3 DAYS AGO

“Quite down, boy!.”

Kate’s eyes popped open to the sound of Uncle Charles screaming his head off at Hershey. Bolstering herself on an elbow, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself curled in a snug ball with Selina, the latter of whom was still deep in sleep; someone, her Aunt, maybe, had generously covered the girls in a comfy thick , baby blue colored throw. She couldn’t recall when either had fallen asleep, but groggily remembered that they had been watching old reruns of Courage the Cowardly Dog, a favorite of both girls’ in their childhood. Some adults they were.

“Uncle, what’s wrong?”

“The damn dog won’t stop barking.” Uncle Charles was shaking his head furiously. The veins on the side of his head were bulging, and she wondered for how long Hershey had been yodeling out the window.

Uncle Charles was a short plump man, with a shiny balding scalp, and a beer belly so big it hung over his belt like a separate entity. He was the very opposite of Kate’s father, his brother. If Kate remembered correctly, and she believed that she did, there was a time when, exempting height, both brothers had been of similar stature and Uncle Charles had, had a full head of hair. But those days were long gone, and since retreating to Atlanta he had acquired a more general American phenotype.

There were only three things that had stayed constant about Uncle Charles: his height, his New York accent, and his typically easy going personality. Therefore, by deductive reasoning, Kate’s chocolate lab must have been barking for quite a while to get on Uncle Charles nerves like this.

“Shut em’ up, Katie,” Aunt Racheal, on the other hand, was a native born Georgian. Uncle Charles and Aunt Racheal had met each other when he’d moved up from New York to attend university in Atlanta. After five long years of dating, they’d married, settled down, and produced two of the finest boys that had ever lived in the finest city on the face of the planet, or so Aunt Racheal thought. It was no secret that Charles despised Atlanta; the family vacations to New York had been extensive, which Aunt Racheal and her two sons loathed. They just weren’t New York material.

After the boys had grown up and left, Uncle Charles had found his vacations to New York becoming sparse and far apart. He hadn’t seen his favorite nieces and nephews in years, and had jumped at the opportunity to host Selina and Kate by his house for a week.

“Katie,” Uncle Charles voice jostled Kate out of her thoughts. Hershey was still yapping away, sounding more and more aggravated with each bark. Whimpers began infusing themselves in his desperate shouts, and Kate found herself unable to calm him with soft words and gently pats. Ultimately, she resorted to waking Selina, the animal whisperer of their small family of three, soon to be four.

“Hmm?” Selina spluttered awake, and Kate affectionately (and somewhat grossly) thumbed away a thin glob of spit that had leaked down her wife’s chin.

“Babe, Hershey won’t stop barking.”

Rubbing her eyes groggily, Selina squinted in the direction of the one year old pup, who was beginning to sound more and more like a broken record.

“What’s the matter with you?” she grumbled. The dog had quieted down some, now that the boss was awake. He still whined with an urgency Kate had never heard before, and even Selina seemed unnerved by his behavior.

“He’s scared of something,” Kate said matter-of-factly to her Uncle, who just rolled his eyes and huffed with exasperation. Minutes ticked by, and finally an hour passed, and still Hershey remained antsy. He had refrained from whining, only to begin methodically pacing back and forth by the house’s front windows.

And then he stopped and stared at the door and the world seemed to be dipped in quiet. Kate couldn’t understand the feeling of morose that pierced the air just then like a dagger through water. But she knew the others felt it too.

Selina’s grip around her shoulders tightened, and for a few moments her soft palm rested on the small nearly nonexistent bump on Kate’s stomach.

Aunt Racheal’s eyes look like round blue saucers on her face, too large for her small head and dainty nose.

Uncle Charles had retreated to the recliner to watch football reruns, but had muted the television, staring fervently in the direction of the dog.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

Thud, thud, thud, thud…

---

NOW
LOCATION: EMORY UNIVERSITY, CAFATERIA

“Cox Hall.” Selina snorted. Her voice echoed throughout the airy cafeteria bouncing off the walls and singing Kate and Selina’s utter loneliness. Selina was very literally beginning to believe that they were the only humans left on the face of the planet. Everyone had evacuated, and the University was devoid of life.

“The reporter,” Kate murmured, eyebrows knitting together with anxiety, “She said they’d be here. That help would come here. But…” she raised her head and glanced around the empty dining area, “…Everyone is gone.”

“Come here baby,” Selina said, patting her lap. When she had made herself comfortable, Selina wrapped her long arms around Kate, holding on to her tightly. They were keeping each other together.

A high pitched whimper arose from under the table the girls we’re sitting by.

“Quiet, Hershey.” The dog's big greenish-yellow eyes stared up apprehensively from underneath the table. Eyebrows knitting together, Selina reached out a hand to pat the dog, keeping the other firmly wrapped around Kate.

"Sorry, buddy. We're scared too." She knew he wouldn't, couldn't, understand what she was saying, and somehow, that made things worse. She could comfort and reassure Kate with words, but Hershey could only understand tone. And even then, those intelligent eyes and far-hearing ears could probably figure the disastrous things that were occurring outside.

Someone had boarded up the windows of Cox Hall’s dining area, probably in anticipation of protecting incoming survivors. But, whoever had done it was either dead, or had left a long time ago, maybe the day they had barricaded everything.

When Selina and Kate had arrived the sprawling university had been left in abandon, much to their dismay. And while the windows were soundly secured, the doors had been left open for any stranglers. It had been Selina's lone job to blockade the doors with various tables and chairs, refusing to even allow Kate to lift a finger to help. The girls had been weary of leaving Uncle Charles house.

But the blood. The blood splattered on the walls was unbearable.

Opening the door had been a huge mistake.

One of those....things, had stumbled inside and sunken its yellowing teeth into Uncle Charles neck before he had even been able to respond properly. Kate and Selina had tried their very best to save Aunt Rachael. But she wouldn't leave his side. Selina had pried Kate away and they, along with Hershey, had escaped with Uncle Charles's old sedan, taking several weapon like sports equipment with them. She had very sparsely packed for both girls. It had just been a matter of throwing a few needed things into her bags, before speeding off. She would not have waited for more of those things to flood into the house. They had left behind everything else...their suitcases, containing most of their clothing, and poor Aunt Rachael, kneeling by Uncle Charles body, knees stained in a pool of red blood.

Selina felt horrible about the whole situation. She didn't even know if Aunt Rachael was alive, and she knew it had been bothering Kate for...well since they had left.

A broadcast had echoed from the radio telling the girls' to make their way to Emory University. The road had been filled with perils, and Selina had found herself more than once veering off the road to avoid hitting one of those monsters.

When they had arrived, the University had been in a state of disarray. Certain areas were boarded, whereas others remained wide open. In those places, the decaying human-beasts roamed, moaning and walking into walls. Hershey had guided them to the cafeteria, his keen senses tell him exactly which paths to avoid.

When they had settled, upon observation, the more urban area of Atlanta, a small distance away, seem sedentary. The girls had only passed one night in the University; Selina had made the laborious journey (by stairs) to the roof of the building. There, she had surveyed the skyscrapers just miles away. Oddly, only a few lights per skyscraper had been on; and not a stir of the life and noise that accompanied a big city.

Kate was holding her head now, and shiny wet streaks were leaking down her cheeks.

“Oh, don’t cry, babe.” Selina herself was trying very hard not to cry. She kept rubbing Kate back and belly in comforting circles, trying hard to lighten any stress. Stress, if she remembered correctly, was not good for the mother, nor the baby.

The girls were at the back of the cafeteria, plastered against the wall, as far away from the boarded up windows as possible. They were near an outlet that was, miraculously, still giving electricity. In fact, for now, the whole building seemed alive, and the dining room lights hadn’t given out on them yet.

They had a small radio plugged in the outlet. Nothing was broadcasting, but they had turned the channel onto the news. Every now and then, it would frizzle and Selina’s heart would race with the hope that the news station would broadcast some sort of helpful information. But it never happened.

---

NOW
JACK, JEM, AND SCOUT

Scout’s hand was curled in a small fist on her lap. Her father had never driven this fast before. It was nauseating, and to make matters worse, Scout had already come down with vicious cold. She had only been on the verge of getting better when he father had ripped her out of bed (still in her pajamas), and sped to school to pick Jem up. Both children hadn't had a bath or fresh change of clothing in three days. What in the world was happening?

All Scout knew was that Jack and Jem seemed to know very well what was happening, while she remained in the dark about everything.

Every now and then, they would pass a person ambling down along the highway. Scout couldn’t understand why the road was so empty, or why people had abandoned their vehicles. But she did understand that these people were sick. Their eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets, and their flesh seemed to peel from their bones. It was gross, and Scout had tried her very best not to look at them.

