He heard the car pull up and Marshall get out. Of corse he'd stop and get out. Luke looked away from his leg and offered the man a small, grim smile from where he sat. "I uh... When we were back at the house... The walker attack... They got me man." He said, indicating to his leg and the blood glistening on his ankle. "Burst through the fence and grabbed me. I managed to pull free but it still got me. I was hoping... Maybe scratches didn't count maybe... I don't know alright." He shook his head angrily and slammed his fist on the ground.

"I'm sorry I was a dick before but it was only so you'd let me go of on my own. I figured it'd be easier if I... If you guys weren't around for it..." He lifted the hand with the gun in it. "I mean fuck man! This wasn't supposed to be how things happened. Ash I... What am I gonna do?" He looked to Marshall desperately, fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't want to become one of them." Luke eventual said slowly, looking down at his hand, which was shaking uncontrollably. "The others... I didn't want to leave them... Leave you but I wasn't going back in this state. For what? To have some soppy goodbye where everyone cries or something or worse just get shot once I tell them?"

He looked to Marshall for a long time before sighing. "I... I'm sorry to ask this of you... But I need you to do this for me okay man?" He said as he held out the gun to Marshall. "I don't think I can do it myself and I don't want to become one of those things. I am not turning." He guaranteed him. No matter what it took he wasn't going to come back and hurt more people.

After prison Conell understandably didn't do so well sitting idly in one place if he had any other option. Besides, with Luke being weirdly slumped against a damn tree his new friend might need a little backup, or at least someone to watch his back. That was enough reason to get out of the car, in Conell's mind at least. He made it so his gun was on his back but he kept his eyes scanning the area, looking out for any possible threat. They were in some what of a dead spot though. There didn't seem to be anyone or anything on the horizon. For a few seconds Conell became paranoid of the man he had beaten. Could he have recovered really quickly and followed him? Maybe he had a group. Or at least a couple of friends... No, he had been alone, and he was so badly beaten that he wasn't sitting up for another few hours at least. They were safe. Well, not Luke apparently. From the look of him and the conversation they were having he was utterly fucked. It wasn't too bad a place to die though, the view was pretty at least. Conell approached slowly behind Marshall, not sneaking, but carefully.

“I'm sorry... If you don't want to do it Marshall, I can, but I don't really know you sadly.” Conell said to both Marshall and Luke, but keeping his eyes on the latter, looking into his deep and sad eyes towards the end of the sentence. “This isn't my place, but I can step up if needed. I don't hate you anywhere near enough to allow you such a slow and horrible death.”

Marshall's heart sunk into his stomach when Luke revealed it was over for him. Luke explained what had happened to him back at the house. "I don't want to become one of them." He stated. Tears begun to fall down Marshall's face. Marshall just stood there, listening to everything Luke had to say. Luke asked "I... I'm sorry to ask this of you... But I need you to do this for me okay man?" Offering Marshall the gun. Luke told Marshall how he didn't want to turn no matter what. "I get that..." Marshall stated, taking the gun. He turned around to Conell as he offered to do it for Marshall.

Marshall looked at him - as tears fell. "Thank... Thank you but. He's my best friend - I need to give him his last request. Acting the big man I am... But not when it comes to this."Marshall stated. He put his hand on Conells shoulder in a friendly way - "could you just back up a little please - thanks man." A few tears fell, and his heart was racing. "Luke - are you sure, this is what you want?" Marshall asked, as he took off the safety. "I suppose there's no other way. Can't let you turn... What about Ash?" Marshall said. "Are you wanting to be left? Buried? Cremated ...are you sure this is what you want?" Marshall asked - wiping a tear from his eye.

Luke nodded slowly. “I’m not turning and I can’t go back to them man. Not like this, I’d rather they remember something… worth remembering.” He shrugged slightly, before wincing at the motion. “Ash…” He had managed to stay relatively calm throughout this whole ordeal. However at the mention of her name his voice broke and finally tears began spiling down his face. Luke hung his head for a moment, trying to regain his composure however small tears soon turned to sobs. It took Luke a few minutes to regain his composure and speak again. “I know you guys will keep her safe.” He eventually managed, but his voice wasn’t the same as before, more strained now.

“Tell her… tell her… everyone goodbye? And... that I’m sorry, I guess, for not being around for longer. If she asks what went down out here say whatever you think is best man. I trust you.” He nodded slightly, leaning back against the tree and letting his eyes close for a moment. “I don’t care too much how you leave me. Burial might take too long… cremation could cause a fire… just do what you think is best.” He repeated the statement from earlier. He knew he was probably being difficult in how vague he was being, but he was still trying to think about the group. Hell even shooting him was probably not the best option, not with his machete here. The noise and all that. But he was still afraid of the pain of dying.

Remembering the blade Luke pulled it out and handed it to Marshall. “Might as well keep it. Could be of use.” Luke said, though his voice was more strained now, there was evident pain in it and once again he leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes. They didn’t have a lot of time left now. "Keep them safe man. Do whatever you think is right and don't doubt yourself."

Zachary drove along the empty road in his father's old, beat up, rustbucket of a car. He'd managed to swipe some measly supplies that consisted of a pack of chips and a couple of bottles of water. They sat in a backpack in the passenger seat. Resting next to the bag was his baseball bat that had some dried blood stuck to it. Zachary had to put down a few of the infected before he could safely get away from his home. He got out of his house after discovering both his parents had succumbed to the disease and knew it was only a matter of time before they reanimated into walkers and came for him. The only thing he had to remember them by was his father's pistol, which lay on the car's dashboard, right infront of Zachary. He'd managed to grab one spare clip of ammunition before the infected started coming for him.

