The scene was one from the Underworld. Flames wrapped themselves around ancient trees, bringing them to the ground in minutes. Hunks of smouldering metal rained down from the sky, lodging themselves into the moist earth. Men and women screamed as they scrambled to drag themselves free from a horrifying death. The ever present shrieks of plaguers mingled with those of their victims, even as fire consumed their flesh.

Dr. Kyle Jackson cradled his head, and rocked violently from side to side. Within the Sky Ship's medical bay, he and a few others had managed to use the room's hardened steel walls to cushion the worst of the impact. Not all of them had survived though; Dr. Julie Blair-Park's limp and lifeless corpse hung from the iron rafters - she had ignored Kyle's advice to secure herself to something solid. He looked up at her through the cracked lenses of his glasses, unable to conform to what he was seeing. Such a beautiful creature. Such a promising student. Evolution marches on. Evolution waits for no man, he heard the voice in his head say with cold authority.

Waits for no man.

Snapping out of his enhanced state of shock, he gasped for air. His lungs felt as if they were made from iron, and barely shifted. Were he a lesser man, uneducated and irrational, he'd of suffocated there and then. He was Doctor Kyle Jackson, however - a figure of great renown in the field of Advanced Medicine and Biological Theory. His name was scattered across several revolutionary papers on the origins of mankind, on viral analysis and bacterial prognosis. It would take more than shock to push him from the gene pool.

Holding up his hand, he focused on the blurry image of his finger and followed it as he moved it from side to side. Within seconds, his breathing eased, and sanity slowly started to move back into his rattled brain.

"What do we do, doctor?" Asked Matron Jenny Smith. She was dishevelled, wearing the bloodied overalls of her field.

"Yeah, Kyle, you're in charge man. You're the brainiac, get us out of here, man!" Chimed in Doctor Laurence Clearwater, of Portside University.

"What do we do? We leave before we become part of the fire triangle, of course," shot back Dr. Kyle as he clambered to his feet. "Is that difficult?"

Jenny pointed at the medical bay's jarred door. Flames licked around the edges, and a thick diesel tasting smoke was accumulating up by Julie's lifeless corpse. Kyle looked around for a window - but there wasn't one. He'd herded them in here for that reason. Curse my genius!

This is not how I die.

Looking around, Kyle racked the deepest recesses of his brain for knowledge of a Sky Ship's anatomy. The medical bay was located near the bottom of them, this he knew; he was sitting upright, so the ship must have come down upright. An explosion sounded from beyond the door, and it shuddered on its crippled hinges. If he didn't think of something soon, they were all carrion.

"We go up," he said suddenly; everyone looked at him quizzically. "Julie's death was not in vain. Look, the impact of her body against the rafters has caused one of the steel plates to buckle. With enough force, we could dislodge it."

They looked up, and saw he was right. The poor woman's back must have completely shattered with that impact, but in doing so, she may well have saved them. The bolts, perhaps rusted with age, had given way. Quickly, Doctor Laurence clambered on top of a surgical bed and poked up at the panel with an IV pole. Surely enough, it moved, and then the group shuddered - the women screamed, as it fell down and crushed Laurence's skull.

"Oh my!" Jenny was screaming repeatedly. The sound drove nails into Kyle's aching brain.

"Shut up!" He snapped, slapping her across the face. "Up we go; forget him. He died so that we all may live, and he was careless to have prodded the panel from that angle!"

"Oh you cold so-"

"Not cold, Jenny," he said with a sneer, "practical, and logical. If this displeases you, then stay and play nice with the fire. The rest of you, let's go."

A male nurse, dark skinned and with a foreign accent, raised a hand. Kyle nodded at him.

"Shouldn't we take some of this stuff with us?" The nurse asked, almost embarrassed, as he pointed to stacks of medical and surgical equipment.

Kyle slapped himself this time, "of course, of course! All of you grab something, who knows what we'll need - OH, oh and Jenny, the vaccine! If we leave that behind, everything has been for nothing!"

This seemed to snap Jenny out of her despair, and she quickly ran over to a secure lock box and opened it with her key. Inside were two boxes of phials containing a purple liquid. Three hundred of them in all. They were to be the final testament of Kyle's great scientific mind - it was he, not his predecessor, who had isolated that virus and discovered its horrifying secrets. With such knowledge, he was able to use blood from captured infected to create a vaccine - untested sure, but in theory it would work.

With a grunt, Kyle shoved some tables together, and then placed a chair on top. With a box of syringes and empty bloodbags stuffed under his arm, he heaved himself up through the hole. The Sky Ship had lost its hull above the medical bay, and he was greeted by a clear blue sky. He looked around and saw other survivors down below, fleeing the wreckage in all directions towards the jungle that encompassed the crash site. Glancing back down at his colleagues, he waved a hand.

"Come on, evolution demands you get up here ASAP!"

Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.

Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.

FRAKKING SHOOT!

Victor snapped back to conscious awareness of his surroundings to the smell of burning wood and flesh, and the scent of gunpowder from his favored shotgun in his hands after is blew a hole in a infected man's head. He must have fired by reflex, and that instinct saved his life in his cabin when a infected tried to break in after the crash.

"Boss! Boss! You alright up there?!" Called out a voice down the hall. Victor picked himself up to peer out the doorway to find a pair of familiar faces from his gang with smoking pistols in their hands rushing up to him. "You okay boss? Your covered in blood."

"Not mine. Its Peterson's when some bastard infected tore out his throat trying to get into my cabin." Waved off Hawthorne as he pulled himself into the corridor after picking up his ready bag from its cabin locker. "How many survived Marks?"

"About forty of our guys boss. Port forward cargo bay was crushed, nobody's alive there sir. I think the aft cargo hold fared better, I sent Roland to take a look. Some aft bridge crew and military-types signed on with us, they're working forward to the armory lockers with Reed to grab some guns and ammo and see if this ship is gonna explode or not." Marks face was pale and his breath was coming in staggered heaves, but he diligently reported as he fumbled to reload his pistol. "Gotta be careful sir, theres infected everywhere. Best to stick with us."

