It has been 18 months since the outbreak.

Permanent settlements have begun to crop up across many parts of the US, but they are few and far between, and discord is rife. It seems like every week there is a new rumour about somewhere safe, a place where there aren't any walkers, a place where society can start again... but rumours are all they are.

In the beginning, chaos and confusion reigned and information, or a lack of it, would get you killed. For anyone to have survived this long, they must have discovered a few simple truths: Everyone is infected, you turn when you die and the only way to stop it is to destroy the brain. The walkers hunger for the flesh of the living and their bites are highly infectious and can kill in hours unless treated quickly, usually with amputation.

This long after the fall of civilization, everyone has lost someone. A friend, a partner, a child... pain and suffering follow the survivors like a bad smell, but it is through this shared experience that many unlikely friendships have formed, alliances made and even romances blossomed. Even the end of the world, it seems, is not enough to completely crush the human spirit...

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The last year had been difficult on Marcus. Emotionally and physically he had been drained by his task, a simple task but one which had led him to drive, walk, swim and climb his way across 12 states, fighting famine, disease and the walking dead, to find out what happened to his wife and daughter. The first six months had been easier, making his way from Tennessee back to Boston, believing that his wife would have kept their daughter safe inside their easily fortified home. It was only upon arriving back at his house to discover that his family had set off to New Orleans to search for him three months prior that he began to feel the strain of worry, every night wondering how they were faring on the road, fearing they could have been taken by walkers, or bandits, or worse...

Over that time, he had met several people he would consider to have been friends. First there was Carl, a trucker he met in Knoxville whose own family was in Boston. They helped each other survive the chaos of the first few weeks after the outbreak and went their separate ways on the outskirts of the city. It was Carl who had given Marcus the revolver he still carried and had insisted that he kept it when they parted ways. After Carl he met up with a large group led by a man named Raimes who insisted they travel to West Virginia because he firmly believed that they could carve out an existence in the thick forests there free from the menace of the walkers. Unfortunately, over the following months with little food and frequent attacks both from the dead and from bandits and scavengers, the numbers in the group dwindled and eventually the remnants split and went their separate ways.

Currently, Marcus was travelling with a man called David, who he had met on the road just outside the town of Meridian in Mississippi. Though David hadn't been incredibly forthcoming with details about his past thus far, they had at least managed polite conversation along the road and thus far neither one had managed to do anything to get the other killed, so as far as Marcus was concerned they were off to a good start. They were just coming into a town by the name of Slidell when Marcus decided to break a silence which felt like it had been going on for days.

"So.. uh.. phew, that weather's getting a bit warm, huh? Much hotter down here than up in Boston, I'll tell you that, and ano.." He began, but was abruptly silenced by David waving him down and pointing to something nearby.

Dawn saw something pointing at her and immediantly but both of her hands up, trying to gesture the fact she wasn't a walker. The breeze brushed against her hair, exposing her face to them. She waved to them to try and see if they were friendly in an ideal world she would have just avoided them but they had spotted her, and well, this world wasn't exactly ideal. She thought about calling out to them but decided against it, it would just draw more walkers, she tentativley put her feet forward in and attempt to get closer, and then made a gesture as if to say 'is this ok?'. This was a sticky situation she didn't want to be in, but then again being alone might have been a worse idea.

Running. Something Shawn loved to do. Back then it was by choice - for both pleasure and health. Now? It's for survival Shawn Taggart and his fellow survivor Leon Pendanski ran, faster than they previously had before - down the street, whilst a group of approximately 20 Walkers stumbled behind them. Every street they ran down more and more joined in. It was like a big game of Tag - something else Shawn loved. Except this time if they didn't win they would be killed. "When the fuck will it end?!" Shawn shouted to Leon who was running at the same pace beside him. 'We can't keep this up. There's only gonna be more and more of them. But where can we go? We don't have enough ammo to take out what appears to be 30 now.' Shawn thought to himself, desperate for an escape route.