He switched on the radio, hoping for news of some kind of safe zone, but it was to no avail. The only thing that played on all stations was the government announcement that repeated constantly, even though the voice of the announcer was probably long dead. "Please remain indoors. Barricade all entrances to your home. Secure available food, water and, if possible, a firearm. Avoid contact with the infected at all costs." As the man said 'firearms', Zachary grinned and cast a glance at his own. It made him feel safer knowing it was there although he would have been more happy with some sort of automatic weapon. But in these times, beggars couldn't be choosers. Zachary switched off the radio after the message repeated for the third time.

A lone walker shuffled in a field that Zachary passed. He looked, intrigued at what the infected do when there isn't a meal around. It took too much of his attention though, as he didn't notice the fuel meter tick over into empty. The car slowed down and came to a stop in the middle of nowhere. Zachary couldn't believe it. He tried turning the engine back on but it just grunted, made a loud, grinding noise and died again. He cursed under his breath and knew he had to continue on foot. Zachary gathered up his supplies with his backpack on his shoulder, his baseball bat in his left hand and his pistol in his waistband. He lightly rested his head on the door and swore loudly. That was when he heard the growling noise on his right.

Zachary jumped out of his skin at the noise and tripped over. The walker he'd seen in the field had caught up to him. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Zachary repeated over and over, fearing that it's his last day. "Not now, please!" He shakily stumbled to his feet and readied his bat, staring at the oncoming opponent. It was missing it's left cheek and it's teeth were visible through it's face. One of it's eyeballs was hanging out of it's socket and resting on it's grey-green, decaying skin. Zachary took a deep breath and swung as hard as he could at the walker. The tip of the bat connected with the thing's cheekbone and it fell onto the car and onto the floor, but it wasn't dead. Not by a long shot. Zachary took his chance though. He grabbed his belongings and ran in the opposite direction to the walker, fearing more might have heard him and would be on their way.

"Don't worry about Ash man... Me, the rest - she'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll make you proud man..." Marshall said, wiping tears from his cheek. I don't care if I'll need this bullet later... I'm not letting you turn." He stated. "Don't worry, I'll tell them. Y'know I thought I'd be the first to go, and it'd be you on my end. Me and you... That was the plan brother. How can it just..." Marshall cut off his sentence. "Fuck man!" He shouted. "SHIT.

"I'll make you proud - - You're my best friend. Love you man." He said, as he turned back and looked at Conell waiting. He turned back as Luke gave Marshall his machete. This is a fine weapon man. I'll make sure it stays that way." Marshall said, receiving the machete.

"Keep them safe man. Do whatever you think is right and don't doubt yourself."

"You have - my word. I promise you."

Marshall raised the gun next to Luke's head. "It's almost over brother. I'll keep them safe as best I can." He stated. "Thanks for - thanks for fighting for us." He said with a smile, as the tear fell off his cheek.

"I'm sorry this happened to you."

Blam.

Luke's corpse slid off the tree on to the ground.

"No...!" He cried. "No-o!" Marshall fell on his side, crying out loud, as he weeped to himself. This is the second time Marshall's lost a close friend in his arms. Shortly after when he raised himself from the ground. he wiped Luke's hair out of his closed eyes. the blood was leaving his head quickly, on to Marshall's hand. He stood up then bent down, picking up Luke's corpse and carried him to the pickup truck. He lay him in the back, and then used the sheet in the back to cover his corpse. He wrapped it around the corpse, and then wrapped some duck tape around the sheets to keep it tied. Marshall looked at himself, seeing lots of Luke's fresh blood all over his clothes, face, neck, and hands.

He walked back to Conell - placing his hand on his shoulder. "Let's get the hell outta here."

Conell did as he was asked. Something that he definitely didn't like, but the situation called for it. Now was not the time to a pointless asshole. He leaned against the truck, trying to keep his eyes scanning the land around them but they inevitably kept falling on Marshall and Luke. It was a shitty situation. His arrival in the group would now be marked with the death of one of their own. An unfortunate thing, but maybe his arrival had helped. If he and the copper had not arrived would the two men have argued? Maybe Luke wouldn't have stormed off, maybe he would have turned in the truck or back at camp and been a much bigger threat. Maybe didn't help anyone. It had not happened, this had, and it sucked big time. A minute or so passed before a shot rang out, signalling the end of the young man's life. Conell certainly did not see this coming when he took that handgun an hour or so ago.

Marshall came back wearing a sad face and placing a hand on Conell's shoulder, something that made him tense up.

"Let's get the hell outta here."

Conell simply nodded, getting back into the truck and staying quiet. He definitely wasn't qualified to console.

“Sorry man.”

It was all he could say.

“Magnum man's Marshall. Machete dude is Luke.” Conell spoke simply. “Yeah, I've known them for a long, long time. “ Conell smiled, speaking sarcastically. “No, I've known them for approximately five minutes... So I would assume they're talking about us, but who knows.”. Bryan looked at Conell and then shook his head and said, "Got, Luke and Marshall. Easy names to remember.". He then walked towards Marshall as Luke had left and then Bryan said, "What's up with him?". "I don't have a fuckin' clue. I try to help - keep people alive and he's being an ass for some reason. I'm not the leader. Never said I damn was. Yeah - I made decisions, and yeah they were successful. That Luke guy? He's caring for some little girl, and what I did kept him and that girl alive. Shit. Wouldn't be that bad for him to, I dunno. Not go off in huffs and show a little gratitude? Only tried to help." said Marshall as he spits on the ground, turns around and puts some other stuff in the back of the pick up. Bryan didn't say anything as it could get worst and he was already talking to Conell.