"Agreed. We move together. Alright, lets get to the aft cargo hold and grab everyone and everything we can. Forget the starboard bay, lets focus on the aft hold.” Taking point with a now-reloaded shotgun, Victor took his two men through the fire and smoke-filled corridors of the airship calling out for survivors, more than once running into infected that had to be put down. Man, woman, child, it made no difference to the trio of hardened criminals who had once thrived under the chaos the plague had brought back in their homeland. The infected had to die. The only cure was a bullet to the head.

Managing to make their way to the aft cargo hold, Victor saw firsthand the ruin the crash landing brought upon the stacked cargo and packed refugees within, but squelched the revulsion at the sight of blood with a brutally analytical assessment. There were at least a hundred people alive in this bay, possibly a hundred more amongst the corridors and cabins. A fraction of those who boarded, but perhaps enough for his purposes. Miraculously, no infected here.

A ragged blonde-haired woman in a aviator’s jacket rushed up to meet him at the hatch, heaving with exertion at both the run and the large bundle in her arms. “Boss. We got about a hundred-fifty people in this here hold. Lotta crates of food and hard clothing too. I think the cargo doors are still working, but I haven’t had a chance to check the control box yet.”

“Right, good work. Alright, you and Marks check out the control box and prepare to get the cargo doors to open on my order. Jamal, stand by the door and make sure no infected get in. It would be mite embarrassing if a plaguer interrupts my speech.” A round of affirmatives as Victor’s associates rushed to obey his orders while he clambered ontop of a stack of crates and fired his shotgun into the ceiling to get the attention of everyone in the bay.

“LISTEN UP! My name is Victor Hawthorne, and we need to get out of this crate! If we’re going to survive, we need to stick together! Everyone grab something and be ready to haul it out of here the moment those doors open, nobody comes out of here empty handed you hear!? Get to the treeline, and stay there until I tell you otherwise, got it! Any objections? No? Good! Now get ready to move!”

Victor honestly didn’t know how the crowd was going to react to his crazed rant, but everyone seemed to be in enough shock to obey and start lifting crates and bundles. Someone evidently had the smarts to try and get a pull-sled moving even without a steam engine on hand, replacing it with the muscle of twenty men. In the control booth, Roland gave Victor a thumbs up, which he returned with a wave in acknowledgement.

“Get to the treeline and don’t stop for anything!” Repeated Victor as he reloaded and picked up a travel bag that looked military. “Open the gate! GO GO GO!”

MEMORANDUM FOR: High Command, to be delivered as soon as rescue comes

FROM: Colonel Joachim Hessler, 4th Guards Infantry Battalion Commanding Officer, Royal Army.

Subject: After-Action Report.

March 1st, 1887.

Units participating: 4th Battalion alone was entrusted to this area.

Mission: Ensure the orderly evacuation of VIPs and defend the landing zone until the primary objective was accomplished.

Execution: Barricades erected, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th companies manned them. 5th company acted as reserve, 6th kept peace on tarmac between civilians.

Battalion Officers:

Commanding Officer: COL Joachim R Hessler
Executive Officer: MAJ William Blakeney
Personnel Officer: CPT Rudyard Stewart
Security Officer: CPT Otto Roon
Operations Officer: CPT Gerhard Stewart
Logistics Officer: CPT Johan Ansbach
Plans Officer: 1LT Anthony Oldman
Signal Officer: 1LT Andrew Utrecht

Weather:
Early morning fog burning off 8:30 - 9:30 am (08:30 to 09:30 hours).
Transition from dry to light rain showers, variable
winds to 10 knots, cloudiness during mid to late
afternoon hours. Temperatures ranged from 78 degrees to 57 degrees.

4:15 AM:
Orders received.

4:29 AM:
Former Zone of Responsibility given to other units. Arrived on scene and relieved understrength 1st Battalion while in contact with the enemy.

5:52 AM

First VIP evacuated. 4th company reports riotous civilian behavior

7:12 AM: Second and third VIPs evacuated.

8:02 AM: Casualties still light. Barricades proving incapable of holding incredibly determined rioters. Redeployed 5th Company towards main gate as reinforcement.

9:35 AM: Final five VIPs arrive and update orders in light of increasingly untenable tactical situation. Completely secure as many sky ships as possible and forsake the rest. Screen all passengers for infection. Preference for screening and possible evacuation ordered for able bodied, young women to enhance species survival chance by balancing gender ratio. Leave when full. Makeshift barricades erected to that effect, manned by 1st-5th companies. 6th checks potential passengers for bites or other marks of infection.

10:56 AM:
All six sky ships filled with screened passengers. Companies retreat to sky ships. Battalion Staff joins 5th company.

11:01 AM:
All screened sky ships departed.

March 3rd, 1887

10:11 AM:
Unscreened ship falls out of sky into ocean. Infected expected.

2:03 PM:

Unexplained, catastrophic boiler failure at very low altitude resulting in 13 immediate military fatalities in sky ship crew. Crash landing only option.

2:13 PM:

Due to expert piloting and exceptional discipline by all, zero military or civilian casualties. As 5th company ship was an attack ship, little nonmilitary goods salvaged. Armament and hull compromised beyond repair.

CASUALTIES:

51 fatalities from 5th Company, unknown from others. Three sky ship crew.

Numerous minor injuries.

Current forces:

4 Rifle Platoons of 5th company, 47 men each.
4 5th company officers.
6 battalion staff officers.
Pilot and co-pilot
100 civilians, all able bodied.

Raymond awoke from the crash. He was still strapped into his seat, and the skyship was still intact, mostly. People were calling out across the ship, running through the corridors. The alarms were blaring, and pipes were bleeding steam. Raymond unbuckled himself from his seat and fell to the floor. He fought the urge to hurl as he stood and grabbed a passerby by the arm. He wore the uniform of a skyship engineer. "What's going on?"

"We crashed." Raymond asked what in specific was happening. "There's a fire on the aft starboard deck, it hasn't hurt anyone, but it could ignite the hydrogen balloons and blow us all to hell. Also the aft cargo door is jammed so we can't disembark anyone or anything, I'm looking for anyone who can help."