“Daddy,” she whined begrudgingly.

“Yes, baby.” Scout could hear the forced politeness in her father’s voice, feel the fakeness of his cheesy smile, one she could only see in the rearview mirror.

“Play, music. It’s too quiet an’ I don’t feel good.” The radio had been frizzing irritably since they had first sat their asses in the car. It was on their regular station; Scout was sure it was, she had seen the numbers.

“Shut up, dummy,” Jem grumbled irritably from the front passenger seat, “Don’t you see the station ain’t working?”

“Shut up, Jem.” That was her father. She could see Jem scowl from her place in the middle seat in the back. His face spoke several degrees of ‘stung’ but Scout thought he rightly deserved it. Who did he think he was, trying to tell her what to do?

“Listen, kids,” Jack sighed loudly, “We’re heading to Emory University. That’s where the radio said to go. They’ll find us there…” he began talking to himself, muttering things Scout didn’t understand. She just reverted to staring out the window, hoping this nightmare would be over soon.

LOCATION: EMORY UNIVERSITY - SECOND FLOOR LIBRARY

Three days ago, the world ended. A scientific anomaly had occurred, something had infected them. The symptoms were clear, decaying flesh, vacant eyes, mindlessness, but the cause was not. Not yet, at least. All that was known was that it was an illness. A sickness, which slowly killed the living's minds, or perhaps animated the dead. News stations kept her updated for a little bit, but soon the frightened cries and warnings of the inane reporters became too much. Too much. Jesse couldn't be sure in the end what was actually happening (she had never been one to trust the news), she didn't have enough evidence to create a theory, but her hypothesis was clear: something was very, very wrong.

dead all dead debra connor all dead O God

She was alone, huddled deep within the aisles of Emory's grand library. Above her, a glass ceiling allowed an ample amount of light to shine down among the wooden shelves and plush carpet, and around oak wood cases surrounded her in organized rows. Against her back was a royal blue wall, which melded into a narrow window which gave a decent vantage point on the college cafeteria and yard below. It was quiet, save for her heavy breathing and tapping foot, yet her head ached as if she were in a music-filled party. Three days she had wandered the empty halls of Emory, watchful eyes scanning the vacant rooms of the university while her brain attempted to regain a sense of normalcy. That wouldn't happen though, it couldn't. She had seen enough already on the morning it began, she had awoken and watched the body of her dearest friend rise and wander cluelessly into the morning while students streamed out of the building like rivers. Screams and alarms filled the air, but outside didn't seem like the best place to go. Despite the grogginess that had invaded her brain and the need to flee that filled her limbs, she remained within the dormitory, clutching her phone and the radio close to her being. Jess was too deep in to return to her life of studying or tests.

The sudden buzz of her phone drew Jess from her thoughts, and she turned to stare at the cracked tech with tired eyes. Unread messages from friends and local warnings streamed across the screen rapidly. Twitter had been alive with farewell messages a few hours ago, disproving Jesse's idea of her being the last person alive, but she couldn't bother to read any of them. What was the point. They were all dead anyway.

Or... Were they?

pessimism is not becoming of anyone nope nope

Sounds from within the library made her eyes rise, and she felt her throat tighten. A crash, like glass shattering, then footsteps, loud and unsettling, echoed against the silent hall. There was no voice to accompany them, only short, scattered huffs as if someone were exhaling heavily over and over again. Jesse pursed her lips, then slowly rose up, pulling all of her belongings together into her pack before she tip-toed forward, gray eyes scanning the aisles around before she slipped towards the stairs which led down to the first level of the library. The sighs from before had stopped, as did the foot steps, and instead a groan filtered from somewhere below.

Jesse frowned, hands tightening around the strap on her shoulder as she creaked slowly down the wooden steps, eyes wide and wild as she constantly searched for the source of the moans. There was, however, no one to be seen, only an unfamiliar break in one of the windows far to her left. Finally feeling an uncontrollable anxiety, Jesse quickened her pace, nearly sprinting towards the closest exit, and as she entered the final row of shelves the groans turned into cries, and arms burst from the shelf to her right, waving wildly. Jesse couldn't contain her scream, and she fell back to evade the confused claws, wincing as books fell from above.

not dying here gotta find kimbel gotta find kim-

The arms reached blindly, knocking countless books to Jess' feet, and in an act if blind feat she suddenly turned and rushed at the bookcase, ramming her shoulder into the shelf just beyond the arm's grasp. Instantly, the creak of wood filled the room, and the shelves fell back. Books tumbled through, and the groans turned to screams as the entire right side of the aisle collapsed. Without taking another second to check the body she ran, exiting the room and fleeing out into the yard. Her first thought was to run back to the dorm, to crawl under her bed and simply die in peace, but something caught her adrenaline-fueled attention. The cafeteria.

The last group she had seen enter there had left at least a day ago, or, seemed to have left. Jesse remembered vaguely that the doors had been opened sometime before she had taken refuge in the library. Now the doors were close. How odd. She slowly approached the building, glancing about cautiously before finally reaching the double doors. Scratches covered the wood, and the slightest bit of red filled the indents. Blood, probably.

wouldn't hurt to knock

knocking wouldn't kill ya

"... Hello?" She muttered against the wood, fist rasping against the door once, twice, and then she was on the move again, circling to the shadowed side of the cafeteria building as far off car horns suddenly filled the air. She quickly lowered herself down into a thick brush, eyes wide, and within her bag her phone continued to buzz and buzz, matching the beat of her heart almost perfectly.

MALIK & KALI THORNTON

“Y'know, sis, we still have time to turn back.”

As he spoke, Malik's dark eyes fluttered from side to side, wide-open and ever-alert. Ever since he'd seen those things attack with his own two eyes, hours before the spread of the infection– disease– whatever it was became a pandemic, he was determined not to be caught unawares and find himself on the receiving end of blunt teeth and bile. A lack of attention and an overabundance of thoughtlessness. That was how it had multiplied into a doomsday event – a goddamned apocalypse – as quickly as a wildfire in a bone-dry woodland.

With his dad's – no, he corrected himself, Eddie's – old army jacket over the thickest woollen jumper he could find, he hoped and prayed it would stop any unwanted scratches and wounds from the newly ressurected dead. Whatever poison their fluids and teeth and fingernails carried, it was a nightmarish way to die. Victims begging for just a little comfort from the nausea and pain would tend to cling to their family members, and when their hearts stopped beating, when the mourners were left with the body for hours as some unseen catalyst festered within the corpse, that was when they would begin their indiscriminate attack, starting with their loved ones. Flashes of locked doors in bustling corridors with screams inside would haunt his dreams for as long as he lived, he was sure.

Trapped in morbid musing, he wondered if that was the same reason why Eddie pickled himself with drink and never, ever, ever spoke of his time in the war.

With a cough, Malik realised they were standing out in the open, sheltered only by a hedgerow at the side entrance to Emory University. Kali, his younger sister, looked unimpressed, arms folded in an equally padded parka. He held his hands up placatingly. “Jus' saying. We don't know what's in there. We don't know if there's survivors left or those... things. Might even be bandits, preying on weak little maidens like yourself.” He tapped his forehead knowingly, with a worried smile that bordered on a grimace. “You gotta think sometimes.”

“Don't be a cynical bastard, Malik,” Kali commented lightly. She must've known how much he hated that term, given that it was Eddie's weapon of choice in a war of words; however, if she took any pleasure from it, Malik couldn't see it. She wore a stoic mask – there was no twitch of enjoyment in her thin lips – and she simply tapped her nails lightly against the dustbin lid she'd picked up as a shield. “We can hardly survive alone on whatever scraps are left in your cupboards.” An accusation.

A non-confrontational person by nature, Malik simply turned around and led her around to the back end of the eerily silent building, knowing his way to the cafeteria – barely. He'd only been for two or three lessons that required the use of university equipment; his college dealt with the rest of his course. Maybe if he'd studied a little harder...

Kali interrupted his pity-party (and what a welcome relief that was) with a quiet, “If there's nobody there, we'll scavenge for some supplies.” Somewhat appeased, Malik simply put his finger to his lips and shushed his younger sister, pointing to his ear. Dead silence followed, broken only by the distant shambling feet of what he assumed to be corpses and a few low, mindless groans.

A car horn sounded in the distance, turning their moaning into a cacophony of noise.

He leaned over to whisper very carefully in her ear, “Coming from the right. Cafeteria's on the left. Watch your flank.” Gripping Kali's free arm at the elbow, he maneuvered her in their intended direction, careful to ensure that his massive backpack made as little noise as possible during the effort. A dark figure sprinted around the side of the building, prompting a swift intake of breath from his sister but Malik didn't even blink. “We're not checking it out. Could be a Thing.”