Bryan looked as both Marshall and Conell got and then Bryan said, "I'll just get in my cop car and follow you guys to the other.". He then saw as Marshall and Conell left in the truck and then Bryan walked towards his cop car and got inside of it. He saw that the truck already had left and Bryan followed the tire marks on the road, heading back towards the freeway. He just saw the grass and trees as it looked like nothing had happened to them, no fires, none of those things, just animals and the trees. He then saw two cars, one white and another one blue, and Bryan stopped the cop car and opened the trunk, which had a fuel can and a fuel siphoning tube. He put the tube in one of the cars and breath in it, he then spit out some oil and the sound of oil hitting the bottom of the fuel can began. Bryan smiled and waited for a few more seconds and then it stopped, a quarter full of oil. He put the fuel can and the tube into his trunk and then closed it as he got into the driver's seat and drove once more.

Bryan looked at the same truck that Marshall and Conell were in and then saw them, overlooking the body of Luke, as he a gun shot wound to the head. He stopped and opened the door and closed it as he got out of his car and rushed towards them. He stopped and then said, "Oh god. What happened to Luke?".

Mark shifted uncomfortably over the bed sheets, turning his neck awkwardly as he rested his head in a new spot to try and keep his face cool. Waking up wasn't an elegant scene for Mark. He groaned as he realized he wasn't going to get any more comfortable, and made an effort to crack his eyes open. Immediately, he was blinded by the California late afternoon light as the sun beat through openings in the curtains with heavy rays. He sat up slowly, and brought his knees in almost cross-legged for balance as he hunched over; rubbing the corners of his eyes with his knuckles.

At some point in the night he must have moved into the bedroom unknowingly. Wait, he remembered now. The Heineken bottle lay empty next to him now on the bed, as well as two cigarette stubs whose ash now stained the white sheets beside him. Mark glanced around the room, cluttered with strewn about clothes among other things at which were likely the result of a few raids by other survivors searching for something useful. He was surprised he got any sleep in the state he was last night, and at that he slept quite a long while, but he felt the anxiety he had previously now returning.

Mark reached for the pack of cigarettes on the night stand, and drew one from what remained. Hastily, he lit it with the tiny amount of juice left in the lighter tucked in a wrinkle of the bed sheets.

Within a couple of minutes he felt better, and slipped out of the bed effortlessly. He paced around the room for a few moments, taking a drag or two before he tossed the burning cigarette aside onto an uncluttered space of the hardwood floor - and pulled his navy long-sleeved shirt off, and threw it to the side of the room. He stepped over an empty adidas bag and went digging through the nearest pile of clothes. Mark didn't intend to be picky, but there was no way he was going to wear one of these V-necks..

It didn't take very long before he lifted a crumpled t-shirt and briskly slid it on over his torso. It was a simple solid gray tee. Luckily the guy was a size small like Mark. However, as the weeks went by of Mark barely keeping himself together and alive throughout the outbreak he had come to feel very uncomfortable with his arms exposed. It felt dangerous, seeing as those corpses would turn you by a bite or scratch. He wanted his skin covered, even if an extra layer would cook him... Although Les Stroud would always say if you sweat, you die.

Mark browsed the closet for something appropriate. There were only a few jackets he could find still hanging up, but one stood out. It was of a brand very popular in the southeast, one his older brother wore religiously - a Carhartt. It was a dark, almost chocolate brown Carhartt chapman jacket. He retrieved it from the hanger and put it on slowly, testing how comfortable it would be if he found himself bleeding sweat like a sprinkler at any point. It didn't feel too reliable, but whatever right? Oh gosh, Mark was actually being picky.

He stepped out of the closet, rolling his shoulders before straightening the collar. Briefly, he padded at the arms and forearms of the sleeves to check how durable they were. They were fairly tough, he thought to himself; rough more than tough.

Mark strode out from the bedroom now, the door creaking open with a wide swing as his 'goober' boots, as his JROTC instructor called them, thudded heavy steps over the floor into the hallway. He had a new cigarette between his lips now, smoke falling from his nostrils momentarily after a long drag. He looked sidelong into the living room, hesitating a step as he saw that a walker was shuffling around on its knees near the sliding glass door. It had gotten on the balcony during the night. It saw Mark now, and began growling and pushing itself into the door - not realizing what was in front of it. It was relentless.

He roughly guessed how many were out in the courtyard from what he got a glimpse of last night, and he was in no mood or ability to try that route out of the neighborhood. Mark hoped the main street through the rows of condominiums would be safer, plus he was relatively close to the gate entrance right off of the road.

Zachary slowed down to a walk long after his lungs began burning and his eyes watering. He still wasn't comfortable with the ground he'd put between himself and the walker. Those things can go for days without slowing, albeit just shambling, looking for any human that was unfortunate enough to it's next dinner. Zachary shuddered at the thought of becoming a meal for one of those freaks. He tightened his grip around the handle of the baseball bat, seemingly worried something was going to jump out the bushes and devour him. A nervous glance was cast over his shoulder, but he couldn't make out the walker he'd just been attacked by. Maybe it got bored and wandered into the trees, looking for easier prey. Maybe not.

The gun in Zachary's waistband was cold against his stomach. He took it out into his right hand and looked it over. Everything seemed to be in functioning order. Zachary aimed the firearm out in front of him, pretending to shoot dead a walker, but didn't dare to actually squeeze the trigger. God knows how many infected he attracted when he beat down that one earlier, let alone a gunshot. He made a silent vow to only use the gun when in the most dangerous situation. Zachary tucked the pistol back into his waistband and rested the baseball bat onto his shoulder, still walking along the road. He could make something out in the distance. Zachary sped up his walk, intending to find out what the place was.