"Alright, go to the forward port passenger module and tell the people there the Chief needs them. Send them to help with the fire and the doors. In the mean time, start evacuating people through the maintenance hatches." The skyship engineer nodded and ran off. Raymond started limping towards the cargo bay.

As far as he could tell, their skyship was struck by another. Perhaps it had lost control or been damaged in the storm, maybe infected had overrun it and left it without guidance. Raymond hoped the case was one of the former. Their skyship had already had some issues with infected aboard, but they were swiftly dealt with. Raymond hoped the accursed plague hadn't followed them, but there likely wasn't much hope of that.

The cargo hold was packed with supplies and people trying to get out of the imperiled skyship. Ray had to push his way through the crowd to get to the doors and examine the malfunction. People were calling out questions, each trying to get a grasp of the situation and add their advice. "Why aren't the doors opening?" "Somebody get to the door controls." "Where's the Captain?" "Why'd we crash?" "Try prying them open!" "Who's in charge here?" "Those doors are too big to just pry open." "Why ain't the buttons working?"

Raymond noticed the motors weren't moving which meant there was no power or the wiring was damaged. He had no time to hunt down a break in wiring, nor the tools to fix it, so he started looking for a manual crank. Sure enough he found one, and no one had noticed because nobody by the door had any mechanical experience. Calling for help to turn it, Raymond got the crank turning, but slowly: the rusty thing hadn't been maintenanced in what looked like months. People began pouring out of the skyship in an ever increasing trickle.

Once the cargo doors were fully open, Raymond joined the throng outside the airship and took in his surroundings. The mass of survivors looked around and chattered as they took in theor surroundings. They had landed on some kind of plateau on a mountain slope. We can at least get a good view of their surroundings from up here. Raymond thought. A jungle was a few miles down the slope, and only a mile or two up the slope was snow. At least water won't be too much of an issue. Raymond's thoughts were interrupted by a woman in her 40s or 50s. "You are the one who opened the doors, am I right?"

"Um, yes, ma'am."

"You saved all our lives. Thank you."

Ray was taken aback; he hadn't really thought about the situation like that. People began murmuring to one another about this revelation, some skeptical, others grateful, most confused. The old woman lingered, expecting Raymond to say something, so he dumbly said, "Well, there was a fire onboard and I had to get everyone off before the hydrogen balloons went up. It could have killed everyone." This admission only stirred more chatter among the survivors. Their gossip increased in volume again when the skyship engineer Raymond had stopped came out of the ship with some of Raymond's union members and explained the fire was under control and that the men Raymond had directed to help were instrumental in putting the fire out.

"So, where's the Captain?" Raymond asked.

The engineer shook his head. "That skyship that hit us sheared off the entire cockpit."

"So who's in charge?" Ray asked. "You?"

The engineer shook his head and raised his hands. "No, sir, not me. If anyone, I think you should be in charge."

The crowd looked on expectantly, and Raymond sighed. "Okay. I need someone, uhh, you. Get a head count going, find out how many people are alive and kicking. You get a burial detail organized for anyone who didn't make it. See if we have a preacher in the group. I need you two to take inventory of what supplies we have, and you," he pointed to the engineer, "Get me a report on the skyship's condition."

The engineer saluted. "Sure thing, Chief... uh..."

"The name's Skalter. Union Chief Raymond Skalter."

6:27am in the morning, UTC.

Steam bellowed from all of the port-side compartments. Both the screams of those who persevered and the silence of those who jumped reminded the refugees of the horrible incidents of only forty minutes ago, and led some to believe that Edwin was not worthy as a proper leader. The screams grew louder by the minute. Not only were people jumping overboard, they were being tossed to their deaths.

All of this raucous shook Edwin out of unconsciousness.

"What the hell is going on?" Edwin's voice was raspy, but was capable of shouting, and he did so. Some refugees nearby were alarmed and stopped screaming.

"You don't remember? Sir, the ship was involved in a bit of an, uh, accident. People are bein-" A refugee replied without fear.

"Well thank you, but I'm well aware of that! What happened?"

Edwin hadn't noticed the badge on the refugee's chest. He was a chief of a armed platoon back before the plague had struck their homeland, but was separated when he was forced to flee. He found a multitude of different survivors with Edwin and decided to flee with them, with Edwin's permission. He had been allowed, and now they were here, on the verge of stalling over an island barely discovered and inhabited. The chief cleared his throat, and identified himself as Chief Tharald.

"Chief, I'm sorry for barking at you like that, but I need to know now. What exactly happened?"

Edwin looked around and gathered his bearings. Most people stopped screaming now, trying to get an extra ear in on the conversation. Nobody dared to interrupt. Chief Tharald and him were standing just outside the captain's bridge. A foul stench wafted in through the mostly-closed steel door, and Edwin quickly looked inside before abruptly slamming the door.

"He's been dead since the airship crash." Chief Tharald whispered in a low tone. "You were lucky; you only fell unconscious and suffered a couple second-degree burns and scratches. Compared to the rest of us, you came out mostly unscathed."

"Damn it. We crashed?" Edwin was in shock. How could the captain have crashed our mighty ironclad-airship into another? Captain Morrowberry was very proficient at his job.

"Yes. Another airship crashed into ours earlier, and the damages were fairly equal. Each ship sustained mighty fires, theirs from what looked like the starboard side, ours from the port. Our cannons are completely busted, and some supply crates slid overboard. Their cockpit was ripped off entirely! Some crazed people, possibly hosts of the plague, managed to board our craft through a side entrance, but-"

"Oh my god. The people falling, that isn't it, is it? They were thrown!" Edwin shuddered, as resilient as he was, but regained his senses within seconds. Chief Tharald had a grim look on his face, and mustered a shy "yes". Sweat was dripping heavily from Edwin's coarse eyebrows, and his face shrunk considerably.

"As far as we can tell, the hosts of the plague are dead now. Medical attendants, mostly nurses, are caring to the injuries sustained in the accident, and we're lucky that we are still in the air. The other airship span crazily out of control and crashed into a rough tundra-looking terrain some couple hundred feet below. I've got to go back to the stockpile, try to stop stuff from sliding overboard". Tharald didn't let Edwin interrupt this time, and left abruptly without uttering a goodbye. He strode down the hall shakily, boiling from the ever-rising temperatures.