With a deep breath, Malik moved over to try and push the door open only to find it wouldn't budge. He tried again, exhaling through his nose in frustration, before Kali wordlessly nudged him out of the way and rapped three times on the bloodstained door. “Hey, wanna let us in? The dead – uh, walkers – they'll see us if we're out here any longer! Please open up!”

Malik raised an eyebrow sceptically. “How do you know there's anyone in there?” he asked, to which Kali smirked.

“Boarded up from the inside. They're still in there, dead or alive.”

Grace and Aldous Gallagher
Gas Station Just Outside of Atlanta

---

"This can't be happening," Grace had repeated the phrase multiple times over the last few hours. It was well over three days for the shock to settle out of her system, but that didn't seem to stop the girl from phasing in and out of reality, even for a moment. Glossy eyed and looking more than ready to puke, Grace had bent herself over the counter, dust clinging to the maroon coat tugged over her white, graphic t-shirt.

After a moment of rummaging through the back of the gas station, Aldous stepped through the ajar door with two bottles of water in his hand, having already packed a few more into the back pack slung over his shoulder. "Stay hydrated," he said, to which Grace scoffed in protest before she downed the entire bottle in one gulp, "Or just don't save any for later, that's fine too." His smile was forced, but he somehow kept it gentle as he looked her over. "There's a trash can over there if ya' need to upchuck."

As if on cue, mid dismissive wave, Grace lurched forward before taking the hint and rushing to the bucket to release whatever her stomach held the night before. There were tears stinging her eyes by the time the rumbling settled down and her complexion darkened compared to her slight pallor seconds before. Wiping her chin, she looked over at Aldous with a frown and shook her head before he could utter a word through his agape mouth. He merely smiled and flung the backpack over his other shoulder, nodding to the door. The gas station was ransacked, but he'd somehow found a few bottles of water probably dropped and left behind. They might not be able to restock on food, but water seemed the more important thing for the moment. That and traveling light; they already had a few cans of beans and maybe a granola bar or two—he'd have to recount their supplies whenever they'd found some kind of respite that didn't come in the form of rushed searching in some rundown gas station just off the highway. He'd hoped to find some gas for his sister's tiny Hyundai just as a precaution—little over half a tank was fine until it wasn't—but had found the place practically empty of everything aside from the astray bottles of water.

This wasn't exactly a situation he wanted to come to down the road, but circumstances didn't necessarily allow for things to pan out as smoothly as Aldous' had planned. Grace seemed optimistic, though, and insisted there'd be another station down the road, as if she hadn't lived in the city for as long as she had. Aldous took these roads plenty of times and the only thing down this road was Emory and a few exits for rest stops and diners and maybe a hotel or two. Even then, most of the gas stations and any store that held food would most likely be completely abandoned and out of stock with the town evacuated. People scared for their lives fought tooth and nail for survival, which meant no stone wasn't turned over and no food was left behind. Same went for gas, what with these streets having been cluttered to the middle of downtown, raging with panic, not three days ago.

The thought of it all brought a grimace to Aldous' features as he shoved his backpack in the back of the Hyundai and pressed the button to turn it on. The scowl turned more away from his thoughts and to the atrocity that was this pink... thing he was forced to drive. If his sister was anything, she definitely wasn't as girly as this, not that he'd mind tapping into his feminine side, but a pink car pushed that limit too far. It was mainly that pink was kind of an atrocious color for a car. He'd reprimanded her the day she arrived, so Grace certainly didn't need to hear more of his snark filled comments. Not to mention she had enough ammunition to insult that junker of a Camry he called a car and wondering just how the hell he'd gotten to Atlanta from San Francisco in that thing. Honestly, he didn't know, and he was definitely glad she rejected his insistence that they take that instead of the Hyundai. He had to put up some kind of fight for his property, even if he loathed the thing's existence from here to Sunday.

A few days ago they'd decided to hole up like the government had told them to: stay in doors, gather your supplies, and wait out the storm. However, come the second day, the whole wait out the storm thing didn't seem like it was working. They'd been plunged into complete darkness and it was more than a frightening thought just how far up there were in their parent's spacious apartment. They were by no means a rich family, but years of hard work gave them a more than comfortable retirement and it showed. However, the spacious housing, filled to the brim with antiques and heirlooms boarding on Anasazi tribal masks to Renaissance paintings felt more like confinement than it did home the longer the hours went by. The walls, he'd remembered, a dark tan in the dimming light leaked profusely of guilt and memories, shouting and crying. There was too much bad stuffed into one home for him to think properly and went all his ties were cut to the place, he packed up and left without ever looking back. Kind of felt like an asshole move, but Aldous couldn't bring himself to feel guilty over something that happened over a decade ago.

The highway then, to his relief, was only partially cluttered every few miles with abandoned cars and moaning creatures, leaving long stretches filled with nothing but blacktop pavement. It was refreshing, though his sister didn't seem to think so. Grace sat squirming in her seat, paying most of her attention to the hands that fidgeted in her lap. She looked mortified to even stare out at the scenery blurring by in the window. Of course, in moments like these, Aldous refrained from even huffing out a breath; these moments hung so precariously over what he determined as Grace 'freak out zone' and if he said one little thing wrong, she'd go into some catatonic state. It was best if he left her to her musings, no matter how much it pained him to see her so out of control, so unlike herself.

Emory, from Atlanta, wasn't that long of a drive, though rush hour and general traffic usually lengthened the time it took to get there. With an empty stretch of road, it made that trip a whole lot shorter, even with the few roundabout ways they had to get there—some of those things had piled onto the highway for who knew how long and Aldous didn't necessarily fell the need to subject his sister and his sister's car to a pile of blood, guts, and pale skin. When they arrived, he shuffled out after parking somewhere in the grass, noticing the car didn't quite have enough gas to be useful for more than a thirty minute drive.

"Hey," he leaned over the hood of the car to watch his sister straighten her leggings and adjust her purse (more of a satchel, really, but she'd be more inclined to smack him over the head with it if he'd said that), "You feeling okay?"

Grace glanced over, her eyes finding Aldous' green ones, only to falter and stare anywhere but him as she spoke, "Yeah, I guess. I'll be better once we find other people."

"Sick of me already?" he said, amusement playing on his lips.

"You know how loud you snore? And you smell like dirt and... and man. It's not alluring, you know. Don't be expecting to pick up the ladies with that stench."

Aldous rolled his eyes at the comment, "Well good, cause after spending time with your hour long morning rituals and craving for nasty fast food over MY cooking, I'd rather attract a man. At least they'd learn to appreciate my cinnamon buns. Double entendre intended."

"Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't mind being the little spoon for a change, dearest Aldie."

"Hey, man or woman, I've got legal documents concerning any and all spooning exchanges, regardless of gender" Aldous huffed, puffing out his chest as he slung the back pack over his shoulder and made for the entry way to the building Emory's cafeteria was supposedly held in, "Plus, have you seen my biceps? These arms have comforted many a manly man under the covers, and rightly so. If I remember correctly, I'd brought home a nice, hulking, bear of a rugged man who smelled distinctly of pine and lumberjack and oozed masculinity and he purred every time he'd nuzzle so comfortably under my chin and in my loving embrace. After of course a rocking amount wild, on the wall, over the couch, in a public bathroom—"

"That's more information than I wanted to know. I hereby resign my testimony and drop any charges of you being a man's little spoon, as long as you don't talk, in detail, about how you rocked a lumberjack's world," Grace could only roll her eyes as she gave an exasperated sigh, but she smiled all the same.

Aldous let out a low hum of a purr, rolling a deep R in his throat, "Oh, baby, talk legalese to me."

"I swear—"

"I bet that's how you get your fiance off, huh? All you two do is mull over paperwork and case files while speaking of jurors and clients and whispering sweet technical jargon into each other's bluetooths," his words fell short as he trailed off into a hushed whisper. They'd not talked of her fiance since she'd had a literal mental freak out the moment the TV flickered on with news of this pandemic hitting America like a nuke. Aldous eyes flickered over to his sister, having noticed her stop just before they entered the building. He could hear the shuffles and the moans coming from one of the boarded up windows to their left, but it wasn't dire enough to warrant his attention. He opened his mouth to speak but found no words for a few moments as she simply stared down at her maroon flats, as if they held all of the answers to her problems.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—it wasn't..." he began, reaching back to rub his neck, eyes catching one of the hedges in need of a good trim.

"It's fine," she body checked him as she pushed the door open and spilled into the hall with quiet, puttering steps.

