you want to guage a person quickly there are a few things to look for. These things are more important than what a person looks like, what they say, what's in their hands, and what your initial impression is. Look at their eyes. An honest person will look at you when you're speaking. If you come up to a group of people, all pointing guns at you and one man speaks...you'll want to trust him, so you'll focus on that. If you're scared or nervous, or lying, you'll be worried about them seeing or sensing that dishonesty, so the guy talking isn't the threat. It takes a lot of training to make the eyes lie which is why people avoid eye contact. Next, their hands. An honest, good person won't fidget. Ask them a hard question and watch. Nervous people move their hands, play with fingers. The better ones, we use it to distract you." Jon made a point to say 'we' at that point.

"Have you look one way or focus on something. They say that subconsciously, it's the psyche looking for a shield, or trying to find something to hide behind because it knows it's lying and trying to find some way to hide the guilt. I don't believe that myself, but whatever. Next, the hips and feet. Watch their posture. If I know I'm going to attack someone, I'm prepared with my feet and my hips. If I think someon is a bit more spot on than most, I can mask it, but most people don't look at that, they look to the eyes and hands, look for weapons, look at what the person's face is like. People are not used to hiding things like that, it's natural to them. The body does what the mind thinks. Period. Unless you've been trained otherwise, one thing will slip and reveal a person's intentions."

He took a moment, breathing in deeply and exhaling before saying. "Unless they're already dead and walking. Then, just assume they're going to try to eat you. They're a lot easier to assess than normal people."

As Luke went down the hall he had has baseball bat at the ready, and his flashlight on his hip. He knew that Ryan had his back in this situation, but they both had been around long enough that the minute you let your guard down that was the minute all hell broke loose. In this kind of situation all hell breaking loose usually entailed lots of shooting, explosions, a high body count, and more then likely putting people who were in your party of their misery. It was strange that when Luke would enter in area then suddenly the lights would cut on. It was kind of like that video he saw on You-Tube once called "Billie Jean" where Michael Jackson took a step suddenly a square lit up. There was a feeling of being safe and Ryan having his back, but there were on certain levels that knowing Ryan was watching him made Luke a little uncomfortable.

He approached a door that according to the map was supposed to be a weapons room. Luke cautiously opened the door and the lights began to flicker to life. As they did he waited to see if the lights would go out. Luke had if figured out in his mind that if the lights came on and then suddenly went out then that meant to stay away. The light stayed on and Luke entered the room. He was able to deduce that he was in someone's office. There were two chairs, a desk, a couch, a file cabinet, and a dead Ficus plant. Luke shook his head when he saw the plant and said, "Should've gone with a plastic one." Luke looked around more and didn't see any weapons, but then he realized that if Jeff went through the trouble of a map he wouldn't just leave them out in the open. Luke moved the couch near a ceiling tile and climbed on it. Luke moved the ceiling tile and shined his light around. He saw several strips of cloth and a box of matches. When he saw that Luke smiled and said, "I'm on to you my man. I'm on to you." Luke moved the couch and tile back into place and walked over to the desk. He opened the drawer and saw that there were a few bottles of Premium Vodka. Luke closed the drawer and smiled as he said, "You keep the Vodka here so if anyone found it all they thought was that found some Vodka. Keeping everything separate but knowing where it all is." He nodded and went back to the ceiling tile and got out a strip of cloth. Luke then went over to the desk and got out a bottle of Vodka. He then went out the door and showed to Ryan what he had found. Once he did that he put everything back and moved along.

Ryan approached a room that had been designated as a food room on the map. He cracked the door open and once the light was on solidly Luke went in. Luke looked around and it looked like a maintenance room with various chemicals and cleaning items. Luke shook his head and said, "Yeah this stuff qualifies as food if you're looking for a last supper." Once again though Luke realized that Jeff was good at hiding things in plain sight. Luke walked over to one of the chemical bottles and examined it. He noticed that the bottle was pretty clean for being in a room like this. He unscrewed the cap and took a whiff of a clear liquid. It had no odor to it and so Luke said, "Here's to you Jeff & Anna." He took a swig and realized that it was water Luke smiled and went back to the camera. He toasted the camera and took another swig. Luke went back inside the room and positioned it so he could get another tile loose. Once he got the tile loose he shined his light and found several bags of peanuts and trail mix. Luke went back out into the hall and showed them to the camera once more.

After Luke got everything back in place he got back to the control room. He sat down and popped open a bottle of water. He looked at Ryan and said, "I can say two things about Jeff. One he was very smart, and two very paranoid. Then again in our current situation paranoia is just being cautious."

Ryan once again saw his friend enter the control room door on the screen and heard him start to put his discoveries away.
Ryan turned all the lights off once again and turned to face Luke.

"In this world if you're not paranoid you're one of two things, a moron... or a reanimate" He said shrugging his shoulders. He walked toward the the kitchen and nodded over toward the screen.

"Keep an eye out will you?" He asked as he placed his cane against the wall and pulled a can of soup out of the cupboard, he opened it and put it in a pan, and looked over his shoulder at Luke, he seemed so comfortable even in this new era of civilisation, that it was possible to remain calm and maybe even happy in these times was reassuring.

"What do you say after dinner we get a schedule going, rotate the watch and sleep patterns, you know try and grasp some normalcy." He said as he stirred the soup with a wooden spoon he found in the top drawer, he shifted his weight slightly onto his damaged foot and could feel it giving slightly and so stopped, it was better than earlier but still bad, he assumed that he had aggravated it when running through the street hours ago. He turned down the stove and poured the contents of the pan into two bowls and, grabbing his cane, took them one by one over to the coffee table sat in front of Luke.

"I got you some dinner" he said as je pushed the bowl across to Luke. He took up his spoon and took a slurp, it tasted good. He looked over at Luke who was deep into his new read by that point.
He was grateful to have the company of Luke, he wasn't just a fun guy who he got on with but a battle hardened veteran of the field who could think on his feet and fight his way out of trouble, well mostly. He couldn't get over the fact that he was always so calm, it almost bothered him and so thought ot best to get to the bottom of the mystery.

"So what's your secret? How is it that I never see you crack under pressure or worry when things aren't looking up?.. not that im complaining of course" he chuckled as he finished his question.
This grabbed Luke's attention and distracted him from his book enough for him to dog ear it and put it down.

Luke was in thought over the recent riveting chapters of Jeff and Anna as Ryan was fixing the soup. He made mention of developing a schedule going after dinner and that rated a "okay sounds good." Ryan could've said, "Hey after dinner I'm gonna lob your head off and let the reanimates use it for a soccer ball." Luke probably would've said, "Okay sure as long as I get to be goalie." He was somewhat fascinated by the story of Jeff and Anna to say the least. It made him feel good that while he was roaming the country, living with the Amish, and of course he and Ryan doing The Lone Ranger and Tonto act that love was still alive in this world.

Luke was still reading the book as the soup was set in front of him. Luke always had a soft spot for good vegetable soup, because it reminded him of home. This was stuff was out of a can, but Luke didn't have to fix it and given some of the crap he and Ryan had to eat from time to time this was Filet Mingon. Luke took a couple of slurps when he heard Ryan's question about his calm demeanor. Luke put the book aside and said, "All-right fair enough." Luke got a couple of bottles of water and gave one to Ryan and took one from himself. Luke said, "You fixed the dinner I got the drinks. I'll take care of the dishes afterwards."

Luke took a couple of slurps of soup and said, "In situations like ours the enemy whether it's reanimate or a guy like Rodgers in Cleveland they are out to control everything in a situation. Whether it is control through fear or intimidation they control everything then they've won, but there's one thing that we still control my friend..." Ryan took a swig of his water and then said, "how we respond. As long as we control that aspect of ourselves then that means we can control something and that gives us a fighting chance." Ryan took a slurp of the soup and said, "Good stuff. Anyway once we got a fighting chance then we have a place to focus our energy, and that place is trying to find a way to win. Remember now we got a chance so then it becomes a matter of making the most of that chance. Whether it's using our skill with items we've found and our environment, or thinking of an escape route we make the best of our situation."

Luke took another slurp of soup and said, "Now notice I said all that which means I don't think about dying or losing, because I'm too busy thinking about how to fight and how to live." Luke scarfed down the rest of his soup and said, "It's an attitude of arrogance that won't allow me to believe that another man or woman is gonna kill me, or those I'm with." Luke nodded and said, "You got a lot of logic and quick wits in you Ryan." He took a swig of water and said, "You got the same kind of instincts as I do which allows me the luxury to believe that the two of us together..." Luke started to shake his head and said, "There's no way we get beat;ever."

Luke nodded and said, "Finish up your soup I'll take care of the dishes, get you an ice pack and I'll take the first watch. You need to rest up."

Somewhere in Missouri.

Several uneventful days passed since clearing the house, and uneventful equated to godsends. They slept well enough, ate well enough, weren't attacked, and didn't have to make any potentially life altering decisions. There was odds and end bickering about whatever, but typical of the two, nothing of real substance was spoken about and both were fine with that. On the fourth day, they came upon the scene of what seemed to be a person or two having been trapped in a small convenience store that came under attack from zombies. There were several fresh bodies and a bloody spot on the floor that was all that remained of one of those that had been alive prior to the attack.