Edwin was overheating too. He made his way onto the observation deck and peered down. The airship was still moving, albeit slowly, and he feared that they would end up with the same fate as the airship before them. They would stall, crash, and die. For all they knew, the crew of the airship were deceased, and while Edwin felt a strange sense of sorrow, he was much more grateful for the fact that most of his crew survived.

From the observation deck, he could see only water with a short glimpse of a coastline and rivers in the distance. He knew the airship had little chance of crashing onto dry land, but he was hopeful. He was not the best swimmer, and he wasn't convinced half his crew was either. He daydreamed for a short amount of time, his memory catching up to him, about how his refugees picked him as a leader. "Now what do they think?" Negative thoughts flowed into his mind just as the waves flow up onto the shore ahead of them. "Am I not fit to be a leader?" Before he knew it, he was exclaiming these thoughts. in the odd silence and privacy of the observation deck.

"Am I not fit to be a leader?" He said. "I've lead my people to this, this demise. Out from one tragedy and into another!" He was growing more angry, and was shouting now. Finally, once he took a break to breath in the soot-infested air, someone he was not aware was even there spoke up.

"No, sir. You should be proud!" A group of three refugees, two parents and one child, were standing at the small, reinforced door. The man, clearly a blacksmith, spoke again saying, "I mean, this isn't a good state to be in, but we are trying our best to repair the ship. All of us!"

"Are you not aware the ship is losing altitude, fast?" Edwin felt somewhat better by the family's praise, but he thought of them to be oblivious to the disasters that lie in the very near future. "We're stalling out, the captain's dead; I'm sure you know that. There is nothing but ocean and a bit of bare land in front of us!"

"My wife has a little understanding of how to pilot an airship. She's only had half a year of education, granted, but she'll be better than nothing. She may not fly it, but she'll stabilize it until further disasters!"

"You're clearly hopeful." Edwin said in a sarcastic tone. He wasn't in any sort of mood to be joyful, but every little bit helps. "Alright. Let her go at the controls. What are your names?"

"I'm Mark, or Markusson as I prefer to be called. She is Hilary, and slightly hard of hearing. And the boy-" Markusson was cut off by his little son who looked to be about seven or eight and had absolutely no marks or scratches, whatsoever.

"My name is Trenton!" The boy was giddy with all the excitement, and he didn't have too practical of an understanding of whats going on to be worried.

Hilary left for the bridge of the airship at the same moment Markusson and Edwin made their way around each corridor of the ship, gathering up as many people as possible.
The screaming had ceased by now, and almost sixty-eight people had been instructed to stay in the stockpiling quarters. Along the way, Edwin had managed to confront Chief Tharald again, this time instructing him to gather up as many people as possible and bring them back to the room everyone else was in.

---

"The stench is unbearable!" Hilary slowly entered the bridge, pinching her short nose tight with rosy fingers. She found two others in the bridge, working away at trying to get the ship to fly, and offered her assistance.

"Glad you came, Hilary. We could always use a bit of assistance!" The first and taller man in the room stood up, and Hilary instantly recognized both people as colleagues from her flight classes back in her home of Southspire Lake. The taller man was named Jackson, and the shorter, skinner one was Armund.

"Can you fix the trims and get the bearing indicator to at least level out to -10 degrees? We don't want to dive too fast." Armund was very knowledgeable about flight, having studied it for three years, however he was preoccupied with trying to make himself a sandwich and keeping an eye on the ground.

"Yeah, sure. Someone do me a favour and toss that guy overboard, he's no use to us dead." Hilary scoffed and almost gagged at her second look at the captain's mutilated corpse. She wondered for an instant if he died from burns, or if he was torn apart? Evidence from the body suggested both, and (oh god what if the infected didn't eat him alive but when he was dead oh god).

She quickly shook her head to get rid of the gruesome thought as the right-side hatch was opened and the body was disposed of.

---

"Two-hundred and fifty-six, two-hundred and fifty-seven, and you, Chairman Berigan." Chief Tharald was used to doing head counts of large crowds, and had managed to successfully finish this one before he lost count. The ship was nearing the surface now, but the three pilots including Hilary managed to level it out enough that the promise of a shore landing grew stronger.

"Please, do not call me that. I'm no chairman nor am I a dictator. We all work together here to thrive, okay?" Edwin believed in a socialist society, but being called a chairman set him off the edge. "I am however grateful that the headcount is finished, thank you for that."

Everyone was gathered into the stockpiling quarters, sitting, standing, and crouching around the large, burnt chests that gave the room its name. Even the makeshift pilots were not attending the helm anymore, directing all their attention to the headcount and the two apparent leaders, Tharald and Edwin.

The refugees separated themselves into groups sorting them by profession as instructed. The blacksmiths in one corner, farmers and housewives in another, and men of the trades in another. Edwin caught a glimpse of Markusson and his boy in the starboard corner of the room, and the blacksmith waved.

"Alright leader, what inspiring speech do you have for us now? We are all hopefully that the rest of us will survive, but what will we do?" Tharald wasn't directly trying to intimidate Edwin, but he felt strong. The strong waves of sunlight reflected off of Tharald's taut skin and muscles. The room went silent, expecting at least some dialogue from Edwin, and waited almost two minutes. A lot of the refugees startled when he shouted out the beginning of his speech.

"We originally had two-hundred and seventy-eight people. We have lost exactly twenty of them. But the accident we endured was a catastrophe, greatly reducing the opportunities all of us have. The rest of us will start a new life, on a new island, and bond together as a community. Twenty casualties is a lot in a time like this, where more manpower equals more survival. But we can do it. We will do it, we'll bounce back and prosper. Now, I'm sorry for all of you who lost a friend, a family member, or a spouse. But we all have to make sacrifices, and-" By this time, tears were starting to well up in the corners of his eyes. He choked very quickly, and started up again.
"We all have to make sacrifices, and we have. We will continue to, but it is for the future of our lives, and we will succeed!" He sat down as he finished his last words.