"Ah shit, I swear," Aldous cursed, quickly following her. He kept his eyes on the locked doors to his right, still hearing the shuffling of feet and soft thuds of bodies against the furniture inside, could make out the squeaking of chairs even. It unnerved him that she'd just waltzed past all of these creatures without so much as a second glance and it only caused him to pick up his pace to catch her. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her mid stride, speaking in hushed tones, "Hey, hey, don't be in such a rush, Gray. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up again, but you can't go off like that. I need you to stay as close by me as possible, okay? You left your bat on the steps, by the way." He'd grabbed it as quickly as he could before she stormed off, barely catching it before it hit the ground. He'd kept his own weapons secure, the Bowie knife secured in a sheath crudely tied to his belt and the hammer in his backpack, just in case.

The look she gave him was blank, expressionless and not so full of the life she usually carried. But he didn't say anything, simply gave her a weak grin as she took the bat wordlessly and continued moving. They only stopped, barely even a few feet from where they started, when the groaning grew louder, followed quickly by the sound of horns in the distance, and then it grew unbearable. The doors rattled and few bodies fell through already open ones. Aldous didn't wait to react to the hand that grabbed at his shoulder, slamming an elbow into the body that shuffled closer, hand already gripping the knife tight. He swiveled on his feet to plunge the knife deep into the thing's skull, pushing it into what looked to be a group trying to squeeze their way past the door beside him. Grace was already at his side, hand pressing tight on the edge of the opened door as he gave one hard shove and jumped back, only relaxing slightly when he heard the lock click.

They flew by, Grace only having to bat away groping hands once before they were running down a maze of halls. They stopped short at the end of one, having miraculously followed all the signs that would lead them to the cafeteria, to find an only semi-empty hallway. Aldous gave a breath of relief, only to tighten his grip on the bloodied knife in his hand. People meant respite, but for how long? Grace didn't seem to follow in his worry, having already made a move to alert the people of their presence.

"Hey!" she cried out in what could have possibly been the worst stage whisper she'd every attempted, but at least it wouldn't call unwanted attention to them. Not that their pattering footsteps didn't already do that. The moans and cries echoed through the halls, but they didn't seem quite too coordinated or anywhere near where they currently were. "We got the message on the radio. We've only come for refuge and help; we mean no harm."

"Oh, by all means, Gracie, sweetheart," Aldous groaned, "Ask 'em to take us to their leader."

"Fuck you, Aldous," she flung a glare his way as she approached the two people, hoping they were friendly. She made no move, seeming to drop her guard completely, a great contrast to Aldous stiff stance and white-knuckle grip on his knife. "Sorry, he can be a bit of an ass," she gave them a smile, "I'm assuming this is where we were supposed to meet up? The door's blocked, though, isn't it?" She gave a sigh and a face that said, 'Of course the door's barricaded.'

"No shit," Aldous threw, to which he earned yet another over the shoulder glare.

"What the hell are you doing all the way over there?" Grace held up a hand and shook her head as if she were talking to an idiot.

"Keepin' watch," he gave her the same attitude she'd given him and she simply rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before turning back to the pair at the door. This was turning out to be a longer day than either of them wanted.

Shane stared at Connor. The young man himself was looking at the handgun he held in his hands, soon ejecting the clip and examining that as well. Whatever emotion was or was not on his face was unreadable, at least to Shane it was. Physically the lad was bigger than him despite being ten years younger, standing at about 6' and being broad shouldered and stocky. Shane himself was about 5'9 and had a much leaner build. He was a good kid, Connor was, even if he didn't believe it himself. Shane's eyes drifted to the room around them. It was the back room of a small convenience store that had seemingly been deserted. They had decided to stop and check their supplies and maybe, just maybe get some new ones.

The store had a little food they could take and a good few bottles of water left. Not to mention another couple of cans of dog food for Boone. The place was dim and quite dirty, but it was quiet enough that they could safely do what they needed to do. The stop hadn't been a complete waste and that was enough to keep Shane satisfied for now. He was worried about Connor though, the lad had barely reacted to what they had experianced thus far. It seemed to be his way of dealing with things, but there was the nagging worry that he wasn't dealing with them. That would be unhealthy. Very unhealthy considering the circumstances. Finally Shane's eyes drifted back to the gun Connor held.

“You know how to use that thing?” Shane spoke blankly, nodding at the weapon in the lad's hands.

“More or less. I know how to load and shoot it, though I'm not a great shot and I have no idea how to go about maintaining it. We should probably keep using the blunt weapons as long as we can anyway... What calibre is that Glock? 9mm?”

“I'm about the same unfortunately, and yeah, I remember that much at least... Man at the shop said it was a good calibre for a beginner.”

“Cool. That means we can share ammo... Not that we'll need to.”

“Yeah, let's hope we don't... People get desperate when terrible things such as this happen. If the pure mental anguish isn't enough to push them over the edge, going into survival mode usually is. I really hope we don't come across any desperate people... Or rather, bandits.” Shane said grimly, lowering his head into his hands and massaging his temples. “Shit, I miss my girlfriend.”

“Where is she?” Connor inquired, his usually hard, cold looking stone eyes turning soft.

“England. We had one of those long distance relationship things going on. I was planning on going over to see her during the holiday... Something tells me U.S Airways wont be sorting my flight out now.”

“Sorry man.”

“Thanks Connor. Come on, let's get going. We should reach the university in about half an hour. Come on Boone, back to the car you big softie.”

“How long you had Boone anyway? He seems to love you.”

“He's a loving dog.” Smiled Shane, scratching the large dog behind the ear. “I've had him for about six years now, since he was nine weeks old. He was one of the pups my brothers dog had... I was a very inexperienced owner at first. Didn't really understand the way dogs work. Took Boone here destroying a sofa it took me four months to save for for me to do a bit of research and find out how to be a better owner. Turns out I had to become, in his eyes, the pack leader, not an easy thing for me to do honestly, I'm not really the type. It was worth it though.” Shane grinned, thinking about happy times as he opened the back door of his car to let Boone in before climbing into the drivers seat next to Connor.

“Try and get some sleep kid, I know you've barely shut your eyes the last three days... You too Boone. B.E.D.”

---

Connor slept for maybe fifteen minutes. It wasn't long, but he was surprised he had actually fallen asleep at all. His handgun, like Shane's, was sat heavily in his lap. One thing they never mentioned in all the gangster films he had seen was just how uncomfortable it was to sit down with a handgun tucked in your pants. It's near impossible comfort wise to be honest. If this damned virus was going to keep spreading, which it seemingly was, they would need to find some holsters sometime. So far though neither of them had fired a single shot. They had a little method for taking out the strollers. Shane went in first since he was the smaller one and took out one of their legs with the hook on his crowbar. Then Connor himself mercy killed them with his baton whilst they were down. So far it had been pretty effective, but he imagined they would have to fight as singular units if they found themselves with more than a few to take down.

"Hey, you got any CD's up in here? Quiet is getting... Too quiet." Connor asked, announcing that he was in fact now awake.

"Just like a teenager to want to listen to music waking up." Shane chuckled, reaching over and turning on his CD player. Johnny Cash's 'Ain't no Grave' started playing.

"Oh, damn. Couldn't have predicted that." Shane laughed, in unison with Connor. It was rare the lad laughed. Seemed he had himself a dark humour. "Alright, come on now, clap your hands and sing with me."

"There ain't no grave, can hold my body down. There ain't no grave, can hold my body down! When I hear that trumpet sound, I'mma rise right outta the ground! Ain't no grave, can hold my body down!"

Both men laughed hysterically, but Shane had to turn it down when he realized they were approaching their destination.

"University's just around this corner here. We'll deal with the strollers only if we have to, and if we do have to we'll deal with them the same way as always. Boone'll follow next to me, he can give us a warning before we run into any threats. Keep it tight Connor. Maybe, just maybe this will mean safety for a while... Come on."

Both men got out of the car, both tucking their handguns into the front of their pants. Connor picked up Shane's backpack. He had insisted that he be the one to carry it two days before. His argument being that due to their method of dealing with the strollers, Shane had to be the more agile one. Shane couldn't help but agree, but also due to the fact that Connor was obviously stronger than him. Finally Shane let Boone out of the car.

"Stay close now Boone."

With that they were off. They managed to run past the few strollers they did see outside, quickly reaching the first doors they saw into the university. Finding their way in quickly, probably due to sheer luck Boone immediately started growling. It was only when Shane's eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the place that he saw the stroller advancing towards them. He did his thing, approaching the soulless man and ducking under it's outstretched arms, quickly hooking the beasts leg with his weapon and pulling it out from under him. He danced away and watched as Connor moved in, quickly bringing his heavy police baton down onto the things skull. Once didn't do it, twice typically did though. They moved on once again, doing their best to follow the signs to the cafeteria and remain relatively quiet.