They approached quietly, listening before actually entering. Whatever zombies had attacked, they were gone now and the place was quiet. Fuad went in first and didn't find much of anything Terry grumbled, disappointed about wasting time and having nothing to show for it. They were quiet a bit more alert since the signs of activity were obvious, but they still talked occasionally. After leaving the building and moving on, they moved off the road slightly when he all-too-familiar raspy breathing sound could be heard ahead and low and behold, the two men snuck their way through some trees to see 3 zombies standing about, seeming to have no real purpose.

"Looks like it's your lucky day T-Burn. Need some help with these or what?"

Terry set his bag down with a shake of his head as they drew up on the zeds, grinning.
"Nah... I haven't broken any skulls in a good three days, this'll do me good."
So saying, he pulled his crowbar from the side of his bag, cracking his neck and quite simply striding forward towards the zeds with no sense of stealth or ceremony, wrapping the crowbar on a tree as he passed to get their attention.

"Heeeeeeeeere zeddy zeddy zeddy. Come and let T-burn break you a little bit."

He patted the crowbar in his hands with a broad grin, shifting slightly and digging his heels into the dirt, seeming ready and rearing to turn the three zombies into puddles of leprous mush.

Fuad shook his head even as he smirked. He did keep a look out on the surrounding area as Terry descended on the trio. Hopefully Terry would be quick about this. While Terry didn't necessarily delight in the prolonged death of the undeads, he seemed to just thoroughly enjoy smashing their skulls and helping send them back to wherever it was they went when Terry was done with them. "Go easy on the blonde, I think she has a thing for you."

Terry rolled his eyes at Fuad's comment.
"Never liked blondes. Always been a red-head kinda guy."

Fuad muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Terry to hear. "Oh, didn't know redheads ran in your family..."

So saying, the blonde promptly took a crowbar to the face, collapsing in a re-dead heap of bloody rotten flesh. He shot a glance over his shoulder to Fuad.
"Bah, at least we only marry -once-, like proper people. Even if it is a third cousin, or something. You idiots take on how many wives? Two dozen? Must be a bitch, dealing with that many women bleeding at once, especially once they start having kids. How long did it take before they teamed up and castrated you?"

Another one of the zeds found its skull thoroughly hammered into a tree by his elbow.

He chuckled at the man's response, always finding it oddly amusing how Terry could talk shit while doing what he did. It wasn't so much just talking, anyone could talk in the middle of fighting, it was that he would actually have well thought out replies. Granted the same could be said of Fuad, but he would like to think he had higher mental capacity than the old redneck. "I never married asshole. I didn't have any sisters like you. Anyway, those were hardcore, old school Muslims. I'm pretty sure you people did that too." He did his best redneck impression. "I dun show'll did havem my some sex withum ma mum. I need to work on my redneck voice. Anyway, you down south people perfected that shit. And to make it worse, you didn't even get virgins when you died. Virgins can be trained you know?" The whole time he spoke up, he kept looking around and behind, even though he was sure that the immediate area was safe--well, safe enough as it could be with a handful of zombies around.

Terry gave a short, barking laugh. He was more or less toying with the last Zed, hopping out of its way every few moments. He wasn't making it suffer, merely stalling. Probably needed the stretch.
"You're doing it all wrong. Here."
He cleared his throat.
"I'm fixin' t' blow this here hajji sky high if'n he keeps chattin' on my mum like that. Ricky, hold my beer an' hand me ol' bessy."
Ol' bessy no doubt a joking reference to whatever rifle he would have had on hand back in red-neck-ville.

"And you can't tell me that you -want- to train sixty nine virgins."
He knew the real number. He just didn't care.
"I mean, who wants to hear this sixty nine times- 'Oooh, ahhhh, awwwooooaaahhhh... You're gonna call me, riiiigggghhhhht?'"

The last zed finally lost its head to a baseball-esque swing of his crowbar, the skull thunking solidly against a tree as the body fell without it.

Fuad stepped up into the clearing as he dispatched the last zombie and looked around cautiously. "You can't even count to 6, let alone 69." While Terry looked around at his handiwork, Fuad simply stepped forward and continued on in the path they were on originally, it seemed as if the violence from moments ago was already lost on him. In a moment, he became aware that it was cold and he pulled his jacket a bit tighter around him, zipping it up. He found it interesting how the body changed when the slightest trace of adrenaline entered the system; cold, pain, fear- all being ignored. Out of nowhere, Fuad asked "do you think anyone survived from that store back there?"

Terry shook the excess blood from his crowbar, retrieving his bag as he answered. The joking conversation gone and replaced with a serious question, he let the sarcasm fade from his voice.
"I think one of them got turned into a puddle of goo, but there were too many dead zeds for one person alone to have handled. I didn't see any fresh dead aside from puddle-guy, so one or two people had to have at least made it this far out. Didn't see any blood trailing from the building, either, so either they had plenty of bandages on hand or they got lucky and avoided serious injury. They could have gone anywhere, but my bet is they went for the main road and are a day or so ahead of us."

It was remarkable how he showed brief flashes of intelligent insight like this between beating up zeds and poking racist comments at Fuad.

"Or it could have been one person when he or she was gone, the zeds just kind of moved on their own way." There were a few dead-again zombies but not many. Fuad liked to think that if he was in that situation, there'd be a heap of corpses where he fell. More often however, he'd like to think he'll never be in a position where he was dead--a heap of undead with him walking away was much more to his liking.

As they walked in relative silence for a few hours, the sun started to descend in the sky and it got slightly cooler. Just as he was about to mention slowing down and finding a place to stay for the night, a few flurries started to call from the sky. Being born and raised in Arizona, he still wasn't used to the snow. He'd been in it a few times, but it was when going to the mountains, or traveling. The clouds were thick and dark up ahead, which would mean rain if it were warmer.

Jon stood outside the door after completing his bow, waiting for her to enter once he deemed it safe. It may have been a bit overboard, and he may have spun it off as some romantic attempt at flirting and being witty, but the truth of the matter is that it’s simply how Jon was trained. Any time he entered a room, he cleared it. This could be visually, audibly, or with weapons, but it wasn’t in his nature to move into a room having no idea what threats were there and what plans he would have to take to get out in case of any emergency. Jon was always thinking about things like that despite whatever facade he was putting up.

When he listened to Petra speak about Will, he looked over his shoulder and made sure no one else was within earshot. He turned and saw Harris watching him from inside of his room, but he was far enough off so that Jon knew he couldn’t be heard. Harris had most likely watched him open the door however, and he wondered what the computer whiz would deduce from that—granted the entire event could be passed off as him having clearance and high security computer protocol access. He had just bypassed a myriad of top secret government safeguards and Jon wondered how much knowledge both Petra and Harris had of this. Had they known what was just done, they’d be a bit more suspicious.

He looked at Harris and nodded as he began to speak to the woman. He thought on it for a moment on lying full out or partially and then opted to “open up” to her and win some trust. He leaned in and spoke quietly. “Look. I told you I’m CIA. I am just that computer guy, but every CIA agent has training, and mine was a little more than most because I had to travel to places and train in the event something happened. I had to first protect the government assets and then, if that wasn’t an option destroy them and try to stay alive. Staying alive was secondary though. Government top secret mainframes and all that, it’s more expensive to replace those than agents. Anyway, so yeah, I have some good training under my belt. Basically, I was sent here to do my thing, mainframes and all that, but I was also instructed that once we were free that basically, my actual main objective would be keeping Will alive, getting him somewhere safe.”

She muttered “about time” as he opened the door and they stepped in, Jon staying near the door as she moved about. She gave him more praise and Jon blushed, outwardly unsure if she was joking or being demeaning, but beneath his red cheeks he didn’t really care. He continued as she pulled her gear together. “I’m no, like, Rambo or anything, but they couldn’t afford to throw some navy SEAL or super soldier in here, they had limited room. So I was the best option. I have a purpose and training, and they never assumed that we’d be compromised I think.”

She nodded, still going through the gear, focusing on the packs when she asked about why all the gear. “Just the government making sure we were provided for I guess. This was also probably for the security guys.”

Then she asked “don’t happen to have a spare belt, do you?”

He couldn’t help but look at her as she moved about, noting her familiarity with many of the items, but also unable to keep his eyes up or in proper places as she bent over or reached. “I have a cup..Couple belts in… My room, but I don’t have them. I mean I have mine, but not them. I can give you this one if you want. I’ll just get the other one.” He moved to fumble for his belt when Harris’ voice could be heard from behind.

“Oh, cool. Guns and shit.” Jon turned around still fumbling for his belt, not thinking anything of it and Harris made a face, saying “seriously you two? Already?” He made a disgusted face and turned around, walking back to his room.

CDC Center. Missouri.

Harris turned around, shaking his head with a slight bit of anger. Petra was hot, and some douche bag like Jon would be the one to get her. How the hell could someone even look at someone who just murdered a guard that way? It was beyond him. He moved to his room and gathered up his stuff, deciding to do what he could to get clothes. He did have his own as he said before, but more of them were warmer items, and thus not appropriate for winters with snow and cold temperatures. He pulled his bag out and put it in his doorway as he stepped out. Jon said he could have some of his clothes, but maybe there were more. He looked at the dead security guard and debated taking his clothing. Harris though, he didn't know the man and while the guard did turn his gun on him, Harris couldn't blame him. Zombies, being locked in a building like this, then some guy opens the door while some kind of attack is going on, it was probably his training. He shook his head, unable to look at the body under the sheet, knowing it was beaten, and bloody. Harris pictured him as he looked at him before Jon jumped him, and that image didn't seem like such a bad guy. Just someone who was scared.