The crowd gave a fair amount of applause after the speech was finished, and almost all doubts of survival were abandoned. They were diving quite quickly towards what was now a large field with a beach and river nearby, and they all scavenged whatever they could in the room without getting lost. Seeds, weapons, purifying and medical equipment, building supplies were gathered up.

And before they knew it, they hit the ground with a violent crash.

Boom.

The last major sound Joseph heard, has he and some fisherman looked around, to a scene of carnage.
“Where the fuck are we?” asked one of the Fisherman, who’s name on his overalls is Matt.
“Don’t fucking know.. Shit… we should remove the survivors” another male on the right said, his name was covered slightly in blood but it read: J__COB.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” asked Joseph standing up.
A few shouts were heard from a few people, other men in fishermen uniform but also survivors were waving their hands from the various locations..
“Let’s hurry up and find them!”

4 Hours Later

The various survivors have all been treated thru the broken first-aid boxes, a small temporary camp site was nearby has a few armed scouting parties were going to find some sort of clearing and or hostile beings, a few shots were heard here and their but nothing too big. Another male dressed in a fisherman uniform with a few men wearing straw hats and plaid shirts were behind him. Bob was his name.
“ Bob, whatcha find?”
“Clearing nearby... It’ll be enough “said Bob
A male in a black jacket with a gauze around his hand looked to Joseph “There’s a lot of wood and equipment .. me and a few friends could begin making huts and houses in this clearing…” said the male.
“Find what you can, move everyone to the clearing” stated Joseph.
“ So what we gonna do now?” asked Matt
“They need someone to lead them…” replied Joseph, has he moved to the clearing.

Carrying the Torch

Doctor Kyle Jackson sat on a rock; circled by his colleagues. Grimy lab coats, thick framed glasses, stethoscopes, surgical aprons - they were the last of a dead profession. Science and medicine had taken a heavy blow, and with the homeland lost, perhaps along with the rest of the continent, the surviving members of the Vanguard Research Initiative were all that remained of humanity's hope against the plague. This fact was not lost on the Doctor, and his beady eyes looked coldly at everyone. Analyzing. Weighing. Deciding.

"Okay," he croaked, "this is all we have?"

Jenny nodded, "the others have fled into the jungle."

"Fools. Already dead, more than likely. So primitive, is it to run away from destruction without a moment spared for thought," snapped Kyle.

"At least we have the vaccine," said Sadiir, the foreign nurse. Kyle liked this man; agreed with his ethics and overriding sense of the bigger picture. It didn't matter that he hailed from the poverty-stricken South, a sound mind was a sound mind.

"This is true, but so little of it, alas," conceded Kyle bitterly. "Thousands of phials have been left behind in the bunker. What we have now is so little it's barely worth mentioning."

Jenny shifted uncomfortably on the rock next to Kyle; her sodden blonde curls plastered to her shoulders with the air's humidity. "Did we get them all?" she ventured.

Kyle nodded, "yes, the plaguers are dead. We've been over this; no one would have escaped our watch unseen."

"I know, but - how many quarantin-"

"ENOUGH," shouted Kyle; spittle flying into Jenny's freckled face. "I wont be spoken down to by an overly elaborated nurse."

"Fuck you," screeched Jenny, rising from the rock and brushing herself as if to rid any races of him from her overalls. "You're a fucking idiot."

Kyle sighed, scratching his head. He looked up at her and smiled sympathetically, "it's okay Matron, I know you're not responsible for the hormones raging through your body. Shriek and scream all you want at me, I will not take it to heart. Come back to me when you're over your... internal cleansing."

"Un-fucking-believable," she hissed, storming away from the group; the other women present lent her no visible support, nor showed dismay at Kyle.

"Good. Let us get down to business; what are the most pressing needs of survival?" He asked, pulling out a notepad and a pencil.

"Shelter, I can sense a storm coming," grunted Sadiir, nodding over to a bunch of gathering grey clouds off in the distance.

"Good, good, what else?"

"Water, we have little," said a lanky surgeon of senior years.

"Yes, yes, of course. Food, how are we for food?"

"Zilch. We have nothing, save for a few tins of beans I found in the wreck," said a burly man, dressed in the navy blue of the science team's security detail.

Kyle removed his glasses, and rubbed his sinuses in irritation, before looking back up, "so we lack all three of the basic survival requirements? That's fantastic, novel really."

"Shelter first," said Sadiir; his pearly white eyes peering out from his dark skin almost menacingly. "The human body can go-"

"Yes, yes, I know. We have five days to get the water sorted, two weeks to get the food sorted, but three hours before the rain hits us," snorted Kyle, putting away his notepad. "Options?"

"The wreck?" asked the aged surgeon.

"Fuck that, there might still be infected in there," shouted someone hysterically.

"The jungle, those trees'll give us cover," said another.

"Trees sounds like a good idea," said Kyle, nodding slowly. "Well, there's nothing for it. Grab the stuff, and follow me - let's carry the torch of humanity away from the rains of despair."

"You're such a fucking snobby, socially inept prick," called Jenny from somewhere afar.

Kyle snickered despite himself.

A Fresh Start

"He's gotta be here somewhere... look under the desk... come on boss, please... there! by the windows!" Those were the words Salvatore heard before feeling his body being carried away from where he lost his consciousness. The sky ship that carried them carried too much passengers, and they paid the price for overloading. The last thing he remembers before the crash was the sight of an island with a tall mountain in the middle, the ship then crashes into land, tossing his body around the captain's cabin due to the impact.

"Boss.. you there? come on boss... you need to wake up..." he hears the voice again, this time in a worried tone. "Ughh..." Sal attempted to reply but his body was still shaken from the crash, rendering him to give into sleep. The person that spoke seemed to have sighed in relief, and left him alone to rest.

After a days of sleeping, Salvatore woke up and eventually rose from the bed. As he look around, he finds himself inside a tent, issued to the sky ship they were riding before. "Ah! boss you're finally awake!" says the person that spoke earlier. Sal turned to where the voice came from, only to see his secretary running towards him, and landing with a huge hug. "We thought you were gone...*sniff*... I'm glad you're alright.."