As he got closer, he saw what it was. It was just a small cluster of cars. And no walkers in sight. It was almost unreal. The first vehicle he passed was a pick-up truck. In the driver's seat was a rotting corpse with a bullet hole between the eyes. The man was slumped over the steering wheel. In the passenger seat was a second corpse. This time it had three bullet wounds in the chest. Zachary searched the driver's seat body for anything of value, but found nothing. He decided not to go near the second because it's door was blocked by another car and he didn't want to lean over the driver. Zachary gripped the bat tighter and advanced into the middle of the cluster. He made a plan to find an uninhabited car and get back on the road. Zachary tip-toed to the outer area of the cars and found one that suited his needs. A four-door, silver car. Problem is, it still had a driver.

The keys were still in the ignition and the man in the seat seemed dead enough. Zachary pried open the door as quietly as he could. He grabbed the man's arm and pulled as hard as he could. Surprisingly, the body fell out easy enough. Zachary stepped past it when suddenly, it grabbed his foot. He let out a yelp and jumped straight into the car. The walker lost it's grip but tried to follow Zachary inside, growling and groaning all the time. Zachary launched his foot into it's nose and it hit with a satisfying crunch. The walker tumbled backwards and Zachary slammed the door shut. He shakily started the engine and the vehicle roared into life. Zachary reversed and then hit the accelerator, running over the walker. He wasn't sure if he killed it, and damn sure didn't turn back to check.

Zachary drove the vehicle for a couple of miles until he was sure he had lost the former driver of the car. Peering over the dashboard, he could see specks of blood from where he hit the walker. He glanced over at his baseball bat. That brought back memories of his friend, Anthony, who Zachary uses to play the sport with. Anthony was probably dead now. Either a snack for hungry walkers or he'd become a walker himself. Both were as terrifying and just downright sad as the other one. Zachary sighed and just concentrated on the road ahead, not sure where he was going, and didn't really care.

Dear Miss A:
What do you do when the world is coming to an end?

Panic was thick in the air, the outbreak came out of nowhere, no true reason, no logical explanation that could ease survivors into an ignorant stupor. Hope was as rare as diamonds hanging off the neck of a sugar-baby with nothing to lose. Terror swept itself through the land, no one would be laughing at those survival junkies who had been preparing for this.

No one was probably laughing at all, especially not when you had ravenous corpses of your loved ones coming at you with the intention to rip you apart like a dog with a bone. How horrible was it when little Miss Picket had half her face chewed off and came at you, fingernails split and screeching and snarling as though more creature then human– she'd always been a kinder, older lady. She baked you those cookies the last time that dead-beat boyfriend broke up with you for that foxy red-head at the bar, she also made sure to remind you that you had mail.

Lola Bean would weep for the older lady who took on such a grandmotherly role in her short time in that city, she'd weep for all the people's letters she'd responded too before the career she tried so hard for went up in flames.

She'd weep for her best friend who laughed at the aluminium baseball bat clutched in her hands, the peeling Sailor Jerry sticker smeared with blood, she'd weep for her car which she had to abandon because she'd been too under-budget to buy a full tank of gas. She'd weep for many things, most of all how things would never be the same.

People always joked or teased on how they would survive the end of the world, some claimed God would seep from the heavens and pluck up the kind and true, leaving behind more then not of the world around. Lola Bean wasn't entirely sure what she counted as; her heart pounded like a dryer full of wet sneakers, her chest heaved, coming out in uneven and sharp gasps of breath, her cheeks were red and splotchy, her hair pulled back, dirt and blood caking her skin, those fancy nails she paid for were gone, ripped, leaving nothing but the softened shell of nail-bed behind.

She had nothing more then what she could afford to carry, everything made her jump, everything smelled like death, she could hear the faint screams of those dying in the distance– she wouldn't go back, she couldn't. Where could she go? Who could she see? How desperate she was to have someone to tell her things would be all right? Lola tried to laugh, it clogged itself in the back of her throat, choking her and making the tears burn her eyes, hard enough to make her sniff back the gob of snot that seemed destined to leak from her flared nostrils.

Trying to recount the last two weeks, she was trying to make any sort of sense of what was happening; the fear was crippling, the will to live made her irrational and no amount of mental pep-talk could have ever prepared her for this, she was a Diva without the comforts of home, tossed out into the vast-unknown. She could be snuffed out any moment and who would know? Her mother was probably dead, her sister? Hiccupping she plucked at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to dab at her eyes, daintily, almost comically as a series of snorts and sniffs pathetically left the back of her throat, desperate little mewls of frustration. She had no idea where she was, she hadn't run into any other survivors, and if she did would they kill her and rob her corpse blind? She saw this movie before... people became just as terrifying as the beasts wandering the road-side, it left the woman weary and jumping at the sight of her own shadow.

She'd carry on, she had no other choice, if she stayed in one place it attracted those... things, she didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to herself, in fact if she had it her way she'd slip under the radar at all times necessary, but if wishes were horses she'd have a way out of this personal hell.

Swallowing the lump in her throat she carried on, bat in hand, looking over her shoulder every so often, chewing the skin around the jut of her lower lip– unable to help herself and ignored the raw feeling she got in the pit of her belly, ankles knocking together in the hard anticipation of something sliding from behind a building or tree, she needed to get to the main road that lead out, she needed to have a shred of control over what was happening to her.

No reply to the cop. Marshall sat in the car, as Conell got in shotgun - he didn't close the door though. He leant out of it. "I don't - - feel so good." Marshall said, he felt something from under the seat, reaching down and grabbing it. It was a glass object - it was a bottle. Bringing it up he read the label. "Fuck yeah. Chances of findin' some whiskey huh? Just our fuckin' luck." Marshall stated, as he opened it and took a really drink of it. "Want some?" He asks Conell, as he starts the car and drives off down the road.