The car that they were in had ran out of gas. Ironic when you think about it - few people left in the world you'd think there'd be enough gas to go around huh. Shawn looked across, seeing what appeared to be a bar. "We can run through there, and go out the back. That way the Walkers will think we're in there for good! We don't have time to discuss it, let's go!" He shouted, as he ran towards the bar. They kicked the door down, and slammed it shut. Quickly after, they began to hear the bangs. However they had their own problems.

"Two of 'em! Take the left I've got right!" Shawn stated, as he approached the Walker, kicked it's knee forcing it to the ground and buried his hatchet into the back of its skull - destroying the brain. He stopped for a minute to catch his breath - and looked around him. He saw Leon kill that Walker, he saw shadows of Walkers through the window curtain, a lot of alcohol, obviously, a few stools and a TV. "Wait a second. Bars like this will have gun permits, maybe a shotgun behind the counter?" Shawn stated, as he walked towards the counter and leaned over - unfortunately he saw the holder for the shotgun, but someone had taken it. "Damn it. Hell, what was I expecting. Owner probably took it." He said, informing Leon. Shawn's eyes glanced over the Walkers. "Fuck. They ain't the owners, owner must've took the shotgun and got the h-" He cut off his sentence as one of the windows broke, Walker smashed it and continued to do so, attempting to climb through.

"We gotta move." He said, as he jumped over the counter. He grabbed a bottle of Whiskey, kicked down the 'Staff Only' door, and made his way to the back exits with Leon. "Hmm, best bet might be that apartment building right there." He stated, pointing to the building behind the pub. They hopped the fence, in to the apartment yard. "Hey, remember a few days ago we were held up in a building just like this one? You're suggestion was to not bother clearing the whole thing - just the room we're staying in and the hallway, and barricade the room. We did it, remember? And it worked. Didn't waste energy or bullets on the other rooms. Let's do that idea again. At least until we get our shit together."

They both went into the apartment building from the back, Leon lead - with Shawn having his back. "No Walkers. Lucky." Shawn said to Leon in light of the events. They went to the first room, entered inside and closed the door. "Shit man. Fuck. No fucking car, god-knows-how-many Walkers in the pub next door, not enough ammo..." Shawn said. "Hell at least this room has a bed room and a bathroom. I'ma go piss. He dumped his backpack on the floor, put his hatchet in his belt and went in to the bathroom - closing the door. Shortly after he left, and sat on the bed - taking a few drinks of the Whiskey. "Mmm. Not known for its finish. Still, it's good." He said, as he drank some more and then held out the bottle in Leon's direction.

"Fancy a drink?"

Darkness, and scratching. That's all Mark had heard for the past 2 hours. He sat in a cold room, back against the wall, his things sat besides him and not a care in the world. So what if they got in? That just meant it could end faster. He was tired of avoiding the inevitable death they all faced. Maybe he should just shoot himself here, now. End it. Go out on his own terms. He thought about for quite some time, before tossing the shotgun down beside him. He mumbled to him. "Well... Now is a good a time as any." mark had turned on the church a long time ago. So drinking was nothing to him now. He stared at the whiskey bottle he had found not minutes ago in the room, before peeling off the label, and yanking the cap off. He glugged. One, twice, three times, four times, a fifth, and put the bottle down, sighing.

Another few minutes passed before Mark saw read. Sick and tied of the relentless moaning and scratching outside the barred door. "Fuck it!" He lost it, and kicked out at the door in a rage, screaming back at the undead bastards on the other side. After a few minutes of this, Mark slumped over to his bag, pulling out the bat. He removed the latches on the door, and let them come. 3. 3 of the undead fell in, groaning, with a lust for flesh. "Eurgh!!" He swung his bat into the head of the one which had fallen down as soon as the door opened, smashing it's skull open. He glared at the other two, and screamed, launching the bat from his hands, knocking one to the ground. He unzipped his pocket, pulling out his pen knife, and flicking the sharpest tool he knew was there. He knelt over the fallen walker and latched the tool into it's brain, before pulling it out. He looked at the final walker. He put his boot into it's stomach, sending it into the wall. Marching over, he put his foot on it's chest. The walker was weak, but still hungry. Mark switched to the screwdriver tool on the knife, before gouging both eyes of the walker out, watching the fight squeeze out of it.