"Jeez Mary... its going to take a few more crash landings to take me out.." He replies, his secretary was very attached to him ever since she worked for the mercenary group, but this reaction was just a bit too uncomfortable for him. "Say.. why don't you fill me in with what happened.. I can't remember anything since we crashed..."

"Yeah..*sniff* well.. the ship couldn't take much passengers, causing the propellers to break down." Mary says while moving back from the hug. "We were lucky to crash on this island.. but we don't know anything about it.. its uncharted when I checked on the map"

Sal nodded slowly, letting the information sink into his mind. "How many survived the crash?" he says. "At least two hundred survived from the five hundred we left with... the civilian quarter was the first to hit land, we tried to save as many as we could.. but there wasn't much people to be saved."

"And what of our men? how many are left?" Sal adds to his question, the loss of the civilians saddened him, but there wasn't much to do about it now. "There's a hundred that survived from the hundred and fifty we left with.. the ones that perished were stationed on the civilian quarters."

"I'm glad to hear that... so, did you proceed with the emergency protocols?"

Mary nodded to Sal before opening her mouth to speak. "Just like in the protocol, the first thing that we did was extract the survivors, you included, from the crash. After the extraction, I've sent squads inside to gather any supplies and equipment they can. Fortunately for us, the cargo hold was intact, saving the food stockpile, crates of outdoor clothing and other supplies."

Mary paused, wiping her runny nose before speaking again "Our men are couldn't salvage much from the armory section though, it burst into flames before they could take the rifles out, leaving us with only crates of ammunition and pistols."

"That'll do, I'm sure we wouldn't need weapons here anyways.. you said this was an uncharted island right?"

"Yeah.. but there's a possibility that there's locals here.. I mean, the island is teeming with life, we even saw a herd of deers not far from camp."

"Wait deers? they don't just come out in the open outside forests, where the hell are we?" Sal asked.

"Its best to see it for yourself." Mary replied before parting the tent covers for Sal to pass through.

Upon walking out of the tent, Sal see's a collection of survivors raising the first sharpened log as a foundation to the walls being built around the camp. Further looking around, Sal see's the camp situated on the cliff side, with the forest facing the entrance. There were smaller tents built around the tent he was in, but compared to his, the other ones seemed to fit only three to four people at a time. There was also a group of survivors not too far from the camp, cutting down trees with hatchets made from scrap metal from the crash site.

"How long was I out?" He asked Mary, who exited after Sal went out. "You were out for four days, your tummy had been grumbling since then, I'll go grab something for you to eat, alright?" she says before leaving Sal.

Salavatore stood still while letting everything he saw and heard sink in. The group did well while he's not around, which made him wonder why they even tried to look for him when they could handle themselves without him leading.

Ronan's stomach dropped with the tip of the airship. Without warninng, the ship angled downward into a nosedive. The air around them whistled as they sped downwards. All around Ronan, people were screaming and crying. Ronan added his voice to the commotion, but instead of him being fearful, he was enjoying the spiral to ann umtimate doom.
"Whooooopppp!"Ronan yelled at the top of his lungs. The orphans Ronan had gathered added their voices in similar joy. They screamed and yelled and whooped, and it only ended when a sickening crunch signasled the airships's crash. Ronan lurched forward, hitting his head on the steel wall of his compartment.

Ronan couldn't have been out for long. No longer than five minutes. Some of his fellow orphans were recovering conciuosness. Others were waiting for Ronan's guidance. As he observed the scene, Ronan turned to see a middle-aged woman hanging from the wall. Her stomach was red, covered in blood. Some sort of debris impaled her through the stomach. She looked down at it, dumbfounded. She muttered to herself unintelligibly, until eventually the life drained out of her.

Ronan made his kids look away, so they wouldn't be scarred. They were hardy enough, but still, some of the younger ones would have nightmares.
"Okay, guys. We need to get out of here, and fast." He turned and started to make his way out. The orphans had been shoved in the back, even seen with disdain by refugees. Yet they had been the safest. As they passed through numerous compartments, they w more and more corpses strewn about. He told them not to look, but he caught a few of them peeking. Suddenly, they came into the middle compartment, the largest so far. At the opposite end, the exit was blocked by two soldiers, muskets raised at the crowd of people clamoring to get out.
"Stop. We don't know how many of these guys were infected.We can't let you out, to possibly spread the virus." One soldier told the rioters.
"Fuck that! We'll die in here, there's fires in some of the compartments!" A man screamed. Cheers of agreement met him from his fellow crowdspeople. Ronan had his kids stick along the back.
"Stop, now! I will shoot you! I will shoot!" The second soldier screamed. He seemed younger, and much more afraid. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire filled the room. Ronan ducked low, his kids following suit. Smoke bellowed from the entrance. At first, everything stood still. The rioters looked at the soldier who had shot, then down at the bloody corpse. Then, as sudden as the gunshot, the crowd surged forward. Another shot, another victim, and then the crowd overran the soldiers, trampling them underfoot, Ronan waited a few minutes, to make sure the angry mob had left. Then he started forward, hopping over the crushed remains of the soldiers. The mobs were stupid, as in their rush to escape, they had left anything of value. Ronan grabbed the soldiers muskets, tossing one to a sixteen-year-old orphan. He then stripped them of any ammo. Looking around the small adjoining room, Ronan found a whole bunch of crates. There were more guns and ammunition, which he distributed to the older kids. In another crate he found vials upon vials of medicine, which he vaguely remembered would be useful.He gave these to some other kids, telling them to be extremely careful. In some other crates there were large bags filled with something. It took Ronan a moment to realize they were seeds. He gave these to the youngest.
"Okay, let's go." From there, Ronan easily found a way out. The bright tropical sun burned down on him, hurting his eyes. As they readjusted, Ronan saw children strewn around, weeping silently to themselves. Some had parents that were killed in the crash, or the infection, or had simply left them. Ronan told them to come with him. Observing the surroundings, Ronan found a large mountain towering above them.
"Okay guys, follow me. We're going to that mountain. We need to get the high ground." And so, Ronan set forward, a small army of young children marching along behind them. Ronan thought to himself. They were young, they were small, they were few, but they were alive.