And the more Harris thought about things, the more scared he became himself.

He vaguely heard some talking come from the armory, but it didn't sound like two people fucking, so he assumed they were either done or they had just finished before Harris walked in. Either way, he was going to avoid that for a bit. He did want to get his hands on some of that stuff. One thing he say were big bags, and right now he just had some K-Swiss backpack that was bulging, beat up, and hardly fit his things in there. If he DID get warmer clothing, it sure wasn't going to fit in there. Plus, having one of those guns would be pretty fucking cool too.

Soon enough, Harris would find himself joined by Will, a bag slung over his shoulder. He seemed a good deal more comfortable, dressed in his usual outfitting- Jeans, hiking boots, t-shirt and windbreaker. The bag on his back looked fairly light and hollow, as if he hadn't bothered to put much in it- And of course there was the impossible to miss oddity of the fact that bside the bag he had a quiver of arrows strapped to his back... The bow itself, he held loosely in his left hand. How he even got that in the facility is a mystery.
".... Sup."

Because formal greetings make no sense in a place like this if there aren't other hot sixteen year old girls around.
"Where'd everybody get off to?"

His gaze flicked about in an almost bored manner, as if he were already discontent with how slow things were moving. The only thing that continually drew his attention back was the corpse at the end of the hall- A corpse he was now crouched before. He lifted the edge of the sheet that covered it and peered beneath curiously, sniffing, then poking a few of the open wounds and fractures on the skull from where Jon had pounded it.

Harris shook his head at Will, debating saying something, but then he assumed the kid was maybe salvaging or looking for something of use. Had he known he was just looking out of some morbid or wanna-be detective curiousity, he'd have spoke up. Instead he turned away and looked down the hall, seeing the girl, Marianne, coming out into the hallway, looking meek and quiet. He waved her over and said to Will, "put the sheet down, the kid is coming. Anyway, I'm assuming everyone's getting their shit together. I didn't have much myself. Did you have any spare, well, anything I guess? I only brought short sleeves and shorts. Jon said he's look too. Oh, speaking of Jon, him and Pahtra or whatever her name is are fucking in the armory. So. That's cool," he ended with a heavy does of sarcasm.

Will dropped the sheet back into place with a shrug, flicking his wrist to shake the blood from his fingertips, wiping the rest off on his jeans.
"Figures. I didn't bring much of anything, outside of my bow and knife."

He offered a shrug, stretching out with a few grunts and a sigh, shaking out his limbs.
"Nice to finally be out of the damn cell though. It was getting stuffy in there. Still, if you didn't bring anything, might as well head into the armory. Sure they'll have some spare clothes and the like."

Without further ado, he himself made his way for the room in question, expecting Harris and Marianne to follow on their own, apparently. He didn't say much of anything to Jon or Petra, just setting to rummaging through things. He seemed to have a specific set of tasks in mind- After all, he was aware of something the others might not be. He'd listened in on a few of his father's meetings before they sent him away, and by the way things were going, he didn't doubt what had been said. 'Reanimates'. 'Zombies'. Some kind of viral outbreak that was bringing the dead back. In truth, he'd always wondered what surviving the zombie apocalypse might be like. He figured now was his chance to find out. Soon, he gathered a small array of materials- Both from inside the armory, and from the rooms nobody had come out of. A badass looking leather jacket, a roll of bandages, a 9mm glock and holster, plus a pair of loaded clips and a pair of ammo boxes- both placed in his bag.

Still mostly silent, he went through the strange process of cutting off the right sleeve of that wonderful new jacket, tucking away his windbreaker and replacing it with the leather jacket, leaving his right arm bare from shoulder to fingertip. Who the hell knows why. Still, knowing it would be cold, he couldn't sacrifice warmth for freedom of movement entirely- The bandages were promptly wrapped around his right forearm from wrist to elbow. Warm, -and- as good a place as any to keep a roll of bandages! The glock, he clipped to his thigh, just beside his knife, and once he'd replaced his quiver and bag on his back, he generally looked like a badass ready to take on hordes of zombies.

"Hey! Harris, I found clothes in one of those rooms. Should be some that fit you."
He pointed to Harris, and then to the room he'd grabbed his new jacket from.

The girl never really made her way over, instead she seemed to look around for someone, and Harris assumed it was Petra, whom she was talking with earlier. Harris looked at Will when he told him to go over to the room. "Thanks," he said and did just that, leaving his bag on the floor for now. He moved across the hall, peaking into the armory as he did and went into the door that Will pointed him to. The two were just standing there casually, obviously just talking at this point, but it looked like Petra had appearantly grabbed some gear or some sort. Harris would go in later, right now he didn't want to feel awkward. Inside the room, he started to go through the drawers and look around, initially feeling bad at rummaging through another man's things...but he was dead now, and Harris needed them more.

"Whatever you say." She just gave his words an easy going shrug. There were more important things to worry about, right? For instance, the survival of everyone else that wasn't a government dignitary deemed worthy of his own CIA escort. When he explained further while she was grabbing gear, it made a little less sense. He might have fumbled his words. They would have given the kid a Rambo-type SEAL guy, right?

Petra ignored any snide comments she might have overheard about sexual encounters, instead refocusing on her conversation with Jon. In addition to her newly acquired weaponry, she went ahead and added manipulation into her arsenal. Harris was going to make it even easier for her by even mentioning it. Jon was playing right into it, seemingly. Maybe a little too well. She watched him fumble with the belt. Why were his hands shaking? When he held it out with his palm open, she snatched it hungrily before pulling it around her hips. The holes didn't quite go back far enough, so she pulled the knife from her pocket and went at it to make another farther back enough to give her a snug fit. She glanced up at him every few seconds while she was working.

"So, can you get that other door open, or what?"

Will lofted a brow at Petra's stabbing of a hole in the belt, frowning.
"What a waste of a good belt..."
This coming from the guy who just cut the arm off of a jacket. He was probably just trying to relieve a bit of the silent tension.

"But what she said, think you can get it open for us? I've had my fill of being trapped in this building, in or out of a single room."

Being stuck in places does not agree with Will.

Jon cleared his throat and looked around, the look on his face seeming to say "holy shit, other people are here." He took note that outside the armory, there was more action now and he fought back the sudden desire to take control. Not knowing exactly what everyone was doing didn't sit well with him. Mentally, he was going over her answer, 'whatever you say' and he wasn't sure if that was telling him that she didn't believe him, or simply that it didn't matter.

"Yeah, I can get that door open, but that's the control room, that won't get us out. The doors there," he pointed to a pair of double doors that were slightly barricaded. On the inside of the door, there were chains on it, although no lock, and a few large pieces of metal holding them closed. What they would NOT be able to see is that on the other side, once the doors opened in, there were heaps of items blocking the way. Once those items, which included shelves, beds, drawers, and other large pieces of debris, were removed, that would lead down a 30 foot hallway to a stairwell going to the second level. Jon knew where the stairs went based on the map, but had no idea what was on the other side. He continued after a pause, "that one, despite the obvious fire safety violation, leads downstairs and out. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm not in a hurry open every door and run out, or invite any one or any thing that's out there inside. So, let's just relax, take stock of the situation, and we'll go from there. Right now, we should make sure we're all getting what we need in case we have to leave. I don't know about you, but I'd RATHER be here, in this building or room, than out there if there are feet of snow, or....other dangers out there."

Petra sneered at the kid when he made the comment about the belt.

"Right. Agreed. No reason to rush things. We get in the control room, we learn more about what it's like out there. What we're dealing with. Surely there's a newspaper or something, right? Maybe some more bodies with outside objects on them." A few seconds later, she was done creating the new notch. She pulled the gun from her waistband and slid the slots of the hoslter over the belt before fastening it around her hips. She gave Jon her best smile, which was really more of a roguish smirk when combined with her half closed dark eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into her hip once more, waiting to see what was on the other side of that door.

By now, pretty much everyone was back in the hallway, except Harris. He had thrown a heap of clothing onto the bed in a rough pile, some of it would be too big for him, but some would fit well enough. From the looks of it, a few people slept here. There were two beds and a mix of clothing items of different styles and sizes. Harris didn't have to be a detective to do the math. He heard the group talking and after taking what was probably too much clothing, he just grabbed it all and made his way out into the hallway. Jon, Petra, Will, Marianne, Kim and himself were now all outside, talking about leaving, doors, and who knows what else. He interruped slightly, telling Jon, and all of the others, "I should be good on clothes, the room there, Will found it, it's where the guards slept and stuff I guess. So, there's more stuff there."

At this point, Kim, who'd been silent up to this point, spoke up. "Why do we even leave? Why not stay here? I see no reason to leave." Jon gritted his teeth at the condescending tone, taking a moment to figure out how to tactfully tell her to fuck off. "Look, you can stay if you want. Why we'd leave, at least eventually, is because at some point, I do not want to resort to eating you. Or anyone else. Unless you have a farm in your room somewhere that I'm not aware of."

"Let's just get the door open, right? All of this can wait." The investigation was the most important thing right now. "Come on, Romeo." She liked the new nickname. "Put those CIA skills to good use." Petra glanced back over her shoulder at Kim, the threatening look on her face suggesting she might have to come shut her up if she delayed things any further. The smile returned after she turned back toward the door.