He stood up and spat on the ground, sighing. "Fuck..." He grabbed his stuff and rushed out of the room, checking his corners for other walkers.

Ralph and his companions slowly drove past the shot-up, rusted sign that simply said "Slidell". Jackson pulled over to the side of the road as they once again were met with the bane of Ralph's existence. Traffic. "Well, not really traffic" Ralph thought to himself "that would be an improper definition, it had been traffic 18 months ago when shit hit the fan, but now I guess its just road blockage" still it would be a shame to have to leave the trusty Honda civic they had picked up in Baton Rouge.

"What do you think Jackson, should we turn around?" he implored.

Jackson shook his head in his stoic way "no point, were almost out of gas. Besides this is the only way to pass between Lake Ponchatrain and 100 miles of swamp." Ralph sighed, while Sylvie smiled and slid out of the car.

Ralph got out of the car too. Much as he loved the safety of the vehicle, there was nothing safer than being with Jackson. They had met outside of Albequerque when Jackson saved his life from two walkers, and had been fast friends ever since. Both were trying to get to Florida, and he enjoyed the company. It didn't hurt that Jackson could dispose of walkers with surgical precision, and for some reason had decided to keep Ralph around even though he was clearly dead weight. They had been through alot of shit across Texas, and he was as much of a friend as Ralph had ever had.

Sylvia was different. They had picked her up outside of Houston when they found her tearing through a small group of Walkers with her sickle. She was friendly.and optimistic, but Ralph sometimes caught her crying or staring into the distance. They weren't close enough yet, but Ralph was pretty sure something awful had happened to her that left her a little... broken.

Ralph snapped back to reality and shouldered his bag. He and his ragtag group headed straight into the heart of town.

David was crouched, holding a hand up. A signal for Marcus to stay put and stay quiet. He slowly took off his pack, unzipping it slowly to minimize noise. He kept his gaze fixed on the figure in the distance as he carefully lifted his hatchet from his bag.

It was just sitting there, hunched over on the pavement. David had witnessed people fall prey to this sort of thing in the past and he wasn’t about to endanger himself or his ally by leaving it be. He gripped the hatchet with both hands, leaving the unzipped bag on the ground with Marcus. As David creeped toward the walker, with each painstaking step his knuckles grew whiter.

It had a distinct smell. David knew that stench, an oder that only emitted from the body of a walking corpse. He had become so familiar with that smell, he was acquainted with it. It always made his heart race, even with all the times he had encountered it. That scent had taken so much from him.

It was only a few feet away now. David seemed to be walking for an eternity, his pace was only slowing as he snuck toward the undead creep. He could hear nothing but the creature’s breathing. It was erratic, distressed. The hefty heaves only intensified David’s senses and focus.

He was upon it now, just a few more steps until he’d drive his hatchet into its skull. David lifted his weapon, prepared to bring it down onto the top of the walker’s head. It hadn’t moved much besides the occasional twitch or shift. It was hunched over on that pavement for the duration of David's approach. David took what seemed like his last step. Before making contact with the ground, his foot landed on a twig. It seemed to all happen in slow motion. The snap, the snap that caused David’s heart to cease beating. The snap that made the creature’s breathing stop. The snap that caused it to whip its head around and stare into the eyes of its terrified assaulter.

It was not a lurker, it was a man.

Lee sat on the pavement with his head in his hands. The handle of his knife lay next to him, the blade stuck in one of the five creep carcasses that lay next to him. He sat, thinking about what had just happened. He had lost his shelter, and in doing so all of his food, weapons, and supplies. The scene he had just experienced replayed in his mind.