"Boone, find the people boy!"

Boone ran forward, taking over Shane and making him give chase. It wasn't too long before they skidded to a halt though, finding Boone barking at a man.

"Quiet Boone!" Ordered Shane, raising his arms and the crowbar he held above his head. "We're friendly." Shane spoke, stopping next to his dog with Connor right behind him.

"The fuck? Only four people!" Connor spoke in a hushed but obviously surprised voice.

"Six now Connor... Right?" Shane said, looking at the most immediate stranger.

Heather picked up a small leaf. A pair of scissors in her hand, she was crouched a couple feet away from her convertible Mini Cooper. She never did like the car, but her parents gave it to her two years ago and she didn't exactly have enough money to buy herself a new one. Plus, as small and silly as it looked to some people, it worked and ran quite well. That's all she really needed up until now.

Flipping her hair off of her shoulders and behind her back, Heather stood up with the leaf, and raised it to the sun. Examining it carefully, she shook her head, and then threw it on the ground. "Not the one..." she muttered to herself, and turned around. She placed her hands on her hips and frowned a bit, as if trying to remember what she had to do next. That's right! Heather remembered, clapping her hands together once as the thought came back to her. The university!

Heather walked back to the car after straightening her beige sweatshirt, and sat down in the driver's seat. Her backpack filled with items was thrown onto the passenger's seat, and a large softball bat was in the back. In the trunk, two cans of gas rested in the corner, secured by two small ropes. All she had left food-wise was a sandwich, and the fear of starvation plagued her many times per day as she hadn't yet found a place where she could find food. Every place she tried was already looted.

As she turned on her car, her mind began to drift. Who would she meet there? Certainly not her sister, no. Her sister was dead- that much Heather was sure of. Her sister, Maria, was the one to cry at the death of a caterpillar. She was also very paranoid, a trait that ran in the family. Heather, being a very curious and risk-taking person, was fortunate enough not to acquire that trait. She had seen what kind of mental toll it had on her mother and her sister. Both had mental issues of their own.

Heather pictured her sister on the day the outbreak happened. She imagined Maria turned on the news, like she usually did, only to find out the world was ending. Heather knew Maria would stay in her cottage house, for she thought it was the safest place. Plus, there was a lake, and if she got in trouble there would always be the option to head out into the water. But despite all the escape options, Maria would panic, and either make a fatal mistake, costing her her life, or she would commit suicide from the pressure.

Heather shook at the thought of the latter option. That couldn't happen, could it? Heather gripped the steering wheel tighter and held back tears of anger. She wasn't angry at anybody in particular, but rather at the situation. Why? How? Questions flew through Heather's mind like vicious clouds until she reached her destination.

Heather parked behind another building, and she would have to walk a bit before she reached the front doors. She figured it might be a bit dangerous to leave her car back there, but she didn't want any possible survivors to steal it. As she rounded the corner, she saw people at the door, waiting to get inside. Tilting her head, she slowly approached and stopped way before the steps to the entrance. She debated whether or not to come close, but while she thought, something caught her eye.

She darted off to the side, and immediately crouched down on the ground. Grabbing her scissors out of her pocket, she swiftly cut a small leaf off of the ground. "Lemon Balm!" she exclaimed, and recited its treatments in her head. It helped with anxiety, insomnia, wounds, and upset stomachs. Perfect if anything were to go wrong. She opened up her bag, and took out a big binder, containing pages with pockets for various herbs. She flipped to the L page and placed her lemon balm in her binder, and then quickly put the binder back in her bag. Pleased with her harvest, she stood up, and then paused. She had yelled that last exclamation quite loudly.

Two Days Ago

“All civilians are to form up in a single filed line,” said a voice over a megaphone. Soldiers stood erect like statues as they moved to and fro. “When called, proceed to the checkpoint. Any individuals who move outside the line or attempt to climb the fence will be met with deadly force. I repeat …”

Katherine listened to the soldier as she removed her gloves and disinfected her hands. The quarantine zone was becoming more packed by the minute, and there was barely any spaces left to process people cleared of infection. There were some who tried to leave through the highway beyond the checkpoints, but they were either turned around by the military or simply shot. The government was dead set on keeping things contained. Katherine hoped her family made it out in time. Sammy knew the back roads though; they should be fine.

“Doing alright?” Katherine looked up and saw Jason as he gave her a weary smile. “Nine hours so far. Makes first and second year feel like a joke. I’m surprised you showed up, Kat.”

She rolled her eyes as she moved towards the next tent over. To prevent bodily fluids from transferring tents, protocol was to replace gloves at each station. The precaution was understandable. “I was going to skip town. Away from all this shit, but I couldn’t. Not when Dr. Kneeton sent out that message. Can you believe this? All of this? The deceased literally coming back to life? Not to mention that, but they’re eating people!”

Jason laughed as he put on a fresh pair of gloves. “At least residency will be easier after this.”

Stepping into the tent, Katherine stepped past an armed guard as she began her check on the patients. Stepping towards a middle aged, blonde woman, Katherine stopped in front of her. She took a look at the information clipped to the bed. Glancing at the patient, Katherine gawked at the woman’s physical condition. Thank god she had a mask on. “Ms. Sanders? I’m Katherine, a medical student at Emory. Some preliminary questions first. Have you been bitten or come into contact with any of the infected?”

“I-I don’t like it here. I don’t like it here!”

Katherine nodded as she tore open the wrapping around a thermometer. “I’m going to take your temperature and check you out. We’ll try to get you out of here. How does that sound, Ms. Sanders?”

“T-they tore into him. I-I don’t like it here. Not here…”

“This has to go under your tongue. Can you open your mouth?” Carefully, Katherine inserted the silver-colored rod as she waited for the readout to stabilize. Bethany Sanders. Mother of two and married. From what Katherine could tell, the woman was in shock. Not the typically psychologic trauma that came with car crash patients or GSW, but a different kind. Her voice and demeanor hinted to the woman experiencing something terrible.

The reader beeped. Katherine paled slightly. “Ms. Sanders, I’m going to get some medication. I need you t—“

“I DON’T LIKE IT HERE! I DON’T,” Katherine stepped back as the woman coughed up blood. It was surreal. Jerking to and fro, the whole scene looked like a twisted version of ballet. Ms. Sander’s body convulsed as it slammed back into the bed and remained dead still.

Katherine was very aware of a soldier ordering her to step back, but she didn’t listen. She continued to stare at the woman — married and whom had two kids — laying there as limp as a carcass.

“Step back!” Katherine stumbled and fought to regain her balance as the soldier shoved her off.

She felt a pair of hands from behind her as Jason caught her. Jason looked at her then to the soldier. “Hey asshole? What the hell?”

The soldier trained his rifle on the Ms. Sanders as he spoke into the radio. “Tent F has an infected,” said the gruff voice from behind the mask. “Copy, Command.” The soldier turned to the medical personnel. “Medical personnel, clear out! Civilians remain in your beds. This tent is under lockdown. Any attempt to le—“

Gunshots cut the soldier off as rounds echoed from outside. Katherine jumped at the noise. She hated guns. The damn things. Though they were helpful in times like this, she couldn’t stand them. The time to complain wasn’t now though. Crossing to the flap with the other medical personnel, her heart stopped as she saw what laid outside.

There wasn’t a line anymore. Into the quarantine zone that was. She saw multiple persons tearing into guards and people alike, as great vehicles mowed down the living and the dead. Her eyes locked onto that of a child as she started moving forward. She felt a strong grip hold her back as she fought to move forward. “You bastards! The child is still alive! The chi—!”

The brunette looked away as gunfire roared in that direction. The shots rang in her ears, but she swore she could hear someone screaming. Her legs wobbled and grew weak.

“Kat!” She shook her head as Jason began to lead her away. “Fuck this quarantine zone. We’re leaving!”

“They shot the …”

“I saw that bullshit,” Jason said as he pushed past the throng of fleeing people. “Come on. We’re heading back into the city.”

Katherine shook her head. “We’re going to borrow a car, and we’re going into the co—“

“We’ll get torn to shreds by the military! No one is leaving that way, Kat! Now shut up and keep moving. The infected are slow. We can slip past them.”

“My sisters are waiting for me!”

Jason turned into an alleyway and forced her to look into his passionate, sea green eyes. “Calm down, Kat. Survive, then we’ll find them. Have faith. Everything will be alright. You’ll see.”

Present Day

Katherine leaned against the cool touch of a brick wall. The contents of her backpack pressed into her as she fingered the crowbar in her hands. Her clothes — now three days old — felt slimly as dry blood caked the outside. She was all alone, and the feeling wasn’t shy of letting her know. She could still see Jason’s face contorted in pain as the infected got him. She tried to save him but there were far too many. Why the hell didn’t she leave when she had the chance? She could’ve been with her family. Her sisters and brother anyway.