Will seemed pretty content to just stand around quietly for now. Though, he kept a wary hand on his knife, staring at the door they were talking about opening. They'd already been attacked once coming out of their rooms, who's to say there wasn't another person in there with a gun? Or more?
"What she said."

Harris dumped the clothing by the bag in his doorway and went through the crowd, trying to keep quiet and avoid getting involved. He moved to the armory and looked inside, seeing a few things he'd like to grab. "Well, I'm gunna head in there and grab some stuff." If anyone heard him, they didn't show it immediately. With a shrug, he moved in, while Jon blushed slightly at the nickname being used out loud now. "It's uh...not CIA skill. Simple bypassing security protocols and knowing... It's computer shit. Simple really."

Harris kind of walked quietly into the room, shaking his head and grabbing a bag, a handgun, which he'd never fired before, some magazines and a knife. He tossed them into the bag and then added a few canteens. He didn't waste time organizing, knowing he'd be adding clothes and other things. He came outside and waited with everyone else.

Missouri.

Fuad and Terry proceeded in relative silence for a bit before coming up to an old car. It wasn't the largest, nor the most luxurious, but it provided concealment, relative cover and was nice because it kept heat well enough. It was an older Lincoln, so it actually afforded a lot of room compared to the more compact models of today. Both looked at each other, waiting to see if one would give reason to skip it and move on, but neither spoke up. With a slight shrug, both took "business as usual" which involved walking in a circle around the car many times over, going out as the walked. They would stand closer together at first then eventually end up about 20 or 30 feet away towards the end. They did this to see if they could find any immediate threats, like zombies or people, and then also looked for signs of activity, such as bodies, tracks, trails or anything of the sort. This was all done in relative silence unlike earlier in the day or when they were on the move. When they were moving, dangers could come and go, and they we already on the go, so it wasn't that important--danger was just as likely that you to walk into them as they into it. But now, they'd be static and they needed to be more mindful and serious.

The ended up just over about half a mile from the vehicle and at that point they decided to move back, and about that time, it started to snow. It started as light flurries that hardly accumulated, but started to fall a bit harder. Fuad made a face expressing his displeasure, but kept them to himself for the time being. They were within a few hundred yards of the vehicle when Fuad stopped suddenly and silently, so much so that Terry took a few steps before realizing what was going on. He turned back and looked at Fuad, who pointed down to the ground.

There were footprints in the light snow.

Fuad spoke up first, but quietly. "It's a kid. It's alone. And it's not shambling or dragging. I think this kid's alives."

"You don't know that," Terry shot back quickly, already seeing where this was going. "I don't think w--"

"Shut up Terry. We're gunna check it out. Worst case scenario, it's one kid walker and we just put it down. But this may be a kid, and this kid may need help."

It was rare that Fuad was forward and commanding, but when he was, Terry knew the argument was generally sound, and that it would ultimately dissolve to "well then leave Terry, I'll do it myself." They've been in spots like this before.

---

As Valentina kept walking, finding nothing but the dead and dust, saliva was dribbling down her chin as she continued to starve. It had been close to four days since she had a proper three-meal ration arrangement, and she'd had no food at all on the fourth day. Foam was beginning to form on the side of her mouth. Her arms and legs could not help but to shiver. The hunger pangs in the stomach was unbearable. Everything swam before her eyes, and the lack of sleep made everything even more unbearable - even the snow and sunshine, things normally enjoyable, became nothing but a source of irritation to Valentina.

Thoughts ran through her mind. Naughty thoughts, but by now good and bad mattered little as she decided, inasmuch as how much a starving child could decide, that she would do anything to find food and bring some back to Dylan. Thoughts of her previous attempt to rob someone returned, haunting her, jabbing at her heart - but the pain from it was nothing compared to the abuse her stomach was going through, so she remained resolute. 'Gretel did kill the witch', Valentina decided. 'The Prince did kill Maleficent to save the sleeping beauty', she thought. 'The Three Little Pigs did kill the Big Bad Wolf', she believed. Then she remembered how she was badly treated by everyone she came across, well, except for her family, Lieutenant Hugh and his men, and Dylan.

The little girl, however, did not have to languish in her dark thoughts as an opportunity had presented itself to her - two men standing out in the open, in the middle of the road, seemingly unafraid. Valentina decided, in her extreme hunger and delirium, that they were bad men for standing in the middle of the road, unafraid, and decided that she would kill them for whatever they had. Quickly darting towards the twisted hulk of a wrecked vehicle, she hid behind it with her MP5K close at hand. Hopping from one hiding spot to the next, she was coming closer, almost ready to gun them down.

Yet... Valentina remembered, miraculously through the haze of desperation clouding her that was like an evil magical spell from a dark sorcerer. She remembered her last attempt at robbing. A family of five, like her own. A father, a mother, two daughters and a son, like her own. She remembered pointing Valerie's snub-nosed revolver at them, asking for everything they had, but they said they had nothing. Hungry and desperate, Valentina remembered firing her gun into the air - she didn't want to hurt anyone. She was afraid to hurt anyone then. Yet she did. The biters came, and as Valentina ran when a horde was forming, she turned back and saw that the family didn't - she remembered that one of them was trapped. She remembered seeing them being surrounded , fell upon by the hungry dead, torn to pieces in a dancing fountain of blood...

Feeling guilty, Valentina did not know what to do anymore. When she took a peek at the two men again, she saw them as just... men, rather than bad men. Although she was desperate, the screams from her previous robbery attempt haunted her. Standing up, she walked towards them, unable to think of a way, unable to think straight because of the haze surrounding her mind, permeating it, paralysing it. Looking at the ground as she approached the two men, she held on to her MP5K tightly, close to her chest, her knuckles turning white from her unnaturally vice-like grip (bearing in mind that she was a kid), unable to... think. Her eyes wandered, sometimes landing on the road, sometimes on their legs, rarely and only briefly, on their eyes and then on the cars on the road.

Valentina, in her current state, was a miserable-looking thing. The abuse she suffered was becoming quite obvious. Other than her one dead eye and frowning scar, her eyebags betrayed her lack of proper sleep, her shaking limbs hunger, not to mention the paleness upon her skin - exhaustion and everything else. The barrel of her gun wavered as Valentina decided what to do with it, but never towards the men as she was unsure what to do with them.

CDC, Fort Leonard (Collab Between finalcatharsis & Azseth)

Jon looked around and saw that outside of those in the immediate vicinity were talking and Kim seemed to be set on staying. Aside from the girl, Marianne, there were 3 others, 2 men and another woman. As Jon and Petra moved away from the armory and to the control room, the other group kind of moved and took their own supplies. Jon was hard pressed not to say anything but the truth was they'd need it all just as much as anyone else, and there was enough to go around. Will nodded to a few, but seemed silent for the most part. Harris was a disaster, loudly talking to anyone who'd listen and complaining while packing his stuff into his newly acquired bag. Jon recognized there was a building anxiety in Harris as the time of them leaving this place came closer.

They were standing in front of the control room door in relative silence as Jon looked around. Under normal circumstances the entering of this information would be secret and either done in the presence of others with similar clearance, or private, but that didn't matter any more and would most likely raise more suspicion or questions. He decided however, that now would be a good time to interject some humor. "Everyone avert your gaze, this is Sector 9, G level classified. I'd hate to have to kill you." With a smirk, he slid his card and there were prompts identical to the last card ready, except it one paid attention, this time Jon entered a code completely different from the last and it differed by 1 digit.

The door made another series of clicks and thunks and then Jon opened the door. He was given a very quick reminder to be cautious and to keep your guard up because before the door was even opened fully, someone yelled "Fuck you Brad, mother fucker," even as two shots slammed into the door, one so close to his head he could hear the whirring of the ricochetting round.

Finally, the moment Petra had been waiting for - her chance to pull together some semblance of understanding. Her chance to find out why she'd been locked up for, for so long with no answers. The whole zombie thing seemed credible... but it couldn't actually be real, could it? She licked her lips as Jon typed in the code. Her eyes were wide in anticipation. The thought had just dawned on her that there might be someone inside. Sure it had been close to a week since her door had been opened for upkeep and she'd had any contact, but that was no reason to assume that the place remained unstaffed. And of course, there was that one dead guard already. Her chance for interrogation had died with him.

Jon warned her to be ready. If the earlier surprise repeated itself, then there was a good chance whoever was on the other side, if anyone, was armed and probably just as ready to shoot as the other guy had been. Petra untucked her newly acquired pistol and toggled the safety off. She changed the rhythm of her breathing to something much more slow, shallow, and deliberate. Something more like she practiced when she was doing some shooting up of another variety. Those images tried to force their way back in. The bloody children. Just remember the training, Petra. Remember where you are. Don't forget how to fucking aim.

The door cracked and when she heard the person screaming on the other side, she was filled with surprise, confusion, and wonder all at the same time. There was someone there! But shit. He wanted to kill, just like the other man had. But none of them were Brad. Did that mean they had a chance to actually get in there and talk to the guy? Instinctively, Petra ducked down to the floor when she heard the gun shots, squatting all the way down until her backside reached the tile. Her right hand kept the pistol pointed at the door while her left made an attempt to cover her head. In the end, what would a hand do though?

Petra's eyes darted back and forth between the crack where the sound came from and Jon. They pleaded a bit with him. What was she supposed to do? It was the same as back then. She felt like a little kid who needed to be told what to do. FUCK. He put his hand out, in a 'calm down' motion, then motioned for her to talk, making the gesture again with his hands.