Nearing the groups location, about two minutes later, Marshall stops the car as he sees them down the road. "Here we go..." He says, taking the bottle and putting it back where he found it - with about 1/4th left. Marshall can handle alcohol well. It'd take more than half a bottle of Whiskey to get him drunk. "Need to tell 'em... See, Luke? He was lookin' after a little girl. How the fuck do I tell 'em?" Marshall says, sighing. "Okay. I know what to say." Marshall states, as he looks back through the read window, and sees the body wrapped up. He continues to drive down, and parks next to the rest of them - with the back of the pickup faced away from everyone so it wasn't in their line of view. "Okay... Stay here. And this time - do what I fucking say - please. My best friend just kinda died, lemme' go talk to them before I tell them about you guys. Christ." He says, unlocking the door, kicking it with force and steps out.

"Everybody, gather round a sec'. Nevermind the cop car or the pickup right now I gotta - gotta say somethin'." Marshall states aloud - as the group members begin to come close. He waited a few moments, and everyone had came close. He looked at the little girl - and a tear fell. "We were about done. Met two new people - but I'll get to that later. We were about done and - Luke got angry. He picked an argument and he er - stormed off..." Marshall said. The sweat from Marshall's head ran down his face through the blood - by the time the sweat had fell off his head it was partially red. "We - shortly after, me and these two guys left the gas station and drove - drove down the road and we er... We saw Luke. He collapsed right in front of the car, a few feet away next to some god forsaken tree."

"I got out, walked right up to him. Looked him straight in the eyes and he told me, when he was arguing he didn't mean any of it he just - just needed an excuse to leave us at the gas station so we wouldn't see him - see him... Luke - " Marshall wiped the tears running down his face. "One of the Walkers got Luke - back at the house when we were tryna' make it out of there. He got infected and it didn't take its toll on him until just then. He handed me his machete..." Marshall said, feeling the blade in his belt. "He said he didn't want to turn - to become one of those things..."

"The fuck am I to deny a dying man his last wish?"

"Luke died today... Just recently. He..." Marshall stated, feeling his revolver as a tear hits the ground. "He won't b- be comin' back." Marshall's voice stuttered - his heart fell in to his stomach. "H-... He said burning him would make a fire, attracting Walkers, burying him would take time. He couldn't be eaten by one of them - his dead body. We have too much respect for him to leave him there. 'wrapped his body up in sheets, that were in the back of the pick up I took from the Gas Station. Must've been in there so stop whatever they were putting in the back to not scratch the paint and whatever. When we stop again, when we - when we find a place to hold up, be it only a night. We should bury Luke, we'll find a shovel and - a place."

"We owe it to him... Luke was, Luke kept the humanity in the group. He never let the morality fall. I know that - I know he always had my back, if I ever needed him to. He would always Luke out for me, always choose the right thing to do. It's crazy... How much respect you can have for a person after only around a day of knowing him. But us and Luke? We went through a lot together..." Marshall wiped his eyes again. "He would side with the right decision. He was a good man, and a brilliant human being. He was the best..." Marshall stated.

As he finished off the last sentence, he walked over to Ash, and kneeled down to her - wiping the tears off his eyes. He sniffled. "I know Luke - I know he was your... Your guardian." Marshall said, putting his arms on her shoulders. "He was a good man. He won't be forgotten - I promise you that." He said, wiping her eyes. "In his last words he - he mentioned you he... He asked us to take care of you - don't worry about that. He loved you, Ashley. He gave me his machete, but I think when the time is right you should have it. He wanted the best for you - and asked me - asked us to make sure you were fine. Don't worry about your safety..." He says, looking into her eyes as she cried. He stepped back, and saw the emotions on peoples faces. All upset, most tearful and what not. Some people looked as if they were losing hope - losing faith, and the will to carry on.

Marshall looked at the cop, and Conell in the cars. He mouthed, Stay for now... They could understand why Marshall would ask them to remain.

"He told me he trusted me - and he wanted me to say goodbye to everyone from him..." He saw how everyone was losing hope after losing one of the most memorable people... "I know -" Marshall wiped his eyes with his bloody t-shirt, he was crying just like pretty much everyone. "I know - it looks bad... I can't - " Crying, Marshall was lost for words. "I know it looks bad but we - we can come back, from this, I know we can. We need to - to push on... Luke would've wanted us to keep going. To Not give up. We've - we've got to go soon. We've got to keep fighting. There has to be somewhere - a place. Somewhere we can stay in, maintain, fortify maybe... For now we've got to keep going."

"That is how we honour Luke."

"We need to take our time - bide it. We grieve... We move on soon but for now we need to just - " Marshall stopped, as he couldn't help but just let the tears flow. "Take our time..." Marshall said, as he sat back on the ground, and just lay there, crying, remembering his best friend, holding Luke's machete beside his heart.

John sat down in his seat in the Humvee and removed his helmet. A bead of sweat trickled down from his brow and onto his face. He couldn’t remember when the last time was that he got some decent rest. A week ago, maybe? Two weeks? Ever since everything started he was constantly on the move, leading convoys to and from Camp Pendleton to locate and save any survivors. He hadn’t really had any time to mourn the death of his wife, Candice, who died in a car wreck just days before the outbreak. John removed his helmet and set it on the dash. He wiped the sweat from his brow and rested his head in his palms.

“How’s your boy handling all of this?” Gunny Shull spoke up from the back seat.

John turned around. “Oh. He’s been a real trooper. He’s staying with one of Candice’s friends right now. You know, just until things settle down.”

“You really think things are going to settle down?” Gunny replied.

John shrugged, “I figure mankind has been through worse than this. Influenza, HIV, AIDS, Bubonic Plague. This is all just nature taking its course. The cycle repeats itself, and so on, and so forth.”