The streets were empty except for the infected as the shambled with the dexterity of a drunkard. The morning runs and yoga really paid off, for Katherine had little trouble avoiding them. What killed her was the moans. She hated the very sound. It was so sad yet so ominous at the same time. It was making her crazy.

Sighing, she collected herself. Before the radio cut off, she heard something about Emory University containing an evacuation/aid station in the cafeteria. Though it was probably a hoax or overrun, she had to make it there. If there was any hope of finding ‘normal’ people, she knew she had to do it.

In the past few days, she had killed for the first time. Not just the infected, but the living as well. It sickened her to the core, and she still hated herself for doing it. It was for survival though. The man was going to … If she hadn’t killed him …

Forcing her legs to move forward, she wasn’t far from the campus now. She knew this area like the back of her hand. She did spend her undergraduate and medical school career here after all. Rounding a corner, she crouched as the infected milled about ahead. Fighting to calm her pulsating heart, she moved as quietly as she could as far away from them as she could. She was too tired from past events to deal with them.

Making it into an alley, she breathed out as she continued on her way through the shadows. After a few more blocks, she final saw the entrance to the university. Checking her corners and the street, she moved into the campus and towards the cafeteria.

When the building came into focus, she saw several figures standing by a door. Her skin crawled. Would they be friendly or like the man she killed? Whatever the case, she needed to get in and see if anything was left. Caution she thought to herself. As she moved up, Katherine jumped as she heard a voice to her right.

“Lemon Balm!”

She heard the bushes rustle as she turned and brought her weapon to bear. Her heart thundered in her ears. She was about to strike out with it until she saw pretty looking black haired woman. Katherine stood there for a moment before lowering her crowbar. “Are you completely crazy?” Katherine asked as she frowned. “I was about to ... Forget it. Are you here about the aid center?"

Percival Chevalier
Highway Toward Emory University

---

Years from now, Percival watned nothing more than to look back and laugh at his current situation, like recalling what he'd thought was a dire and critical part of his life, only to find it meant significantly less in reality. That thought only served to frighten him more; what would have been more significant—scratch that. What could be worse in proportion to the entire world coming to an end? And suddenly his future looked a whole lot bleaker. By Murphy's Law, bad things were bound to happen if there was any chance and worse things most definitely, even worse than an apocalypse, somewhere down the road. That was if he had any road left.

And now, walking mindlessly down the highway, clutching rosary beads in his hands, Percival wondered exactly why he clung to his faith, especially if he'd no metaphorical road and just the one under his feet. A man like him neither deserved the grace of God and no longer desired it. There was certainly no one worth holding it for, no one to ask for God's love and protection. Even now, as his mind drifted off, it would take a lot more than prayer to receive any kind of blessing from God. Hell, they may even have to dig into some occult books and start sacrificing what it dictated for His blessing. Percival almost scoffed at that thought. But honestly, if He was determined to let those soldiers die, then what was to stop Him from damning the entire human race? It certainly looked like he just did.

A curse slipped from Percival's lips at the tightness ofh is grip. The pain of blunt nails and sharp, wooden edges tore him from his thoughts. All of his senses came on at a time until the sound of moaning and his eyes caught a glimpse of the pallor of rotten flesh and gnashed, yellow teeth, all shuffling his way. Percival froze, the cries in his head covering the thud of blood in his ears and fresh memories bounced unrelenting in his skull. In that instant, as arms reached out and fingers brushed the collar of his blue Henley, Percival dove forward, beads dropping to the bloodied grass in favor of the screwdriver just within reach, stuffed inside the stretchable cup holder in his backpack. The blunt tip found its way through flesh and bone the moment Percival toppled onto the being, using his full weight to overpower it. Without another thought Percival towered over the monster, punching the flathead into chest and neck and skull in reckless abandon. It took hard, downward swings for the tool to break through bone, even the softened, sickly colored skull of the creature's head. Tools weren't made to kill, but they were hardy enough not to break if strained beyond its normal uses.

A gurgle escaped the thing's throat, blood gushing from its gaping, broken jaw, whilst its hands grasped for potential leverage, its mind still on the thought of a meal, until they finally fell pliant at its sides. Through the red Percival had felt another pair of groping hands, this time on his shoulder, only now realizing there was a second shuffling monstrosity just behind him, apparently having popped from underneath an abandoned car. It had forced itself to stand, taking the time it took for Percival to lose control to drag itself to his side. Lunging forward, it aimed to take a piece of Percival's neck, but had no sense of its own weight and clumsiness and toppled the both of them forward into the bloodied grass and street. The loud 'woosh' of a speeding car caught Percival's ears and the rush of air as it flew alarmingly fast jarred him out of his own recklessness.

Coming to his senses, Percival flung an arm up to the creature's neck to keep its grinding teeth at pay. It was sufficient enough to stall the beast there, it's force being only minimal, but somehow unending, though its hands still clawed at his sides. It clutched desperately to the brown jacket he wore, pressing bruises into Percival's sides and with enough force and better leverage, it wouldn't have stopped at that. Craning his head to both sides, he caught sight of the screwdriver embedded deep in the eye of the recent, actual corpse. From where Percival lay, pinned by a starved, rotting beast, he couldn't quite reach it, nor did he have the right angle to pry it from bone and tissue. First, he'd have to deal with the thing attempting to make a meal out of him and that was definitely easier said than done.

And then it hit him, and by hit him, literally it hit him. The liquid mix of blood and what he'd assumed to be saliva (what he'd hoped to be saliva, however odd that sounded) dripped onto cheek and jaw, threatening to slide into his mouth were he facing the creature. It brought a tight grimace from Percival and that was enough for him to rake his knees up into a curl beneath the being's abdomen and promptly apply every bit of strength he had to fling it off. The creature flailed back, rolling onto its stomach and immediately beginning to stand as it let out a low groan of what he'd wanted to call anger. He took the opening to roll forward and onto his feet, eyes currently focused on the screwdriver, but flickered over to the pallid beast once he'd gotten a good enough grip on the tool. Yanking it off just as it regained balance and began another, identical assault, Percival moved to intercept it, rearing his arm back before punching the tool with an incredible amount of force up the beast's jaw and eventually driving it through tongue and teeth and nose until it buried itself into the beast's skull and brain. It lurched forward with another groan turned gurgle, the handle having found its way into it no agape mouth, embedding it there before it rocked back on its heels and then fell completely lifeless to the ground.

That signaled the end of that and Percival was all but glad; that was certainly enough action or him to bare for at least another week. It'd been so long since Percival had to rely on the surge of adrenaline to push him into blind action. He'd forgotten how exhausting that felt, even more so than when he'd first taken up running. But even if his bed, now miles behind him, calling his name and dulling his senses while the blood and sweat dragging the weight of his clothes down, Emory was barely a mile away. He could make out the building from the highway exit he began a meticulous crawl down. It was barely in his reach and he'd be damned if he missed the refugee group that was no doubt setting up to leave. If he stranded himself, Percival wasn't quite sure what he'd do, so there was obviously no option but to trudge forward.

The fear that rose to his chest propelled him into a heavy jog. The pack slung over his shoulders flopped noisily along his back and the heaviness of his footfalls sounded against the blacktop of the road. All of it was washed out by the huffs that escaped his nose and mouth, along with the rush of blood in his ears. The distant honks only served to push him into a sprint to close the distance and when he rounded the multitude of buildings and trees to spot a group not to far from where he stood, his greeting came out in loud wheezes and the sound of vomit choking its way out of his stomach. He'd barely missed the lady with the crowbar he no doubt scared out of her wits, as well as the Eureka! shout of "Lemon balm!" However a distinct voice rumbled not too far from where he'd hunched over a tree to spill the inadequate lunch he'd eaten, just as the blood and pulse stopped thrumming in his ears and he could finally collect a few of his senses.

"Can't tell if your dog wants to hump my leg or bite it off," the gruff drawl of the voice bypassed the buzzing that replaced the pulse in Percival's ears. He tore his gaze from the damp ground to find it, though the first thing he spotted was a dog and the thought of that speaking only made him think of his impending insanity. Though he immediately turned to see who'd shouted the command, who he assumed was the owner of the dog, until he finally caught the source of the voice that was now directed at him. He recognized it as the first speaker, not the "Lemon Balm!" Lady, but who he'd assumed to be the rough 'n tumble man. There was concerned in his voice, hidden beneath the obvious tones of disgust at his sight and probably his smell, "Whoa, you look like complete shit—"

"Wow, Aldous, you learned that from being a greeter at Walmart? Way to help the guy out," another voice joined the chorus, a distinctly feminine one this time. He could make out the man's dismissive wave as he walked over, immediately blocking sight of the dark skinned female in his wide arch to avoid the dog he glared at.