"Don't shoot! We just want to talk!" The words came out before she really even had a chance to think about what she wanted to say. Petra manuevered herself onto her knees and free hand. She didn't hear words in response right away, but she could hear his panicked breathing, even through the small crack. Whoever he was, he was scared, maybe even hurt if she recognized that certain twinge of anxiety. With another brief glance to Jon as if to ask permission, she inched closer to the crack to try and peek through. Her right eye stayed shut tight while the left stretched as far open as it could and darted around trying to get what little bit of visual information it could. She saw booted feet. They paced in and out of view, occasionally stopping to face the door. Behind those she saw a body on the floor, or rather a torso, that lay motionless. The chest didn't rise and fall, which could only mean that whoever it was, was long gone from this world. There was a lot of red. Blood everywhere that she could see.

Petra craned her neck and took her eyes away from the opening so her lips could get closer. "Can we come in? Whoever Brad is, he's not out here and we just want to figure out what's going on. Are you hurt? We can help you. Just... Just slide the pistol over here or something."

Harris was between the door and his own room and almost had a heart attack as more shots rang out. He hit the floor and crawled into his room for safety and watched Will on the other side of the hallway press himself flat against the wall to stay out of the doors line of sight. Jon cursed himself for not having expected this, but without thinking his pistol was already in his hand and he watched and listened to both Petra and the man inside. He remember that Brad was the dead guard, so obviously something had transpired between the two.

The man answered, "I ain't sliding out shit. I don't know you. Don't open the damn door another inch. All of you, just...go away." Jon could hear confusion in the mans voice, but he couldn't understand why, besides the fact that it wasn't Brad opening the door, but that should be a reason to be a bit less guarded. Then he decided to speak up. "Brad's dead."

"What?!? Are they here?"

Jon looked at Petra questioningly and cocked his head at an awkward angle, not sure how to answer the question. "Look, when the doors opened up, he opened fire on us. He's dead now. We're not Brad. He's laying here, under a sheet." There was no answer for a long time and Jon had no idea if the man was moving to the door, sleeping, or dead.

"Alright!" Petra released a sigh, when the man uttered the word. She put her left eye back to the crack and realized he was a lot closer to the door now. She watch as he bent over and set the fun down right at the crack. In her mind, it felt like a great victory. She smiled and leaned into the door with her right shoulder to widen the crack just enough to pull the gun out. She slid it back down the hallway, far beyond their little group.

"Now, back the fuck up and let me open the door!" Petra rose back up to her feet slowly and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jon. She didn't know what to do at this point. This was where the Peacekeepers would take over. But he wasn't exactly a Peacekeeper, was he? He was a computer nerd. But at least it seemed his heart and mind were in the right place. "I want to confirm that motherfucker is dead!"

The crack in the door grew wider and wider, and in seconds, the man inside filled the entryway. Jon had never seen him before, but he could tell the man had seen better days. He was pale and part of his head looked burned and scabbed over at the same time, and there was blood running down his neck slowly. Whatever had happened to him, it was fresh, and based on the conversation earlier, it was most likely Brad who did this. The next apparent thing that became obvious to Jon is that this man was going to die, soon. Somehow, he found the strength to stand up, and before he took a chance to acknowledge anyone, he stood on his tip toes so he could see beyond all of them and to the sheet on the ground. Of course, he couldn't see the guys face, but he could tell from the arms sticking out and from the boots placed on top of the sheet that it had to Brad. The uniform matched. He looked at the sheet for a good minute before his gaze turned on Petra. He bit nervously at his lip while his eyes bounced from person to person. When he'd had his fill, he turned to go back into the room and found one of the swivel chairs. He plopped down tiredly and cross an arm over his belly.

Petra glanced up at Jon, then followed in behind the guy. She moved as close as she could to him without causing alarm. She was actually able to get a lot closer than she thought, a foot in front of him, but off to the side. Maybe he didn't feel too threatened by her. Or maybe he was too tired. This put her a lot closer to the other dead body in the room. Her eyes combed over it for a few seconds before they turned back on the living body.

"What happened here? Why has there been no contact for a week?"

He took a deep breath and sighed as he released, and Jon could recognize that the sound of that sigh was one of resignation. "Clean up. That's how Brad lost it. All he cared about was himself. He's the one who smashed the monitors." All of the 1st and 2nd floor monitors were smashed behind them while all of the 3rd floors were working. "He didn't want to, I 'unno, share? He wanted to live more than anything. That's what killed him in the end huh?"

"Did you kill him," Jon motioned to the other body on the floor.

"No. Brad too. Tried to kill me too. Guess he did really, just not like he wanted. I have a favor to ask."

At this point, he was rambling quickly and seemed to talk about anything but whatever he was asked to answer. Quickly however, Petra answered him. "Anything, just. Calm down, tell us."

"Don't let me turn. Fucking monsters, don't wanna be a fucking monster."

Jon answered him this time, "you didn't do anything, none of this was your fault."

If the guard heard anything, he didn't say it. He kept talking, reaching up and tapping himself on the forehead, looking at Jon's pistol. "Right here. Just right here. Don't miss. I'm not coming back."

Jon and Petra both looked at one another, and without missing a beat, suddenly the guard started screaming, looking at Petra. Harris and Will watched from the back of the door, trying to stay at a safe distance, but the man screaming made them nervous. "GET OUT WOMAN! NOW. I'll fucking kill you, all of you. Don't you understand?" Then he looked to Jon, "right here," he tapped his head again.

"Alright, alright. Just take it easy, ok?" Petra took a few steps back in the hopes of putting him at ease. She held her left hand up as if in surrender. Her right hand remained loosely gripped around the pistol.

The man sat up straight in his chair as she began to back away and said, "I'm gunna reach for my piece, and you're gunna kill me, or I'll kill you all."

Jon opened his mouth to say something but the man, true to his word, reached behind him and without much thought, and with no hesitation, Jon fired 3 times. Two to the chest, one to the head.

The revolver fell from his lifeless hands, clattering on the floor. There were no bullets in it.

"DON'T," Petra yelled just as soon as he reached behind him and the first shots were fired. It was meant as an instruction to both men, however vain an attempt. She hadn't been standing far enough away to avoid the blood splatter it hit her. Most of the liquid was absorbed into her clothing, but she could definitely feel some of the wetness on her face. She looked at the man who now slumped back in the chair, lifeless. Unlike before, her eyes immediately started to water. This was just too much... first being locked away for months, then having to watch two people die. On top of that, she had no idea what was going on. No idea where to even start at this point.

Petra felt a few tears skim over her cheeks. She wiped both palms over her face, smearing in some of the blood with the tears. She looked at the two behind her, then to Jon with wrinkled brows and half-closed, depressed eyes. Her body ached for physical contact, for someone to hold her. It had been far too long. But where was she going to get that in this place?

"What the fuck..." She mumbled. It was the only response she could muster at this point. She'd been gung-ho to get answers from the start, but that was falling away now. Petra sniffed and pulled the back of her hand under her running nostrils. Her knees felt weak, but when she felt them start to cave, she kept it to a slight wobble and pushed herself to move forward, back toward the corpse. There was something sticking out of one of his breast pockets that had drawn her attention when he'd originally sat down. Some type of notebook. When she reached him, she tucked her gun away once more and reached out with trembling fingers to pull it free. One of the corners had been stained with blood from one of the slugs to the chest. It was spiral bound on one side and there was an elastic band that held it closed at the bottom. When she unbound the side, some pages fell out and onto the floor. She bent down to grab them and discovered they were actually pictures; two of them. His family, maybe?

Petra flipped through the pages of the notebook hoping to find something, anything that could help her understand why any of this was happening. She thumbed through the last few pages which collectively read: The first and second floors are lost. Dead everywhere. Barricaded the door to the third. The outside is gone. I don't think I'll ever see my family again.

It's just us now, and all of the people up here. They said they were going to send help, but it's been days since our last contact. We ran out of time. The doors are opening today. Brad is jumpy. Me and Horace are trying keep him calm, but it's no use. I'm afraid of what he might do.

Jennifer, I love you. I think I'm dying. Brad killed Horace and tried to kill me too. He's going after the others. There's nothing I can do. But if he tries to come back in, I'll get him one way or the other - with bullets or teeth.

Jon didn't want to kill the man, but there really was no choice. With everything that was going on, the one thing that suddenly hit Jon was the gravity of the entire situation. He stood there, gun shaking in his hand under the false image of a man in shock over just killing a man, but the truth was that he'd mentally moved past that the moment he fired the shot.

It was obvious to him now that things had gone terribly wrong and right now, it was just not a matter of finding out if they were fucked or not, it was simply finding out how fucked they were and formulating a plan based on that. He still held the gun out, moving only when Petra came into view. "I'm.... Sorry."

Harris and Will both saw the whole thing and both were in shock. Despite Will's training and his attitude, he was young. Sure he'd seen deaths on TV, video games and movies, but this was another dead man, a real one. And this one was different. The other guard was kind of a no brainer, but this guy, he didn't seem murderous or deserving of death.

He just seemed scared.

Harris in the mean time was in a further state of shock and he simply slid down to the floor, shaking, and staring at his feet.