A knock at Colonel Hessler's makeshift door pulled him away from a log entry and indicated the arrival of his expected guest.

From an area enclosed by curtains of whatever material could be found, the sleepy voice of Mrs. Hessler called out.

"Who is it, dear?"

Hessler called to the waiting soldier "Only a minute!" He looked over at her, pen still on paper. "Fifth company commander. Are you decent?"

The young Mrs. Hessler emerged, dressed in an ill-fitting uniform. She was lovely, the very paragon of poise and elegance, in every way the opposite of both the circumstances and the very masculine uniform she wore. Still, the uniform was of that marvelous material that was cool when hot and warm when chilly: she preferred nothing else.

"As much as I can be in this." She gave a twirl. "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous as always, which believe it or not is a negative quality at the moment. Bad for discipline. "

She rolled her eyes. "Joachim, why must you always be the stoic pragmatist? Shall I go rub my face in the dirt?"

For the first time in what felt like years, he smiled. With a twinkle in his eye, he rejoinded, "Could you?"

She sighed overly dramaticly, "I expect you and the Captain shall be speaking for some time. I shall go visit Mrs Blakeney, see how she is doing." As she exited, Joachim called out.

"Enter."

" You wanted to see me, sir?" Captain Jager opened the door and leaned his almost shaven head in. The heat was oppressive and the Colonel had no intention of holding it against anyone to shorten their regulation haircuts.

"Yes, come in. Have a seat."

In many ways, Hessler saw himself in the young officer. He could find no one better to entrust with the responsibility of caring for the soldiers.

"Captain,I want you to be aware, that I have no intention of taking fifth company from you. Consider me the military governor of this Island. The responsibility of leading, training, and organizing the soldiers is still yours. I will continue to give instructions, but I will do so only through you. You are their direct superior, not me. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I want 1st platoon to devote its efforts to constructing a water distillation apparatus. This is easily done.

Second platoon ought to be engaged in the procurement and cooking of whatever wildlife and fauna can be found. Select the hardiest men whenever new things must be tried.

Third platoon is on watch. Have them entrench.

Fourth platoon is to head east-northeast and check the other crash for survivors.

Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Perfect. Dismissed."

Vanguard Medical Staff Survivors



150 Survivors

- 90 Scientists/researchers of varying fields.
- 45 Medical staff, including doctors and nurses.
- 15 Security Staff

---

Base Camp

With a storm fast approaching the island from the north, Dr. Kyle Jackson has wasted no time in organising the survival effort. A well educated man, he has read several books on living in the wild, and knows exactly what must be done to secure both his safety, the safety of his colleagues, from the elements. However, he hasn't much of a practical mind, and nor have many of those in his group. This lack of basic know-how has stalled the creation of simple tools, and stifled attempts to erect any form of permanent shelter.

For the time being, Kyle's group have resolved to take cover under the thick jungle canopy to weather the storm. However, these conditions are not ideal, and two his people have fallen victim to a venomous serpent that they accidentally happened across. The snake was killed, and a sample taken for analysis; it is hoped that an antidote will be created it short order. It has served as a bold reminder to the survivors that under every leaf, awaits potential death.

What meagre food rations are in place, will last less than day. Already, there are plans to scout further afield for a food source, and the group are merging their intellectual might to piece together what they know of the island and its habitat. It is assumed that the fish off the coast will be similar to those from the homeland, but as for land based animals, it remains to be seen whether they will be able to offer sustenance.

Crash Site Locked Down

Although fairly sure that the infected on board the downed Sky Ship have been dealt with, Dr. Jackson has ordered the remaining members of his team's security detail to stand watch. They have done this begrudgingly, but for the time being the wreck has been secured. To allow just one carrier of the plague to escape, could spell doom to the survival effort. There is no telling what damage could be done, if an escaped plaguer reached a local tribe and spread the disease further.

Raymond had taken the Captain's Quarters and turned them into his headquarters, mostly because it was the only room in the crashed skyship that had a desk. The Ship Condition report made him groan as he read it. He was hoping the damages were minor and that they'd be able to repair them easily and get airborne, but it seemed like they were stuck here, wherever here was....

He had called a meeting with all the people he had sent out and everyone else who had an issue to bring up. “Okay, lets see how we can make my day worse,” He started with a joke which eased the considerable tension in the room. “First issue please, and give your name too.”

A woman, middle aged and holding herself with a graceful air, approached. “I am Madam Geraldine Knotsford Sir Skalter, and-”

Raymond interrupted, “Just Chief will do.”

She resumed, “Chief Skalter, we simply do not have enough room onboard this skyship for nearly two hundred fifty men, women and children to live. We need a more open shelter, lest disease spread and decimate us.”

“I agree. We will need to find a suitable place for habitation away from this wreck. We can't all survive within this ship.”

“Furthermore, we request that to stifle the premature spread of sickness, we ask that a latrine be built.”

“Granted. Dobson,” he addressed one of his old Union members, “Take ten men and get it done. We will look into new habitation sites, Madam, I promise. Next.”

An old man approached. “Hiltz. Just Hiltz. A storm is comin', and I can feels it. Its gonna be a biggun too. I dunno what te do abouts it, but I thought ye'd like te know.”

“Thank you, Hiltz. People?”

The skyship engineer who he helped and did the ship condition report stepped forward. “Jenks Viladi, I think its best we release the hydrogen on the balloons. If lightning strikes them, we could all get blown to hell, pardon my language.”

“Is there any chance we could fly without it, Jenks?”

“No, but I can assure you chief, this thing won't fly ever again. Its all in the report.”

Raymond nodded. “Can we use the hydrogen for anything?” Jenks shook his head. “Okay then, you're in charge of releasing the hydrogen without losing the balloons. We could use that large amount of canvas.”

“We could make ponchos out of them!” Madam Knotsford spoke up.