"I was gonna offer him some water, but you keep insisting that I'm some pile of dicks," he grunted, ignoring her retort about 'Oh, how [he'd] like that' as he bent over to look Percival in the eye. A water bottle was shoved in the hand limp at his side as the man, Aldous, hesitantly lifted him to stand upright. Percival only offered the bottle back as he pointed a thumb to the backpack flung over his shoulders.

"Already..." he wheezed out, trailing off and immediately disregarded the man's eye roll.

"Whatever," he'd heard Aldous mutter after a pause to discern what he meant and before disappearing behind Percival. There was a moment of ruffling and the sounds of rummaging before Aldous returned to his line of sight, a different bottle of water being shoved into his Percival's hand. After a brief pause, he rubbed the back of his neck, gave a nod, and let Percival slump against the tree as he downed the water like his life depended on it. Now that he thought about it, his life probably did depend on it.

"Oh, so you're no longer afraid of strangers now?" Grace through Aldous an incredulous look as she folded her arms.

"None of the others looked ready to keel over and die, you priss," Aldous remarked, nodding his head in Percival's direction and giving his sister a smirk, "'Sides, I'm sure past all the vomit, blood, guts, and sweat, he's actually cute." Aldous quickly turned to regard Shane and Connor.

"No offense intended, boys." Grace merely rolled her eyes as Aldous shot the two men a shameless wink.

"You're unbelievable," Grace grumbled, finally taking notice to the two outliers behind them. She gave a wave and shone her brightest smile, turning into what Aldous considered her 'dealing with skittish animals' persona as she approached them slow and steady. Grace was good with people, he knew that, but he couldn't stop and wonder if that was exactly a trait she needed to have in the world as it would come to be. Aldous turned his attention back to her, smiling feebly as she turned to look at him, "Please don't chase anymore people away."

"Chase people away? I just saved a man's life!"

"Giving him a bottle of water and a pat on the back is far from saving his life, asshole."

"Whatever," Aldous turned his attention back to Shane and finally the dog at his side, hearing Grace audibly introduce herself with a quick 'Hi, name's Grace! You got the message on the radio too?' And at that point, Aldous had made it no secret that he was slowly moving away from what he assumed to be a volatile animal. He gripped the knife he'd still held in his hand, taking the blade in his palm as he waved the hilt particularly at the dog.

"Don't you go getting any ideas now," Aldous said, waving the handle, "When I turn my back on you, I fully expect and trust you not to piss all over my jeans and shoes. I know that look and its got vindictive written all over it." His words were purposefully playful, knowing first hand how protective pet owners could get, and the smirk he bit back was still showing between his teeth.

Watching all of this from his tree, Percival was content to fall asleep there, but even with the kind gesture it was hard to let his guard down among strangers. He'd only hoped that notion would change as the days passed by, at least for this particular group of people. From what it looked of ther situation, it seemed, as he spent more time watching and thinking, that he'd no doubt have to stick with this particular group for an indefinite period of time or risk it alone by himself. Traveling without a companion seemed a lot more dangerous compared to trusting a group of random strangers who seemed strangers to each other, themselves. The thought only made him grip the beads and cross he'd nearly forgotten on the road side, hand having subconsciously found them stuffed in his jacket pocket. In spite of his blatant worry and exhaustion, Percival continued to observe, engrossed enough that the distant groans he'd heard upon sprinting onto the campus became distant white noise in the background.

He'd just close his eyes for a second. Just two seconds.

LOCATION: EMORY UNIVERSITY - CAFETERIA COURTYARD

From the safety of the brush and the shadow of the wall, he watched people gather in front of the doors. Though he could only see them pass to and fro in front of the gap he had burrowed down in, it was obvious that there was a plethora of non-moaning folks coming into the area. Jesse felt his hands tighten on the grass beneath him as words were shared between the group that was just out of his sights, mind whirring with anxiety and heavy relief. In a situation like the end of the world, it might be best to be in a group. Sure betrayal was a possibility, but a group, where people with different skills can help and protect each other, sounded like heaven after the last three days he had experienced alone. But... His mind ached for a moment as red filled his vision and then faded. Slowly, Jesse sat up, gray eyes narrowing as he crawled towards the clearing, but a sudden cry of excitement made him draw back again, hand already reaching into the sack to close around the familiar tazer.

“Lemon Balm!” The person had cried, crouching down a few feet off to clip up some grass. Jesse glared at the woman’s general direction, eyes as dark as storm clouds as he saw another person approach with a weapon, prepared to strike down on the plant-centric woman, but it seemed they had a change of heart as instead they suddenly burst into conversation about the aid center, which he knew nothing about. He sighed, allowing his shoulders to relax once more as words were passed lightly in the courtyard. No, words still couldn't be trusted, they didn't seem ready to fight it out yet, but Jesse found he had trouble trusting anyway outside of his hiding spot.

Someone else had entered the fray as Jess became lost in nervousness, just as someone began complaining about a dog, and overall a slightly cooler tone filled the yard, as if these few strangers were slowly getting used to each other. Jess took note of how all of them were human, and how human nature craved attention and people, so it would make sense for groups to form in an unnatural situation easily. There were, however, other things human nature craved. Like security, freedom, good health, love, belonging. A lack of humanity can drive someone crazy.

dont wanna go crazy better join better talk but what if but what if O god

He slunk towards the crowd, the shadows that had stained his clothes and skin sliding off as the sun pierced his hiding spot. The greenery and far of city grew as the tight alley fell behind with each slow step her took until he was at the end of the wall, slender hand clutching the brick wall of the cafeteria building as his foot dug deep into the soft earth below. The idea of approaching was there in his mind, urging him forward, but his body was shaking with fear and an unfamiliar shyness. He clutched the bag tightly, trying to convince his feet to move, to approach one of the few people, to hold out his hand and say a simple ‘hello’, but sudden thoughts of murder stunned him.

Jesse didn't want to die. Strangers, with weapons and unknown intentions, stood before him in scattered groups, some knowing each other and some not. His voice was lost in his throat, replaced by heavy breathes and a cold sweat that swelled and slipped down the back of his neck. Perhaps such a cynical, unintended nature was a good thing to survive in an apocalyptic situation like this, but Jess just knew that he wouldn't survive alone. He was weak and weaponless, and these people before him were probably stronger, and were definitely well armed. Then the memory hit him, the one he had blocked out (or, at least, attempted to block out) those two days ago...

---

TWO DAYS PRIOR

"Please, lets just go, lets just go." A girl's voice, Stacy Roman, echoed through the halls of the building, pleading briefly with the boy, Matthew Thomas that stood before her, whose eyes were focused intently on the screen of his still-working cellphone. The hall was quiet save for them, and fully empty, as the other people who had passed through the halls earlier were either gone or dead. Jesse, who was hiding in one of the classrooms within the corridor, had watched countless people walk by. Their tears and blood stained the linoleum floor, as well as his memory, and his body was tired and mind dull from all the excitement. He couldn't move from the room, so instead he watched. Stacy clung to Matt, shaking with fear as he simply ignored her, chewing on his lip as his thumbs typed and scrolled over and over again. There, in the silent hall, they were found by a group of at least four or five. A group of older men.

At first, they seemed kind, friendly. Managed to grab Matt's attention and keep it for a bit with conversations and plans to get out to the South where there would be fewer mobs of whatever was walking around outside. Jesse would have attempted to go out to join them if not for his aching legs and breathless chest and slow mind, but then the smile appeared. Jess couldn't forget that smile, a small sliver of white against hardened, tanned skin that focused directly on Stacy. A whisper or two he couldn't catch were passed, and then one of the men rose a crowbar, easily cracking it down over Matt's head. Blood sprayed from the collision point, and it oozed from his nose instantly as he fell back with a heavy cry, the phone becoming loose and slipping from his hand.

By then, Stacy was shrieking, veering back as hands reached for her, and Jesse watched for a moment in terror before sliding down under the window, hoping to hide his presence as the screams and laughter grew and grew until finally a shot rang out. Then another. Jesse was crying by then, with one hand slapped over his mouth while the other held a shaking tazer, ready to pounce on anyone who enters the room. Instead, something slammed against the widow above, and Jesse yelped and glanced upward to see Stacy's face, bloody, snotty, and broken, smashed against the window. The girl was still very much alive, and she glared wildly into the room as screams behind her continued on until finally she saw Jesse. Her eyes were wide and pleading as she began to moan for help, and Jesse stared back with terror as she was suddenly dragged away by her hair, just out of view, and a final gun shot filled the hall.