As Petra silently read the piece of paper, Jon slowly put his pistol away and looked around the room. All of the monitors of this floor were on and he looked around, even seeing the control room in one of the monitors as he viewed his back. Something was screaming out to his subconscious as he looked from monitor to monitor. All the rooms were visible, the hallway, as were Jon, Petra, Will and Harris. He could see Bradley's still form under the sheet.

Then he realized, he didn't see anyone else. In a quiet but stern voice, he asked "where'd the others go?"

CDC Center...

While Harris, Jon, Petra and Will conversed about supplies and went about their business, the other group moved in and claimed their own supplies from the armory. There were a few brief introductions and this group decided it was best to stay here and ride things out. One of the men geared up in a manner that indicated he had some form of military or police training, and he was actually a state trooper with extensive training and former military experience as a combat line medic. His name was Charles but he went by Chuck. He and Kim did some discussion about what to do as the walked around and eventually they came to an exit. However, the door was blocked by a rough, hasty barricade of bed frames, wood, cabinets and seemingly anything that wasn't bolted down or necessary. Both walls on opposite sides of the hall had black spraypaint on them and the words "DO NOT OPEN" appeared. Under that in smaller words were "ALL DOORS UNLOCKED!!" This could be taken as a warning to anyone who'd been out in the world, outside of their room and not isolated from what was actually going on. Those words were meant to say "nothing is keeping what's downstairs out!"

The Chuck and Kim however took that as an invitation to leave any time, and soon that group was quietly moving things away from the door and had it open in minutes. The hall was quiet, and Kim smiled and said "let's go everyone," holding Marianne's hand as they stepped into the hall. That was a few minutes before the gunshots were fired in the control room, and those sounds didn't make it to the other survivors. The hallway was long and quiet and only dimly lit as a lot of the light bulbs were out, and some seemed to have been taken out or broken. They moved along in silence except for the occasional crunching of class and an sniffle here and there. Chuck was upfront with his pistol in his hand, somewhat casually. It was an uneventful trip and the group stopped about 15 feet from the staircase going down.

Chuck smiled at the group as the all got close together. "Well, looks good. There was a map on the wall, said there was some other supply stuff down there, mainly a food one. I say we get down there, check it out and see who else is down there. If it's safe, we can stay or leave, whichever. Everyone stay together and stay quiet."

A girl spoke up and asked meekly, "what....what if there are zombies down there?" She was a woman, not a girl, but seemed too young to be here. She was actually degreed twice over and was here for those credentials however.

Kim smiled and Chuck put a hand on her shoulder as he said to her, "that wasn't real. And if it was, you saw up there, it's safe. Down here, there's no locks, maybe the other people are already out. Either way, it's nothing we can't handle. I'm sure the government just over reacted. Or, maybe it's all over, and that's why the doors unlocked."

"He's right," Kim said. "Even if there was a threat, I'm sure it would have been handled. This place was meant to keep us safe."

She nodded and cleared her throat and a moment later, the group was making their way towards the stairs. They were walking and there was a sudden, deep creak, almost as if the floor was groaning. All of them stopped and looked to one another. Chuck was about to speak and there was another creak and the floor shook a bit. He was about to tell everyone to slowly spread out when the center of the floor gave and all of the group on it disappeared below.

The fall was more of a slide as a part of the floor held firm, so the group slide down the floor and rolled, slide or bounced to the floor of the second level. The most immediate thing to the senses was the dark, the dust, and the smell of fire. It wasn't an active fire, but it was as if something near them, maybe the walls, floor, or a room had been on fire. In actuality, a good portion of this floor had been on fire and the ceiling above had lost it's structure because of it. Almost all of them were coughing and then it was there was movement in front of the girl who had spoke up earlier. "Help me up, I think I sprained my ankle." She reached up a hand and before she had any time to react or think, before she could see through the swirling dust, she felt incredible pain shoot through her fingers. Violent pain, indescribable pain. Pain that had her screaming for her life. Instinct made her pull back and she was in such pain and shock that she didn't notice her pinky and most of her left hand was gone. She simply scooted backwards on the floor until she hit another form. Again she reached for help and climbed up. She heard another scream and a series of gunshots that lit up the room. There were forms. People. Something. They were everywhere. She couldn't tell who was who, they were all just forms to her, and it was then that hands gripped her shoulder roughly and yanked her sharply. Not a fraction of a second later, she was bitten for the second time, but this one was a full bite on the back of her neck, and this one didn't let go.

And more of those forms were drawn to the scream.

Chuck reacted with a little more military training once the violence erupted, pulling one of his two pistols and opening fire. A few forms dropped but some kept coming. When 3 dropped after taking headshots at point blank range, he saw the trend and took headshots only, dropping several more that came at him. A form jumped on his back and he shook that off and backpedaled, feeling blood where the fingers had scratched him under his eye. Then a form rushed him and again he opened fire. He was shocked when the dead form of Kim slid to his feet. He stood in shock for a moment, and that moment was all it took for Chuck to be overwhelmed. After that, the only sounds from that floor were screams, an occasional gunshot, and then finally, the sound of the undead feeding on flesh.

Fuad and Terry proceeded in relative silence for a bit before coming up to an old car. It wasn't the largest, nor the most luxurious, but it provided concealment, relative cover and was nice because it kept heat well enough. It was an older Lincoln, so it actually afforded a lot of room compared to the more compact models of today. Both looked at each other, waiting to see if one would give reason to skip it and move on, but neither spoke up. With a slight shrug, both took "business as usual" which involved walking in a circle around the car many times over, going out as the walked. They would stand closer together at first then eventually end up about 20 or 30 feet away towards the end. They did this to see if they could find any immediate threats, like zombies or people, and then also looked for signs of activity, such as bodies, tracks, trails or anything of the sort. This was all done in relative silence unlike earlier in the day or when they were on the move. When they were moving, dangers could come and go, and they we already on the go, so it wasn't that important--danger was just as likely that you to walk into them as they into it. But now, they'd be static and they needed to be more mindful and serious.

The ended up just over about half a mile from the vehicle and at that point they decided to move back, and about that time, it started to snow. It started as light flurries that hardly accumulated, but started to fall a bit harder. Fuad made a face expressing his displeasure, but kept them to himself for the time being. They were within a few hundred yards of the vehicle when Fuad stopped suddenly and silently, so much so that Terry took a few steps before realizing what was going on. He turned back and looked at Fuad, who pointed down to the ground.

There were footprints in the light snow.

Fuad spoke up first, but quietly. "It's a kid. It's alone. And it's not shambling or dragging. I think this kid's alives."

"You don't know that," Terry shot back quickly, already seeing where this was going. "I don't think w--"

"Shut up Terry. We're gunna check it out. Worst case scenario, it's one kid walker and we just put it down. But this may be a kid, and this kid may need help."

It was rare that Fuad was forward and commanding, but when he did, Terry knew the argument was generally sound, and that it would ultimately dissolve to "well then leave Terry, I'll do it myself." They've been in spots like this before.

As Valentina kept walking, finding nothing but the dead and dust, saliva was dribbling down her chin as she continued to starve. It had been close to four days since she had a proper three-meal ration arrangement, and she'd had no food at all on the fourth day. Foam was beginning to form on the side of her mouth. Her arms and legs could not help but to shiver. The hunger pangs in the stomach was unbearable. Everything swam before her eyes, and the lack of sleep made everything even more unbearable - even the snow and sunshine, things normally enjoyable, became nothing but a source of irritation to Valentina.

Thoughts ran through her mind. Naughty thoughts, but by now good and bad mattered little as she decided, inasmuch as how much a starving child could decide, that she would do anything to find food and bring some back to Dylan. Thoughts of her previous attempt to rob someone returned, haunting her, jabbing at her heart - but the pain from it was nothing compared to the abuse her stomach was going through, so she remained resolute. 'Gretel did kill the witch', Valentina decided. 'The Prince did kill Maleficent to save the sleeping beauty', she thought. 'The Three Little Pigs did kill the Big Bad Wolf', she believed. Then she remembered how she was badly treated by everyone she came across, well, except for her family, Lieutenant Hugh and his men, and Dylan.

The little girl, however, did not have to languish in her dark thoughts as an opportunity had presented itself to her - two men standing out in the open, in the middle of the road, seemingly unafraid. Valentina decided, in her extreme hunger and delirium, that they were bad men for standing in the middle of the road, unafraid, and decided that she would kill them for whatever they had. Quickly darting towards the twisted hulk of a wrecked vehicle, she hid behind it with her MP5K close at hand. Hopping from one hiding spot to the next, she was coming closer, almost ready to gun them down.

Yet... Valentina remembered, miraculously through the haze of desperation clouding her that was like an evil magical spell from a dark sorcerer. She remembered her last attempt at robbing. A family of five, like her own. A father, a mother, two daughters and a son, like her own. She remembered pointing Valerie's snub-nosed revolver at them, asking for everything they had, but they said they had nothing. Hungry and desperate, Valentina remembered firing her gun into the air - she didn't want to hurt anyone. She was afraid to hurt anyone then. Yet she did. The biters came, and as Valentina ran when a horde was forming, she turned back and saw that the family didn't - she remembered that one of them was trapped. She remembered seeing them being surrounded , fell upon by the hungry dead, torn to pieces in a dancing fountain of blood...