He was sleeping in his bed. It was early morning, maybe six o'clock. The first light of morning peeked through his window. Suddenly, he was awoken by the rattle of the tin cans he had strung from the threshold of his bedroom, as a last defense. He jerked upright in his bed to see three creeps approaching him. How had they gotten past the trap? He thought to himself. He quickly grabbed his hunting knife from his nightstand and stabbed the top of the head of the first creep which was crawling onto his bed, killing it instantly. He rolled off of the bed and ran around the remaining two into the kitchen and then into the hallway of his apartment building, past his disarmed trap. I forgot to reset it?! God, how stupid am I!? He gripped the leather handle of his knife tightly, waiting for the two creeps to come out the door where he would dispose of them. However, before he could do so, he heard more gnarling behind him, and he turned to see several more creeps coming out of the stairwell. His heart lurched. He turned and sprinted down the hallway in the other direction, headed for the other stairwell. As he descended, he noticed that the other floors of the apartment were crawling with creeps.

With several more walking corpses at his heels, he ran into the lobby. He grabbed a nearby trash can and knocked it over in front of the doorway and ran outside. The creeps toppled like bowling pins over the can and into a big heap. He counted four, no five. Seizing his opportunity, he stabbed three of them before the other two got up. Number four knocked him down, causing him to drop his knife, and landing on top of him. With the creep drooling blood and other unknown fluids all over him, Lee managed to wedge his forearm under its chin to keep it from biting him. He struggled to get it off of him, feeling his shirt becoming drenched in blood and guts.Finally Lee mustered the strength to push it off, and he stood up and stomped its head in until it looked like a car had just run it over. The fifth and final walker had regained his footing and began approaching him. Lee bent and retrieved his knife, feeling the fear and rage building up inside him. He unleashed those emotions into one quick stab to the face, breaking off the blade of the knife in the creep's head. It collapsed, and shortly after so did Lee, exhausted. So there he sat, with his head in his hands, mulling over what he had lost, basking in self pity. His shelter was overrun with creeps The shelter he had come to call home, that he had lived in for a year and a half. And with it, all of his supplies, food, water, weaons... He must have sat there for hours, just thinking.

He was awoken suddenly from his pity party when he heard a twig snap. He turned his head to see a middle-aged man ready to swing a hatchet at his head.

"Hey, hold up! I'm you're friend, I mean no harm!" He said as he jumped to his feet and threw his hands up as to calm down the man. He took a few steps back. Looking down at himself, he realized he must have looked just like a creep himself just sitting there. "I'm not bitten." He said as he saw another man approaching from behind the man with the hatchet.

Sylvia looked over to her companions as they walked into the heart of town, she wondered what they thought about her. She hadn't opened up to them much since they'd saved her from that group of walkers, being alone almost got her killed, but she couldn't have any more deaths on her mind. She wouldn't be able to come back from that if they died on her presence, but she wasn't the same woman she was when this started.

A lot of people died because she couldn't defend them from the walkers. It was all your fault, stupid bitch she thought to herself. Suddenly the faces of all her students flashed in her mind, why couldn't these faces just leave her alone. Then she noticed both Ralph and Jackson were staring at her, only then she noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. She quickly rubbed them away with her sleeve.

She turned her head in the opposite direction to them "I'm fine, don't worry about me..." she said as she went into her rucksack digging around for some food. She pulled out two candy bars, only two, for Ralph and Jackson. Sure she was hungry, but she felt like her role as a teacher never escaped her and students came before teachers. Sylvia passed the candy bar to Ralph first, then Jackson. Ralph seemed like a cool guy, Jackson too, but she's just not close with them. She was too scared to get attached. Although she thought Ralph was a little cute, but she'd never tell him that, there were more important things to worry about in this new world, but still.