“Sounds good. Jenks, once you release the hydrogen gas, give the balloons to Madam Knotsford. Madam, I am putting you in charge of making ponchos out of balloon canvas. You may requisition anyone you see fit and able in this manner. Lets start with an order of fifty in... two days, then we'll see.” Jenks and the Madam nodded. “Also, send out a general order to the people to set out buckets, bowls, pots, anything that can catch water. It'll save us maybe a day or two from having to trek up the mountain to gather snow for water. Next?”

“ Knute Crenshaw, boss,” Knute had worked with Raymond as his direct underling in the Union and the two knew each other quite well. He had only introduced himself so that everyone would know his name, and as a subtle reinforcement of Ray's position. “Our food supplies are dangerously low. I'd like to organize a foraging party as soon as possible.”

“Granted, but I'd rather you hold off until after the storm. I'd also like you to organize a logging party. We could use the wood for cooking fires, repairs to the hull, tools, etcetera. Feel free to requisition whatever you feel appropriate from the arms locker. Next order of business, we need to find a new location for settlement. Ideas?”

Jenks stepped forward again, “We could use the life carrier to survey the surrounding region. We don't need to fully repair the it, we just need to fix up the gondola and the burners, then secure a line to it from the ground so it doesn't blow away. It's small enough to float only with hot air so we don't need any hydrogen, all we need is some lumber to fix the gondola and some coal or charcoal to give it lift.”

“That sounds much more efficient than sending scouting parties out into who-knows-what. Jenks, you are now Chief of Aviation. You're in charge of anything to do with the Life Carrier. If there are no more issues, you may all go about your duties.”

Memo to the Boss

Headcount
40 gangers (Loyal to you boss)
36 Military (mostly rear eclion eclelon rearguard and engineer types. Three shouting sergeants among them. A Medic too.)
24 Airship crew (tech-heads and mechanics. No officers)
135 laborers and worker -types.
15 children

250 Total

Got a few more girls than men. Got a bunch of walking wounded with only bandages to patch them up. All in all, no worse than the lot we had on the streets. And we're certainly better stocked. Got plenty of canned food, boots, jackets, and guns. Still doing counts on the stuff. But its a literal ton of canned food boss.

- Roland

* * * * * * *

Victor looked away from the accumulated pile of short reports on his impromptu desk made of three empty crates to look out his tent and the small camp that quickly cropped up within hours after the crash. The few tents they had were allocated to the wounded and children while everyone with two free hands made trips back and forth from the airship to haul crates out of the wreck, each crate adding to their chances of survival that much more. Most of it was food, crates filled with cans of preserved foodstuffs that would last a thousand people for a year. Or 250 for four years if the seals held in this humid weather. A few crates filled with canned coffee and tea were also a welcome addition, although they lacked any utensils to boil the stuff properly, damnit. Furthermore, other crates held outdoor adventurer clothing, providing both some measure of comfort and uniformity to the camp, although Hawthorne valued the supply of thick military boots more than the jackets. And above all else, they had plenty of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and ammunition. While keeping the gunpowder dry in these conditions was going to be a hellish task at best, those guns would save his people if nothing else would.

But what they didn't have was water or shelter. The river was some distance away, and there were precious few canteens and buckets amongst the survivors to haul water back. Victor was considering moving the camp directly to the river, but they knew too little about their surroundings despite sending out scout patrols to risk a large-scale movement at this time. Furthermore, they had very little to actually build with. They had exactly a dozen axes of dubious quality, and all of them were being worked heavily around the clock to cut trees and branches into impromptu hovels. But they were too small and too few to be real housing, and he doubted they would hold up under moderate rain, let alone a storm islands like these were supposedly known to have.

Furthermore, they still needed to keep watch on the carrier. No one knew if any infected got out into the wilderness, and the wreck still wasn't completely clear. But nobody wanted to risk going back inside its tangled decks to clear it out the hard way. So a dozen men with guns kept watch over the ongoing salvage efforts.

Scratching out a priority list of orders, Victor briefly wondered why everyone was so accepting of his authority. The military sergeants glared at him, but were the first to organize patrols and regularly report in on headcounts and supplies. The civilians were scared, but leapt to work when he ordered crews to haul crates, get water, cut trees and branches, and harvest berries found nearby. And his own men and women, the crew that held with him since the outbreak, well they were hanging on his every word as usual. He wasn't leading because of fear or rank or authority. He was leading by dint of being willing to lead. It was an unusual scenario to him, one his wasn't sure would keep up for long.

"Water, we need to get more water." He said, voicing his thoughts as he scribbled out a note to Roland before whistling for his trusty runner-boy to come forward. "Jake, take this to Roland and then tell the lumber-workers to focus on making more buckets or some other water container. If anyone has ideas on how to get more water, listen and tell me. Got it kid?" Jake nodded silently as he took up the note. "Good, hop to it."

Good kid. Loyal ever since Victor pulled him from street urchin into a courier. And one of the few Victor felt he could rely upon if things got worse, which they were likely to.

"Alright, what's next?"

* * * * * * *

@So Bored

"So then I tell him, thats not ale your drinking."

"I don't get it."

"Yeah, your jokes are never good Lente."

"Oh fuck you both."

A trio of men walked through the jungle wearing outdoors jackets and with carbine muskets in hand, prowling the jungle looking for anything, particularly water and any means to carry it back to basecamp. So far no luck and the trio were instead taking advantage of their peaceful surroundings to have a nice stroll. Relatively peaceful that is, as Carter found the continual stream of bad jokes from Lente to be really grinding on his nerves.

"Okay, let me try another one. A midget, a courtesan, and a whore walk into a bar-"

"Shh!" Carter cut him off, waving both of his companions down to the ground. "Shut up! Listen, I hear footsteps." The march of army boots in unison. Army men.

Whispering out a quick plan, Lente and the other civilian guy ducked into a bunch of brushes to hide while Carter pulled out a heavy magnum revolver to use instead of his one-shot carbine as he shifted to an alternate position to try and get some elevation on these newcomers, deciding on climbing a tree to get a heads-up on how many they were dealing with.

Only to get a real good look at a platoon of armed soldiers stomping along. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Carter was committed now on his treebranch perch. "Ho there soldiers! What be the march for?"