Feeling guilty, Valentina did not know what to do anymore. When she took a peek at the two men again, she saw them as just... men, rather than bad men. Although she was desperate, the screams from her previous robbery attempt haunted her. Standing up, she walked towards them, unable to think of a way, unable to think straight because of the haze surrounding her mind, permeating it, paralysing it. Looking at the ground as she approached the two men, she held on to her MP5K tightly, close to her chest, her knuckles turning white from her unnaturally vice-like grip (bearing in mind that she was a kid), unable to... think. Her eyes wandered, sometimes landing on the road, sometimes on their legs, rarely and only briefly, on their eyes and then on the cars on the road.

Valentina, in her current state, was a miserable-looking thing. The abuse she suffered was becoming quite obvious. Other than her one dead eye and frowning scar, her eyebags betrayed her lack of proper sleep, her shaking limbs hunger, not to mention the paleness upon her skin - exhaustion and everything else. The barrel of her gun wavered as Valentina decided what to do with it, but never towards the men as she was unsure what to do with them.

---

Valentina was fighting against both the desire to rob the men and her dark past, unsure of what to do with herself. She wavered back and forth, spiraling down inside herself, becoming trapped in the quagmire of her unwelcome memories. Visions of herself robbing the family of five, bringing a horde of biters down on them, visions of herself stealing things, sometimes important things - she imagined the consequences without realizing it, her mind painting a horrifying image of someone starving without their food. A woman realizing that her bullets were missing at a crucial moment. Her knees gave way and the girl fell on them, unable to stand any longer as she held her head with both her hands, as if her brain would explode if she didn't. Her MP5K dangled on her shoulder, hanging uselessly, swaying. Saliva dripped down her chin, foam followed, as if she had contracted rabies from a dog.

Valentina's eyes widened as her single good eye (and her dead eye behind her patch) stared deep into one of the men's shoes, past it, through it - loss after loss, mistake after mistake, sin after sin unleashed their fury ipon her as she was on the floor, not just helpless, but beyond helpless as she was momentarily crippled on the inside. Her father's voice were all around her, joined by the rest of her family, and a choir of friends and even people she'd barely met, people who'd harmed her, people she'd harmed. Her father's voice adviced her, but taunted her. The voices grew louder and louder, as if scolding her, pulling her down, breaking her... Valentina covered her ears and screamed and cried.

Both men were following the path of the foot prints in the snow and listening when their attention was drawn to the area behind them. Having followed the prints, they were not paying much attention to the other direction and then they turned, they heard and saw what they were initially looking for. Immediately, Fuad found it odd that the sight of a girl in the snow could be such a shock. Granted, she did have a gun out, but it seemed like she was more about fall to the ground than anything. But, a gun was a gun, and Fuad didn't know how to act.

Terry on the other hand was suspicious. No young girl should be off by herself, so he was assuming this was a trap of some sort. He heard Fuad open his mouth and say "hey, are you--" but his words ceased immediately as he looked over her shoulder. Terry saw it, well, them, too and both of them pulled their shotguns and pointed it over and behind the girl.

Both yelled at her to get up, but neither approached, now wanting her to open fire on them. Terry yelled, while Fuad tried to be more stern and reassuring, but a myriad of "get up girl, there's zombies behind you" were thrown her way.

Valentina could barely hear beyond the shouting in her head. Sounds coming in from the outside world were muffled, including the warnings thrown at her, until they became loud enough, jerking her awake, and when she was a little more conscious of herself, she began looking around, wondering what had happened to her. The two men she saw puzzled her, confusing her as she could not recall them being there in the first place, nor were they friends. The ethereal voices began to fade, but she still could not hear, and her mind was a blank. All she could do was to stare at the two men even as biters were coming up to her, their moans of the damned barely even audible at all above her heartbeat.

Both Fuad and Terry cursed under their breaths and the two moved into action immediately. Minus the "fucks" and "son of a bitch" comments, the two moved in a complimentary manner and that was the advantage to surviving with someone for this long: you knew what to do, you knew what the other would do. Fuad took off running towards the girl and even while he expected is, the blast of the shotgun going off behind him caught him slightly off guard. He could see at least 4 zombies behind the girl, but there seemed to be more, and the number ultimately didn't mean anything. He pulled his pistol and fired over the girl at about the same moment that Terry let loose with another shotgun blast. Fuad shot left, Terry shot right, it's just the way they did things. Fuad made it to the girl and slid down in the snow, reaching for her.

"Hey hey, come with me," he said as quietly as he could, just before Terry chambered another round and opened fire again.

The gunshots near Valentina jolted her awake like lightning making contact with her fingertips. Jumping a little, her eyes widen, her only working eye staring wide in front of her. It was as if she had forgotten how to move, as she froze where she was, trying to understand what was going on. All of a sudden, a man who looked a little like her Turkish shopkeeper friend came up to her and offered her a hand. As things were happening too fast, she was taken aback and reluctant to trust him. Yet his similarity to an old friend endeared her a little to him - said old friend was said to have flown back to Turkey, never to be seen again, and his sudden disappearance was one of the first tragedies she suffered.

Staring into his eyes with her solitary cyclopean eye framed by an exhausted eyebag, she began to trust in him, and when one of the walking dead was coming in from the side, just outside of the middle-eastern man's sight, limping rather quickly for a stiff corpse, Valentina found her MP5K quickly, lifted it as she got into a kneeling position instinctively and fired several shots in a blink of an eye. The burst of shots, however, did not dispose of the biter. Valentina could barely hold her weapon, as she felt sickly and weak, her hands shaking as she struggled to defend herself and her Turkish shopkeeper look-alike. A bullet had missed, one landed square in its chest and another had dislodged its jaw.

Fuad got up and as he went to scoop the girl up was surprised she started firing at the zombies. He lifted her up with one arm and kicked the chest of the undead she'd shot, knocking it back to the ground heavily. A few more moved towards him but Terry opened fire again. A group of about 4 more walkers approached, a few moving quicker than Fuad had ever seen, and as he tried to dodge, he failed and one bit down heavily into his shoulder. "Ah fuck," he yelled and spun. The clothing he had was thick, but he could still feel his skin being crushed underneath and he was fairly certain blood was drawn to some degree. He managed to shake free and was surprised as Terry appeared in a blur, smashing the butt end of the shotgun into the skull of the one who'd bitten Fuad.

Most people who struck zeds in the head with the stock of rifles did so to create separation or stagger the undead. Terry was different however. It was either his sheer strength, or perhaps his complete and utter hatred for walkers coupled with his desire to end the existence of every single one of them (or maybe all three?), but when Terry came down with whatever blunt object he had in his hand, he was bringing the thunder. And the force behind that blow had the thing crumble to the ground and it ceased to move, leaving blood and brains strewn about.

Fuad ran without looking and after another 2 shotgun blasts, he assumed Terry was doing the same.

When Valentina's saviour carried her in his arms, the girl did not resist, partly because she was too weak to do so. For some reason she could no longer comprehend, she felt safe in his arms, and decided that he felt a little like her disappeared shopkeeper friend. Releasing her MP5K, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist instinctively, making it easier for the man saving her to carry her around., all the while fighting the urge to vomit from sheer hunger and exhaustion. Somehow, it occurred to her that it might be rude to hurl at someone, especially when he was helping her.

As Fuad ran, he found he was kind of caressing the girl reassuringly, and he heard himself saying things like "shhh," and "it's going to be ok," and "you're safe now" but it was like he was watching it or listening from the other side of a door. He ran and ran until finally, Terry behind him yelled gruffly, and breathlessly, "holy fuck... Let's stop.... They're....gone." He was huffing and puffing as Fuad turned to look at him, he realized he too was close to collapsing. Terry collapsed on the ground, breathing in the air hungrily but Fuad stayed standing. Without moving the girl away, he said to her. "I'm Fuad, that's Terry. Are you ok?"

Valentina, despite her time with Dylan, was still struggling with words. She was silent most of the time even when she was with him. "I'm..." She searched for her words, but then something else did the talking for her. Unable to stand it any longer, she turned her head away from her new friend and let it out, yet there was little to hurl. When she was done, saliva mixed with stomach fluid was dribbling down her face. It was a horrible sight. All of a sudden, she wasn't just desperate, but extremely miserable, and it was painfully expressed on her face. A bit of shame crawled up into her, something from the seemingly distant past, making things worse - it felt wrong to vomit in front of someone. Lacking the energy to cry, she shed a single tear. Her face did the rest. "I'm sorry."

If Fuad was taken aback, he didn't show it. He simply took a cloth from a cargo pocket and wiped her face. Despite his desire to be caring and light, months fighting for survival every day had made moments like these all but non-existent, so he almost gruffly said. "Don't be sorry. No big deal." Sure the words were meant to soothe her but they could have easily been taken as completely lacking anything reassuring. Then again, to someone else who'd been out in the world as Fuad and Terry had been, a statement like that could perhaps be taken for exactly what it was. He hadn't seen the girl clearly, had only a vague concept of her face and the patch, but it didn't matter at this point, he would let her dictate how and when she'd let go. Fuad took a moment to look at Terry, unsure of what he'd have to say about the current situation, but in the meantime, the big man seemed intent only on sucking in as much air as he could as he laid in the light snow.