Frank slowly walked down the highway without making the sounds of footsteps or the rattle of supplies with his pistol drawn. He was extremely careful about being heard, and made sure to wrap up his supplies in a thick blanket to muffle the sound of items shuffling around in your pack. Walking along the road made him nervous, but going through the bayou would be much worse. Although he would appreciate the shade of the trees, there are other dangers in the bayou. There wasn't much trouble here except a few walkers that remained trapped inside broken down cars. As he approached a sign for Exit 19: Slidell, Frank began his way off the highway to the suburb. He needed supplies and shelter and hopefully this is a place where you can find both.

If one was watching the road into Slidell, one could see a 32 year old man walking towards Main street from the highway with a meticulously cleaned clothes and a silenced pistol drawn.

Leon sprinted next to Shawn, as fast as his legs could carry him. Every now and then, he cast a glance behind to the ever-growing herd of walkers shuffling after them, all the while moaning and groaning and growling. Their car had run out of gas so they'd had to travel the past few miles on foot, and Leon's body was screaming for a rest. He pushed through the pain and just concentrated on keeping up with Shawn. Leon almost thought about giving up before Shawn pointed to a bar and suddenly they were both making a beeline for the business.

They slammed the door shut behind them and immediately pushed a couple of stalls against the door, in an attempt to hold the walkers back. Like that would work. They just keep coming, they have no pain threshold. "Jesus fucking Christ, man! How many are there?" Leon yelled, noticing the infected had began banging on the doors and windows. The first walker came crashing through a window which made Leon jump backwards before taking out his baton. He flicked it out and set to work bashing the walker's head in with it. The weapon hit skull before more windows smashed and more walkers came pouring through. Finally, the door gave way and the main force of the walker herd pushed inside.

He followed Shawn out the 'Staff Only' door and into the alleyway outside. Shawn pointed to the apartment block and they both ran inside and into the first apartment they came across. The duo shut the door and pushed the sofa against it. Leon drew his pistol and aimed it at the door, worried the walkers had seen them go in and were about to come crashing through. He heard the sounds of them shuffling past and further off into the complex, searching for Leon and Shawn. Leon holstered his gun and turned to see Shawn holding out a bottle of whiskey to him. "Fancy a drink?" He said, and Leon took the bottle from him. "Thanks." Leon swigged from the bottle and sat on the sofa they'd just pushed against the door.

"So, we're now trapped in an apartment with about forty walkers outside, hunting for us. Now what?"

"Fuck knows. I suppose we just wait?" Shawn stated. He chuckled as he spoke - "Wait for what? How long's it been? 17 months or so? 18? 19?" He asked. "Over a fucking year!" He shouted in a humorous tone. He drank more whiskey. Then a little more - and a little more. Passing it back to Leon - Shawn stood up and looked around the room. "All these months ago, before all this shit happened? Sittin' at home in front of my Xbox, drinking beer with friends - having barbecues." He said out loud, raising his voice a little.

"Me and my wife, we always played racing games. I mean sure we had FPS and all that shit, but we constantly raced, playing those racing games around the track. Heh. She'd always steer in to me so I'd get fucked off the course." He laughed out loud. Hearing the Walkers, he couldn't give more of a fuck. "We always said once it's over we're gonna' play those games again." He said, chuckling. "She'd steer in to me and I'd just let her, it was funny y'know... Man. Fuck it." He took the bottle back and drunk some more, after Leon of course.

"Y'know I really wonder what the fuck happened man. No national guard, no military, no air force - no noth'n." He drunk more, passing it back to Leon. "You think there'd be Somebody - Somewhere doin' something... But they ain't. Ain't no body doin' shit. If they were? Fuck. Surely we'd see something!" He began to laugh, and continued to laugh more. "I wonder if there are people as bad off as us, y'know? Shit man. The way I see it, we're on our own! Everyone is on their own! No one is tryna' protect us or anything! All this time we've been on our own and that's the way it's gonna' be! Can't rely on anyone!" He laughed. "Hell, if there was ever a time to have a drink? Right fuckin' now!" And in a humorous tone, he said:

"We are FUCKED!"