Gunny Shull pulled out a pack of Kool menthols and started smoking. “Yeah but the ones who died in the Bubonic Plague didn't come back to life and start eating people. I think we are on the brink of something terrible, and it’s going to get a lot worse.”

A loud beep sounded from the Blue Force Tracker and a message marked URGENT: UNCLASSIFIED popped up on the main screen. John opened the message and skimmed through it.

[“URGENT. CAMP PENDLETON HAS BEEN OVERRUN. ALL OUT-GOING UNITS ARE ORDERED TO RETURN IMMEDIATELY. CAMP PENDLETON IS EVACUATING ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL.”]

“Fuck.” John gasped as he reached for the hand-mic. “All units, this is Renegade-1 Actual, be advised Camp Pendleton is being overrun by walkers, you are to abort mission and return back to the convoy. How copy, over?!”

Gunny Shull spit out his cigarette and lunged forward in excitement. “What?! How the fuck did that happen!”

Distant machine-gun fire could be heard in the distance, and a frantic voice sounded over the radio. “We are in a bad spot sir! There are Walkers everywhere! There’s so many of them, they’ve blocked off our escape. We need fire support now, sir!”

John looked at the Gunny. Their faces were both grim, and each knew what the other was thinking.

“They’re lost, sir. We need to get back to base and find your boy.” Gunny Shull uttered coldly.
John nodded. “Is there anyone in this vehicle who is against what we are about to do?”

Everyone was silent.

“Roger that. Lance Corporal Sykes, turn us around we are heading back.”

The lead Humvee pulled out of line and turned around, heading back the way they came. Sustained machine-gun fire could still be heard in the distance, amidst the terrifying screams sounding from the radio.

“Where the fuck are you!? We need your help! Aaaaagggh! Get it off of me! Aaaaaaggh---“

John flipped the OFF switch, they were on their own now.

The silver, four door car cruised along the desolate road, driven by it's new owner. Other burnt out vehicles were littered around the area, some with decaying corpses inside, some without. Bodies were also strewn in random places. Quite a few were sporting gunshot wounds to the head, chest, abdomen and other areas. The grass fields on either side of the road were overgrown and unkempt. Only God knew what horrors lay within them. Sometimes the car would pass a walker feeding. Perhaps on some kind of animal or, in most cases, an unfortunate human that had wandered into it's path. The entire scene was grisly, grim and just horrible. But, it's what the world had come to, and nothing that Zachary or any other survivor could do would change that. They would all have to learn to adapt.

Zachary pulled over on the side of the road, deciding that he needed a break. He'd been driving for just over two hours and just needed to recharge his batteries. He opened up his backpack and took out one of the two bottles water and the pack of chips. Zachary hadn't got much, so he'd have to go easy on the measly rations. He tore open the chips and ate five before rolling the packet back up and returned it to it's former position inside the backpack. As Zachary starting sipping on the water, flashbacks of the two walkers he'd encountered began appearing. He knew he hadn't killed either of them and both were probably hunting for him. Zachary sighed as he screwed the lid back onto the water and tossed it into his backpack before starting the engine and taking off down the road once again.

Thoughts kept popping into his head about shelter. He couldn't go home. It was too dangerous. Way too dangerous. Zachary was nearing the outskirts of Los Angeles, so maybe there was an apartment complex or a house just by itself. Fat chance. All the death and decay he was passing, the infection had spread quickly to the outer areas of Los Angeles, claiming all the poor humans that were oblivious to it. He switched on the radio, but all that played was the same, government mandated message that had been playing for the past week or so. Since the outbreak started. Zachary had lost track of time, although that didn't really matter to him. What mattered was survival, by any means necessary. Though, if he did come across any survivors, he didn't intend to attack them straight away. In the predicament that he was in, he could do with all the help he could get.

The gun on the dashboard bounced up and down lightly in accordance with the tire movements over the cracked gravel. That annoyed Zachary so he took it and placed it on the passenger seat. A lot of things annoyed him recently. Maybe he was going crazy from the loneliness he was experiencing. The last contact with humans that Zachary hard was the looters that tried to rob him, but walkers arrived and they were devoured, so Zachary managed to get away in one piece. Zachary grimaced at the thought before realising his path was blocked by an overturned bus. He cursed loudly. Luck just wasn't on his side today. With anything, there was probably a herd following up from behind that hadn't eaten for days. Zachary punched the steering wheel and pushed open the door, stepping out into the sun.

“No, I don't drink.” Conell spoke honestly, denying the offer of whiskey. He had never liked how alcohol made him feel. He liked to be in full control of himself when he could help it. Well, not in full control, he was never fully in control truly. His few emotions ruled him, which is why drinking was probably a very bad idea. Or was it? On one hand it could numb his urges and triggers a little, maybe making him a better person to be around. On the other hand though if that failed he would likely find himself with no control at all. He'd probably shoot the first prick who pissed him off. Yeah, it was definitely a bad idea.

It didn't take them long at all to get back to the group. They hadn't been lying either. There were a fair number of people here. Marshall pulled up quite close to the group but seemed to deliberately have the truck bed facing away. Couldn't blame him.

"Here we go... Need to tell 'em... See, Luke? He was lookin' after a little girl. How the fuck do I tell 'em?" Marshall says, sighing. "Okay. I know what to say... Okay... Stay here. And this time - do what I fucking say - please. My best friend just kinda died, lemme' go talk to them before I tell them about you guys. Christ."