After finding some strength and stiffling some sniffles and holding back tears, Valentina let herself down, but upon landing on her feet, she could feel just how weak she was, being barely able to carry her own Hello Kitty backpack and weapons. "I'm Valentina." She finally introduced herself. "Valentina V-Vetrov." The girl found that she couldn't look at them in the eyes for long, as if the men would kill her if she does. Instead, she opted to stare at the snowy ground, their feet and her puddle of vomit on occasion. Unsure of where to put her hands, she clasped them together, rubbing them. The first thing that came up on her mind was food and Dylan, but she was afraid to ask for anything, afraid that the men might turn on them, or that something might happen. "Thanks... For the..." Valentina continued softly, her good eye meeting Fuad's pair briefly before flitting back down to meet the ground again, unsure of how to express her gratitude, or anything for that matter. She was still attempting to regain her power of speech with Dylan, but it had only been a few days.

***********************
1 year ago...

"I pray you let me look upon the bond." Valentina said to a boy dressed in renaissance garbs standing opposite of her as she pointed conspicuously at a huge roll of paper tied to his belt. The boy looked shifty and conniving as he rubbed his hands in anticipation, too much like a stereotypical arch-villain to be realistic. Upon Valentina finishing her line, the boy flashed a shark smile at her as he pulled the roll of document from his belt.

"Here 'tis, most reverend doctor," The boy said in a rather unnatural accent, "here it is." He handed the roll of paper to Valentina, who took it with a well-hidden but strangely obvious look of distrust on her face.

"Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee." Valentina countered, maintaining a look of authority and defiance about her in her Venetian judge's robes, despite her fear for her suitor's friend. Had make-up not caked her smooth and unblemished face, she would have easily looked flushed and revealed that fear.

"An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven!" The boy then spat out his words, "Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No. Not for Venice!"

"Why, this bond is forfeit, and lawfully by this the Jew may claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut off nearest the merchant's heart." Panicking slightly at the gravity of the the situation, Valentina continued to improvise, stalling for time, asking for mercy for her suitor's friend without sounding like it. It helps to be in a judge's robe, "- Be merciful; Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond."

The play was a success, and the daring director who staged the redesigned Shakespearean work considered innovative and resourceful. This, despite the fact that it was a graduation play staged in an acting school, where Valentina attended after-school lessons after joining an acting club at her elementary school. Several distinguished guests had attended, much to the benefit of everyone involved.

"Dad! Did you like my play!?" Valentina had asked her father upon coming out of the backstage after most of the audience had left, coming up to him energetic, almost bouncing off floor and walls, excited, both her fine, perfect silver-blue eyes glittering with anticipation, "Did you like my play!?" Before her bear-sized father could reply, she'd pounced on him, hugging him.

"It was beautiful, my little Kotik." Her father had said as he looked her in the eyes, telling her things that words alone will never expressed. With his daughter, he'd never had to lie about her acting abilities. They smiled widely at each other. If only a man who was clearing his throat to attract attention did not interrupt them, they would have gone on further to express their love for each other.

"Uh hi, yeah, I'm sorry..." An awkward man about twice as thin as Valentina's father and a head shorter came up to them, adjusting his tie - he was sweating as if he was in the Mojave desert, "I'm an agent from uh... you know, all the way from Hollywood and I'd like to talk to you guys about something. Great play, by the way."

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

Fuad looked at the girl, then Terry, then looked around, making sure all was safe. Well, at least as safe as could be expected. When then girl climbed down, Fuad looked at her as she thanked him, but similarly, he had been far removed from intimate interactions with anyone for months now, so he was similarly off in that regard. He simply nodded and said "no problem." He didn't even look at her, continuing to scan the surrounding area and listening as best he could. Surprisingly, it was Terry who sat up and spoke next, gruffly saying to Val "Valentina, I'm Terry. Nice to meet you." He was smiling.

This was almost a shock to Fuad. First and foremost, since they've been together Terry had shown almost no form of emotion, except of course for anger and indifference. He wanted to live, and he wanted to live to kill zombies. The tone in which Terry spoke to the girl, and the look on his face seemed like something from a movie, it seemed fake.

It was then that Fuad realized at some point, Terry probably had kids, most likely a daughter.

Continuing before Valentina could reply, Terry patted his side and asked "did you need anything? Water, food? Are you hurt?" It was such a stark contrast from the Terry that Fuad knew. His tone was reassuring and calm, low and soothing. It was different from Fuad trying to placate someone. He never had kids, he had siblings and cousins, so his mannerisms were more brother/sister type things. Fuad simply stood off to the side, look around and hid a smile. He wondered then, why he hid that smile. Was he embarrassed? Did he not want others to see? Was it fake? Or, was it most likely because there was no room for smiles in this world?

The hum of the monitors made it a task to sleep, Ryan lay on one of the large sofas in far left corner of the room, his eyes slammed shut hoping sleep would find him but his efforts were in vain.
He sat upright and wiped away a bead of sweat that sat on his brow before standing up and heading over to the office at the far side of the room. Inside it was quiet and cool, at first glance he could see tgat the sofa here wouldnt be very accommodating and that the one from outside wouldnt easily fit through the door. He looked to his left and saw the large blinds pulled over the window, he moved to raise them and saw that there were two windows looking back into the main room, the windows ran the length if the room and were divided by a solitary ply dead centre. He could remove the glass and bring the sofa through, but that would have to wait he didn't have the energy or determination at this moment and settle for removing the cushions from the main sofa and using them as a make shift mattress, it wasn't a bed or even a sofa bed but it was heavenly all the same.

Ryan awoke of his own accord which was always a good thing, nothing to report and no over sleeping. He sat up and heard a small muffled noise coming from the main room.
He swiped at his eyes to clear some of the sleep from them and stood up with a stretch. As he did so he caught sight of a tannoy on one of the desks, that could be useful for future reference. Ryan made a mental note. He pulled the door open and strolled into the main room where the muffled sound became clearer, it seemed that Luke had found nor only a dvd player but also a dvd, it seemed to be some kind of show with some geeky guys and pretty girls, sounded relatively funny from the content he could hear. He beelined straight for the dining section and found some dry toast with a plate of beans waiting, the beans were still steaming. He sat at the table and ate his breakfast to the sound of Luke chuckling quietly at the the show.

"We can have ourselves a job today if you're uo for it?" He wokfed down another forkful of beans and picked up a slice of toast.

"Looking to make use of the office as a aleeping quarters, gonna pull the flass fron the window and bring in the big comfy sofa..." he took a bite of toast and remembered the tannoy.

"Oh ... you see over there... there's a tannoy... could use it to see ... if anyones down here with us?" He said with a mouthful of food.

He took the final bite of his breakfast, with the smell of toast now fainter he caught scent of his own aroma... it was definitely not one you'd wanna keep for long. He grimaced.

"Wow, we need to find out if there's somewhere to wash. I highly doubt there is but So far this place has surprised me"
He took his plate and cutlery over to the small sink ans rinsed them off before placing them on side to be cleaned later.
He took a seat off to lukes right ans watched the show with him.

"We should probably do a recce of the place, make sure there's no other way into this area, id there is we need to check all the doors, if they're security ones like the one outside then they need to be secure, if not then they need toe closed and secured as well.... we'll head out shortly."

Luke walked into the dining area and looked at the feast before him. He shook his head at Ryan and said, "Come on now man. You know I like my beans medium rare these are well done." The two men chuckled at one another as Luke sat down to enjoy the meal with a cup of coffee. Luke heard Ryan's analysis and ideas about the day. Luke nodded and said, "That sounds good to me. I gotta believe though that with all the people working here, and all the chemicals for like the upkeep of the station that there has to be some place they washed up. With locker rooms and everything there has to be something somewhere especially with the executives living high on the hog in this place."

He looked over at Ryan and said, "Yeah I think we both can use a shower and some washing up. It's a bad sign when neither of us can readily recall when the last time we took a shower. Then again it's just you and me I don't think we have to really worry about impressing anyone right now. Besides compared to some of the others that we've run into we're actually a couple of winners."

It was when Luke thought back to when Ryan mentioned another way in that Luke's focus shifted from the DVD to business at hand. Like a switch went off in his head that told him it was time to get back to business. Luke stood up and paced a bit and said, "I agree face it you and I have it pretty good in this joint, but you and i both know at some point things are gonna get dicey again. My friend we are living on borrowed time it's best we get ahead of things while we can. Not to mention it would be a pretty good idea to know of another way out of here."

Luke took another sip of his coffee and then left the room to make ready for their trip out. He thought about his bow and arrow, but decided against it because Luke knew it was time to keep an eye on his arrow supply. Sooner or later he would have to venture out to get some more from the sporting goods store down the street, or hope that there was tree farm in this place that he could pillage. Luke didn't think there was a huge chance of that happening, so he grabbed his baseball bat, some rope, his knife, a flashlight and made his way back to Ryan.

He said, "Once this episode is over go ahead and get ready and we'll move out." Luke looked back at the TV and said, "Didn't see this much when it first came out. It's rude and sophomoric and totally predictable." Luke looked back at Ryan and said, "And I love it." The two shared a laugh over that and watched the rest of the episode. When the episode was over Luke asked, "I wonder if the blonde is out there and is a survivor?" Ryan looked at Luke and Luke said, "Hey you never know a beautiful young lady like that and a mature guy like me. You know stranger things have happened."

Ryan shook his very slowly and Luke said, "Go ahead and gear up before I start asking those questions about the blonde wearing glasses. Which by the way not bad looking either." Luke shook his head and said, "Wow I need to get out more."

Luke said to Ryan as he prepared to get his gear, "Just a heads up with beans and coffee in me you might wanna let me walk behind you. I can already tell those beans are gonna give some issues."