Leon swigged from the whiskey before handing it back to Shawn. The apartment looked somewhat clean and well kept. Leon assumed the owners took all the essentials and got the hell out. "I'm gonna have a look around." Leon said and he stood up from the sofa that blocked the apartment's door. He walked into the kitchen area and opened up the fridge. Nothing except for a few old pieces of produce that had expired months ago. He closed the door and continued on his quest for something of value within the apartment. Leon sighed, knowing there would be absolutely nothing. The cop opened up the bedroom next and a horrible sight met him.

The entire room was covered in blood. The bed, the wardrobe, the curtains, the walls. It was as though somebody had literally exploded in the room. The next thing that came to Leon's mind was that this was the result of somebody being bitten and a walker was possibly in the apartment somewhere. He unholstered his pistol and kept aim his aim in front of him just incase something decided it wanted to pop out at him. "Shawn, check this out." Leon called out before walking into the blood-drenched room. His feet squelched on the blood-soaked carpet as he advanced further in.

He opened up the en-suite door and dove straight in. It was the same scene as the bedroom. Blood covered. Then he noticed a human-like shape behind the shower curtain. Leon steeled his nerves before yanking the curtain back. What lay behind the curtain was a corpse. Bite marks all over it's body. Covered in blood. A kitchen knife in it's left hand and a slashed throat. The guy had taken his own life. Leon leaned over to get a better look when it's eyes flicked open. Leon had let his guard down and the walker pounced. It wrapped itself around Leon as he attempted to push it off. They stumbled out of the bathroom and onto the bed, all the while with Leon kicking and punching at it. He'd dropped his gun in the en-suite threshold.

"Fuck! Help me, man!"

A banging at the door awakened Twix and as he sat upright he almost said "Come in", but then his situation, the whole worlds situation came back to him all in a rush. He gave the door a quick once over to check that it was holding and to the rhythmic sound of walkers banging on the door he had breakfast, a few bites of smoked rabbit. He returned the rest of the rabbit to one of the numerous pockets of his jacket and rolled up his sleepingbag and mat, he secured it to his back with a few loops of rope and ready to move went out onto the small apartments 2nd floor balcony. To his horror he found the street full of biters just standing about, the area had been quiet when he'd gone to sleep what must have been atleast 5 hours ago. He went back into the apartment, the door was starting to give, the hinges that held it bending, it would hold for another minute. He crossed the room picking up a heavy fireaxe from the corner where he had propped it, he walked out onto the balcony and with a shout began hitting the metal fence that stopped people just walking off the balcony. The loud clanging of metal on metal echoed down the street and biter after biter looked up and began stumbling towards the sound, they pooled outside the building for a moment but soon found their way inside, climbing the steps to his apartment. He prepared himself, securing the fireaxe to his front and then jumped from the balcony to a well secured iron drainpipe perhaps two meters along the outside wall, there was a splintering sound from inside the apartment as the door gave in and Twix slid down the drainpipe.

He hit the street hard but absorbed the energy by falling onto his back, his sleeping bag and mat taking most of the blow. He untied the fireaxe and took stock of his surroundings, across the street biters were exiting another block of apartments, no doubt drawn by his noise making, he set off at a quick jog down the street, the biters outside saw and began chasing in their surprisingly fast shuffle run, their moans would draw the biters inside the buildings on either side of the street out and if he wasn't fast he'd be meat. He just had to survive long enough to find something suitable to climb up, he kept his eyes moving, watching the buildings to his sides and ahead for signs of biters.