This made Conell very angry. His hands quickly curled into fists and his breathing became ragged. The dude just lost his friend, but that wasn't in the young convicts mind. The only thing he was hearing was “do what I fucking say”, over and over and over again and those words were probably the worst combination of words he could possibly hear. Why the fuck should he do what anyone said? He didn't in the group homes. He didn't in the juvenile detention centres and he definitely didn't in prison, despite nearly being killed for it half a dozen times. He sure as shit wasn't going to start now. Fuck orders. Fuck sympathy. Fuck people. He reached over, pulling the bottle of whiskey from under the drivers seat and screwing off the top. Looking at it for a second before taking a long couple of gulps. Screwing the top back on he threw it on the drivers seat, rubbing his hands through his hair stressfully before biting down on his index finger. He tried to get his breathing under control, taking deep breaths and almost forcefully uncurling his fists. Slowly, very slowly, he calmed down, finally exhaling in relief a minute or so later. The rage had left him. For now at least.

He looked out of the window, watching as the events unfolded before him. It seemed very dramatic. Very emotional. He was glad he wasn't out there. Luke may have been a nice guy, but Conell had only known him for a few minutes. He didn't give a fuck about him. He was just another survivor in their crappy world. Though from the way the others reacted he was apparently a lot more than that to them, but Conell wasn't them. Who the fuck was he kidding. He wouldn't fit in with these people. He hadn't fit in with convicts, and he had a hell of a lot more in common with them than he did with these people.

He hoped he wouldn't be killed by a bunch of emotional former tax paying citizens, though he chuckled at the idea of such a thing, before catching himself. Best not to let anyone see him amused right now. This was going to be hard enough already.

Ash was waiting at the car by the side of the road. Nothing much had happened while the others had been away on their end. She’d been bored, so had started seeing how far she could throw the loose pebbles of the road. However when she heard a car approaching she turned and smiled seeing that it meant they were back and began running over. Marshall was the first to get out but she stopped when she realised that there was a new man in the cab of the car and it wasn’t Luke. She noticed another car pulling up, a police car but couldn’t see him in that either.

“Where’s Luke?” She asked softly as Marshall asked everyone to gather around and began telling them what had happened when they went out to look for gas. At first Ash’s look was confusion but as his story went on her face started to change to a look of horror. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stepped back slightly, shaking her head slowly as the salt water began dripping down her face as she shook her head. “You’re lying…” She said softly, shaking her head furiously, trying not to listen to what he was saying. “No it’s not true!” The girl insisted.

She backed away into the nearest car and slowly sank to the ground, her entire body shaking as her head constantly shook back and forth. He just... he couldn’t be dead. He was supposed to be the one who lived, the one who was just always there. Why? Why did he have to die? It didn’t seem fair. He was a good person. He didn’t deserve that. He had been bit while they had been escaping, Marshall said. He had been protecting her, maybe if she had done something differently… if she hadn't needed protecting… maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt… he’d still be here.

Sophia spent most of her time sitting in the front side the car door was open with the 1911 in her hands incase any walkers were to show up, her eyes looking between her sister Katelyn who was walking around the few cars that were nearby trying to look for anything useful but to no use only a few dead bodies that had either been burnt or already had wounds to the head. That's when Sophia heard two cars coming down the highway one was a pickup truck while the other was a cop car, she reached down for her gun just in case they weren't friendly, then she saw Marshall coming out of the truck and saw Conell in the seat beside Marshall and Bryan in the police cruiser but she didn't see Luke anyway.

Katelyn finished what she was doing and started to walk up towards Ash and then came her sister and Maria in tow when Marshall asked for them all to come close, Katelyn could tell something had happened to Luke by the look at Marshall's face. As Marshall finally started to speak Katelyn started to tear up wondering if she could have done something to help Luke while they were trying to get away from the house, her eyes went down to look at Ashley the news hitting the little girl harder.

Katelyn quickly went over and knelt down next to her pulling Ash into a hug trying to comfort her. "Luke was a really good man." Katelyn said softly trying to fight her tears back as well and looked back towards her sister. Sophia had leaned back against the side of the black Pilot shaking her head she didn't want to hear the news either and looked back towards the truck Marshall came in. "We should burn Luke's body when we get to a safe place, I know it would attract walkers but I wouldn't want my body to be uncovered or be eaten by those damn things or animals trying to find it." Sophia said softly looking towards Marshall. "Its the best thing to do." Sophia said softly wiping the tears from her eyes.

A short time had passed. Marshall got up to his feet; wiping tears from his eyes. Hearing Sophia's words, he responded negatively, but with compassion. "Luke wouldn't want to put us in danger... Setting a fire would only attract them. We'll keep the body until we next stop - maybe at my house. I had a few tools in my shed. One of which is a shovel, we can use that, won't take long at all. Ain't no Walkers gonna dig him up, nor animals. He wouldn't want to put us in danger I'm sure - he was that kind of a guy - putting us before him. Besides, we could maybe stay at mine for a few days, last I remember there's food there, and we could rest up before moving on. Though, I think your ideas could be used in another matter. Two guys with me, one's a cop the others a bit on the temperamental side, I think. I'm not cremating Luke. I'm not putting us in danger - which is why you can decide what to do with these guys. I'm not gonna make the decision that could end up with one of them killing us. Besides, I think you're more equipped to deal with these guys. You've had to deal with fans at some point, right?"

"Neither are heavily supplied. They seem pretty straight up but y'know. I searched and frisked the guy in my pick up just there. Name's Conell. Packed with that SMG of his though. To be honest, I can connect to him a little bit - but hey, your call. He seems pretty all right to me though. The other guy - cop - don't remember his name or even if he gave us it. I think shooting my best friend in the head had a lot of thoughts flying through my mind... He's not that stocked up either though." Marshall said, telling her the score. "We can leave without them, leave them here - take them with us, whatever. I'm not taking part on this matter - your call completely. Not sure how much they have to offer, they certainly don't have much in the ways of food or anything. Pressure ain't easy. Your decision could cost lives..." He said, following that he walked up to the pick up.

"You're pardoned by the State of California, see that pretty girl with the blonde hair? Her name is Sophia. Go talk to her, she'll tell you the score 'n shit." Marshall said, talking to him through the opened window. He stepped back, opening the door for Conell to step out. Marshall walked around to the drivers seat, he leaned down and picked up the whiskey, taking the cap off, drinking a little, screwing it back on and walking to the cop car.

"Yo. Blonde girl over there. Go talk to her. She's friendly and she'll let you know the game plan and whatever." Marshall stated, wiping sweat off his head, and a tear off his cheek. On you go man." Marshall walked back to the pick up, and leaned on the back where Luke's corpse was situated - wrapped up. "I need you here man. I'm not - - I can't do this without your support man." Marshall said, talking to the dead body. "We're - we're heading for my old crib in a little while, remember?" He asked, as if he was going to get any sort of reply. "You'd like it there y'know... It's a nice set up. Don't worry man, when we bury you, we'll have a real nice ceremony and everything... It'll be just like modern ones, burial, people say a few things, everybody throws a bit of dirt on or whatever. It'll be nice. Natural. We all miss you man. Ash is in good hands with those girls. Maybe she'll say some words when your being put 6ft deep... She'll make you proud in this world now. Just gotta get to my house, bury you, rest up then move on." Marshall said, as he jumped up into the back of the pick up, and just sat there next to his best friends dead body, drinking the whiskey - trying to accept the fact he was never going to see Luke again.

"I'm sorry I failed you."

Autumn was busy scavenging through cars for parts when he heard cars come up. Assuming it was Luke and Marshall coming back after getting gas he didn't turn around. It wasn't until he heard the car door slam that he bothered to turn around. Marshall was getting out of the car. Behind him was a police car that hadn't been there before. When the group had gathered around Marshall began to talk. He told them how Luke had been scratched on the ankle. How Marshall had shot him before he had turned.

Running his hand through his hair Autumn swore, "Shit man. He's really... he's really gone? I know that we never got along well but... I just can't believe it." He slumped against the side of the car, his eyes dulling. His mind tried to comprehend Luke's death, but after so many that they had gone through... it was impossible. It was easier to just dull everything, just stop thinking.

However Autumn couldn't sit there and do nothing. Blame it on the ADD or his strong belief that the easiest thing was the worst. Standing up Autumn walked over to the hood of the car and pushed himself up on to it. He wanted to make sure everyone heard what he had to say. For Luke's sake. "Everyone, I know this is hard. Harder for some then most." he looked at Ash sadly, "But we can't allow ourselves to dull. In times like these it seems like the easiest thing to do, to lay down bellies up and just give up." He shook his head. "That is not what Luke would have wanted from us! He would have wanted us to survive!"

Autumn's voice rose as it filled with passion. "I know we've just lost one of our own. Someone we felt was dear to ourselves, but I have a plan. A plan that Luke would want us to follow. These things." He pointed out down the road, gesturing that he meant the walkers. "they've killed us, beaten us down, and crippled our society. In many cases they've even broken our spirit. Yet here we are, we've managed to survive. Though with a few losses." Sadly smiling he looked around at the gathered group. "We are better than these animals. We are smart, capable, and kind. In this time of darkness we must make a light for ourselves."

Autumn's voice dropped, "I'm asking that you guys trust me, hear me out. If I'm wrong then we can figure something else out, but sitting here and doing nothing... It's not going to work. We have to do something, anything. In the name of Luke, lets survive." His speech done Autumn sat down of the car hood and took a deep breath. He wasn't used to making such big talks in front of people.

The engine let out a powerful roar as LCPL Sykes slammed harder on the accelerator. Dirt, dust, and other debris kicked up from behind them as they went. John desperately tried to reach his son with his satellite phone, quickly punching in the phone number given to him by Candice’s friend, Tracy. His efforts were answered abruptly by a worthless answering machine. John felt his stomach twist into a knot.

The Humvee barreled past the front gate at Camp Pendleton, which was left wide open. Straggling walkers were busy feasting on the corpses of the guards. The sound of helicopter rotors could be heard close by, which prompted Gunnery Sergeant Shull to tap John on the shoulder.

“Sir do you hear that!” Gunny exclaimed. “Look over to your one o’clock. Those are Super Stallions taking off on the flightline!”

John put down the phone and looked up to see three Super Stallions take off from the flightline a few blocks down the road. As they drove closer, they could see a crowd of civilians hysterically struggling to push past Marines and board the remaining aircraft. John scanned the faces of the crowd, and noticed that there were children among them.

“Stop the truck!” John yelled.

Sykes brought the Humvee to a halt, and John flew out of the passenger door. Gunny Shull was in close pursuit.

“Private Barns, keep your head on a swivel and don’t let anyone near the Humvee!” Gunny called back, as he and John ran towards the crowd.

Barns chambered a round into the .50 cal, which made a distinctive CHAA—CHUUNK sound. Private Williams hopped out of the passenger seat and pulled security on the left side of the vehicle, while LCPL Sykes kept the engine running and ready to go.

When they reached the crowd they noticed that a horde of walkers had reached the flighline, and continued to pour over the barbed-wire fences that surrounded the area. John knew he didn’t have much time. Marines began to abandon their posts and leave the civilians behind. It became a desperate race to the remaining helicopters. John vigorously searched the crowd for his son. The horde of walkers crashed into the civilians and Marines, and began to hungrily tear their bodies apart. John could see walkers pouncing on men, women, and children alike. There was no mercy. He could hear the agonizing screams of little boys and girls helplessly crying for their mothers. He gritted his teeth and kept his rifle close. He could hear Gunny Shull’s footsteps close behind him.