Kaden found himself in a relatively familiar position, checking over his shoulder crouched down in front of a door, lock picking kit open on one knee, with an anchor in his left hand and the delicate pick in his right, however now it was no longer police or homeowners he was looking over his shoulder for, it was now the gimps, bandits, and with a grim chuckle he mentally added that you had to check for 'police' in several places where some psychopaths had decided to put on police uniforms and hunted both gimps and people alike, bolstered by their own sense of false superiority.
He shook himself and, after reassuring his paranoid mind that no gimps or human adversaries were approaching, he returned his attention to the lock. He felt the last tumbler click and with a smooth, practiced motion turned both hands to unlock the door. Sure it might have been easier for him to simply break open the door with his crowbar, however the risk to that was making lots of noise and not having the ability to lock the door behind him.
Kaden slowly opened the door, tucking away his lock picking kit in one of his coats multitude of pockets and sliding the crowbar from out if his belt. At this point caution was key, gimps were only truly a threat if they got you pinned tight without room to navigate, or if they came at you in such numbers that there was no room. So in theory so long as Kaden was vigilant and didn't let himself get trapped, he should be fine.
As the door swung open he could hear the ragged, soft moan and his nose picked up the decrepit smell that alerted him to the fact that there was at least one gimp. He entered, moving the crowbar in front of him, holding the straight end in a kendo grip, the curved tip facing out, his feet spread slightly, forming a decent stance. As the first gimp came around the corner Kaden raised his weapon and in a swift movement eliminated the opponent. He removed the crowbar with a smooth movement, and kicked the gimp back out of the way.
More moans. That meant at least one more gimp. He advanced carefully stepping over the first ones recently decimated skull. As he walked around the corner of the small entry way he entered a shared kitchenette and living room area, a small box TV opposite a sofa and a counter creating a semi separated space. Behind the counter stood what used to be a woman by the look of it, wearing the remnants of a nice skirt, blouse, and blazer, the woman had probably been getting ready to head to work, the first one, maybe a boyfriend? Husband? Kaden shrugged off the thought, and with a smooth motion, brought the curved end of the crowbar into the gimps skull.
Kaden moved both corpses out of the apartment and down the hallway, towards the opposite end from the stairs, no reason to put them in his direct way from the exit. He checked that the apartment had a fire escape, there was one right outside the window as he was only on the second story. He quickly pulled the ladder up, no reason to give easy access to the room he was in either.
After ascertaining a relative level of security, he moved the bed from the single bedroom and heaved it against the door, making sure no one would have easy access, he then rifled quickly through the cupboards, avoiding opening the fridge and freezer combo, since he could already pick up the slightest sent of decay, no use making the apartment reek of decayed produce for nothing. He scored two cans of peaches and a tin of instant coffee from the cupboard, all in all a decent grab.
He chuckled to himself, this town might be called Slidell, and the world may have gone to hell, but here he was, doing the same breaking and entering as he had back home in New York, albeit with some... minor, adjustments.

Lying on the bed, almost asleep, he heard his friend shout for help. Shawn was a little drunk, but still - he got up and ran out the room. He ran down the hall, towards the room the noise was coming from, but he slipped, and the back of his head hit a table - knocking him out for about 10 seconds. Shortly after, he got up - his vision blurry and his memories dazed, though he remembered his friend shouting. He stumbled towards the room, entering it and seeing his friend in the bathroom with a Walker. "Oh shit!" He shouted, as he took out his revolver and aimed it at the Walker's head. "No... I could hit you!" He said, looking at the revolver. He threw it to the side, and instead took out his hatchet.

He grabbed the Walker's face, pointing it in the direction of Shawn. "Argh!" He shouted, as he hit the Walker in the head with is, sinking the sharpness of the hatchet in to the Walker's skull - destroying the brain. "Damn shit - you okay? Bit?"He asked, as he helped Leon get on his feet. Shawn bent over, picking up his revolver and put it in his holster. "Shit man. Had a few close encounters like that my self. Just try and, y'know, keep your wits about you." Shawn said, offering friendly advice. He walked out of the room, and in to the next. Opening the door slightly, he peeked through. Not much in sight, still, he wasn't going to go on assumption. He closed the door, and banged it a few times.

"One in here!" Shawn shouted to Leon. "I got 'em." He shouted. Shawn opened the door, and jumped to the side as the Walker fell flat on the ground. "Stupid son of a bitch." He said to the Walker, as he dug his hatchet in to it's skull. "Mmm. Smelly son' bitch." He stated, as he entered in the room. Looking around he didn't see much. Some unruffled bed sheets on top of a double bed, a TV that was all dusty, door to the bathroom and an empty kitchen. "Hell won't do much harm to search it." He said, walking in the direction of the rooms kitchen.

He opened the refrigerator - but before he got a chance to look in side he slammed it shut, and coughed a few times. Some really fucked up out of date food and milk made it stink to high heavens. He checked a few counters and drawers. "Fuck. Ain't nothin'." He said, leaving the kitchen and walking in the direction of the bathroom. "No Walkers - but, score! Toothpaste!" He said, grabbing it. It was one of the mini capsules. "Fuck yeah." He stated, as he walked back to their room.

Shawn took his toothbrush out of his bag, and entered the bathroom. He brushed his teeth for about two or three minutes, and spat out in to the sink. He then took a small sip of water, and he used it to rinse his mouth and spat again. He used a near by towel to clean his toothbrush and walked back out to the room. "There's toothpaste in there in case you need any." Shawn stated, informing Leon of the case. Shawn jumped on to the bed and lay down. He was a bit more sober now - and of course, nothing compared to the feeling of a big ass comfortable bed.

Frank slowly weaved through the abandoned cars, pistol drawn. He had just come off the highway, and he was walking though where people would stop and get some grub after traveling towards New Orleans. Of course, those days were long ago. At least they seemed long ago to Frank, in truth it had only been a year and a half. He had been traveling along the side of a semi-truck, a bit curious if there was anything of value inside. As he turned the corner, he saw one of the dead staring him in the face. It made an inhuman growl, and shambled toward him. Frank pointed his silenced pistol at the walker and pulled the trigger. With a thwip, the walker fell backward onto a nearby Porche, cracking the windshield. A loud car alarm echoed throughout the area, and the growls of the dead could be heard. Before taking off, Frank peered into the trailer and snarled. The entire truck was picked clean. The shuffling of the dead became audible, even over the car-alarm. Frank's eyes widened under his shades, and he took off in a dead sprint toward an apartment complex.

Although Marcus usually preferred to keep a polite head on his shoulders when it came to other survivors, he approached David and the unidentified man with his revolver drawn and slightly raised. The boy was young, probably in his late teens or early twenties, but dwarfing the much older David in height. The kid looked scared, understandably so, and Marcus didn't want to frighten him any further but there was an element of risk involved: The boy was covered in blood and smelled like death, and if he'd recently been fighting off the walkers there was always the possibility of a bite.

"Sorry to have to do this to you, kid, but we're going to need you to take that shirt off and give us a twirl. Nothing personal, just checking for bites." He said to the boy, trying his hardest to not sound too threatening. He figured he would follow up with a question to get the kid talking. "The hell happened to you, anyway? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

Lee chuckled, trying not to seem afraid. "Oh I wish it was that. Had a bit of a run in with those fellas over there," he said, pointing at the heap of creep carcass. He began peeling off his soaked shirt. "See I've been staying in this here apartment building for god knows how long, until my dumbass forgot to reset my trap. A few of 'em came in my room, and I barely escaped. Turns out the whole place is overrun." He held his shirt over his head and turned in circles, revealing his torso. His skin was red with blood and had globs of creep guts here and there along with some scrapes from the road, but no bites. He also pretty much revealed that he was weaponless and defenseless. At first this scared him, but then he relaxed, realizing these two men would have no reason to kill him if he had nothing to take.

Realizing the futility of attempting to put his rag of a shirt back on, he tossed it to the side. He offered a hand out to the two men, hoping one of them would shake it. "The name is Lee."

-Mistake-