---

He drew back into the shadow, breathing hitched. No, Jesse didn't want to die by the hands of someone else. He needed to get to New York, he needed get to Kimbel and mom and dad. But, they were so far. Jesse didn't have a car, and her bike was probably gone by now, which meant she had to walk. From Atlanta, Georgia, all the way to New York City, a walk that far in a world that is dying would kill him. And what if he did make it, all the way through Washington and Baltimore, after walking eight hundred miles through kudzu-infested towns and empty streets, what if he made it to that apartment and found a pile of bodies reeking of rotten flesh. Or maybe no bodies at all, and then hands would wrap around his neck as he searched and screamed for them to come out and he would die from the bites of his family who he had abandoned. And Jesse didn't want to die in that way.

Perhaps... His mind began to whirl with thought as he focused on the crowd in front of the cafeteria. They, again, seemed to all be strangers to each other, unlike the group of men who definitely were all in cahoots. If one suddenly attacks, then others will surely be ready to defend themselves and anyone else they thought to trust. And, if someone were to attack, they'd probably aim for the men or stronger looking people first out of fear or knowledge. That fact would ensure his survival, or his entire prediction would be entirely off, but in the end the idea gave him some feeling of security in front of these strangers.

Jesse slowly reached into his bag and pulled out the tazer, sucked in a deep breath, exhaled, then approached as casually as his anxiety would allow, making sure to keep the weapon hidden within the large sleeves of his sweatshirt as he slowly lifted his hands in the universal sign of 'do not shoot'.

"Uhm, uh..." Jesse smiled a small, frightened smile, sharp features crinkling ever so slightly as he focused in on the two women who had been talking about lemon balm and the aid center, "why, uh, why are you guys here?" He kept one close eye on the people to his left, especially the dog, while attempting to converse with the two in front of him, and while his face was as natural as it could possibly be, the shakiness of his shoulders was a very obvious telltale sign of his anxiety.

Jack and Family

Jack’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel of his Honda Pilot. The crisp leather covering of the wheel squeaked dully under his long rough fingers, emphasizing the morose silence contained in the family vehicle. The big SUV had towed its way through three undead thus far and its front had become stained in blood and gore. Jack had long assumed that the corpses had fallen off, and had been unpleasantly surprised by a straggling undead that had attempted to crawl its way up the hood and unto the windshield, while the Pilot had been in motion. An increase in speed had deterred it, and, eventually it had fallen off and was left in what Jack had assumed would be a gross pile of guts and flesh.

These monsters thirst for human flesh now seemed to Jack, insatiable. After all, any intelligent hunter would have given up the hunt as soon as it became clear that there was no hunt. But these creatures…were not easily dissuaded. Three hours of slow silent driving had proven they were simply mindless killing machines instigated by some unknown force to keep going. Just walking and walking, limbs missing, feet decaying, eyeballs falling out of their socket…they just kept walking… Walkers, Jack thought humorously, and snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Jem’s accusatory voice sounded from the front passenger seat. Remembering his children, Jack took a moment to glance in the rearview mirror; Scout was fast asleep in the back seat. Her head was drooping to the left and Jack scowled thinking of what pain it would cause her and what complains she would bring forth when she awoke.

“What’s so funny?” Jem repeated, sounding agitated.

“Nothing, boy.” Jack answered, keeping his eyes firmly placed on the road. The trees lining the black tarred roads seemed to bend over ominously, clawing down at Jack’s 2013 SUV. Emory University was coming into sight, and Jack sighed with relief when the school’s tall white halls became clear. His relief quickly turned to anxiety as he spotted several of the walking dead ambling about slowly at the entrance way of the main building.

They would need to drive around to Cox Hall, the cafeteria building, or at least get out and walk on foot. The vehicle would attract too much attention, and the least thing they needed was leading a bunch of undead to the site of refuge.

“How come we didn’t take the BMW?” Jem sound accusatory and Jack’s scowl deepened with contempt. What kind of boy had he raised? Janice wouldn’t have done better, he had comforted himself many times. But, had he really made a difference? His boy was a cranky, vain, self-centered, know-it-all, and Jack knew it. And, to top it all off, he was afraid Jem was beginning to become too fascinated with sex. Jeez, kid couldn’t even get anyone pregnant and he’d brought home a stack of Playboy magazines the height of the Empire State building.

“Don’t be vain, Jem,” Jack growled, resisting the urge to throw in some profanities, “Tell me what you’re going to do with a BMW in these conditions. We don’t have luxury anymore and we don’t need it. We just need to survive.”

He glanced at the boy, just in time to see him fold his arms tightly over his chest, glare out the window, and utter something completely unintelligible. Forgetting Jem for the time being, Jack turned his attention to his sweet daughter. Scout was the spitting image of Janice, right down to the dimples on her sweet little chin. Her only defining paternal feature were Jack’s eyes, which she carried with the same gentleness as her father’s, even when she was furious. Jack guessed he had done a right with this little one.

“Louise, baby, wake up.” Jack couldn’t see her, keeping his eyes on the road, but he heard her stretch awake, leather crinkling under her body as she unwound.

“Wha?”

“We’re getting out of the car.” Jack said, parking indiscreetly as possible. The tires moved along slowly, and the walkers seemed oblivious to Jack and his family in the deadly silence.

“Be quiet, Jem.”

“I know,” the boy scowled as he got of the Pilot, closing the door gently behind him. Getting out, Jack opened the back door, pulling Scout into his arms and placing her on his shoulders. She blinked sleepily and tangled a small hand in Jack’s hair.

The walk to Cox Hall remained silent until the family of three approached closely upon one of the Hall’s entrances. A group had already assembled and seemed to be waiting impatiently in the front for the doors to open up.

Jack glanced apprehensively behind him; the gathering was stirring another more dangerous assembly. Undead were slowly approaching in the direction of Cox Hall. For a moment, Jack eyes made contact with the hallowed, sick blue irises of a walker; nothing looked back.

“Daddy,” Scout exclaimed sounding wide awake, “A dog!”

A big fawn dog among the crowd had immediately caught Scout’s attention, and she seemed animate to intermingle with the strangers who sought safety. Dogs were her favorite, and surely the path to her appreciation.

The crowd seemed to be waiting on the doors to open; and Jack was beginning to feel subconscious, walking among the crowd in his pricy suit with two young children. He wasn’t prepared to fight anyone, especially when people would assume he had money. A few days ago, that was true; but now he was as poor as everyone else.

Not stopping for pleasantries, Jack pried his way through the crowd, Jem following behind, strangely aloof and morose.

Wrapping on the door, he jumped when a definitely female voice responded, sounding somewhat aggravated.

“Give me a break buddy. I piled a lot of shit in front of these doors, and I’m the one having to pull it all away again. By myself.”

A New York accent. Huh. Rude, was the first adjective that came to mind. Jack had gone to New York a grand total of once; he would not be returning. The streets were a thousand time even more packed than Atlanta city, and the people shoved and pushed if you were taking long. Granted, Jack thought apprehensively, many tourists did stop in some pretty damn stupid places to take pictures.

Stepping back into the crowd, Jack watched as the doors were pried open, leaking light onto the small group as the sun began to set in the background…

Selina, Kate, and Hershey
Hershey POV (That’s right, I’m writing from the POV of a dog.): 20 MINUTES AGO

“Hey, wanna let us in? The dead – uh, walkers – they'll see us if we're out here any longer! Please open up!”

Hershey’s ears perked up as a human voice penetrated the moving walls at the head of the cafeteria. Selina, one of his human’s, head jerked up.

She was rubbing Kate affectionately, and Hershey longed to pile himself on the women like he had done in puppyhood. But he was too big now, and neither of his owners had given the signal that it was OK for him to jump on them. And very recently, it was only Selina that seemed to tolerate his affectionate want for cuddles. Kate would lie with him, but no longer allowed him to sit on top of her lap, or throw himself on top of her. Of course, something in her had changed; day by day, she had smelled differently, and Hershey was sure he could hear a little heartbeat coming from her stomach.

Now, he wasn’t sure what that meant, but he had followed Selina’s example, and been extremely gentle and patient with Kate. And both seemed to appreciate it, and very simply, that made Hershey perpetually happy. The bump seemed important and worth protecting, and so he accepted being unable to cuddle with Kate or Selina.

Therefore, he had remained astutely stuck to the floor, sitting very close, and resting his head on Kate’s leg.

Now, Selina slowly moved, allowing Kate to take her time getting off of her lap and sit herself down in another chair. Hershey licked her hand, before following Selina to the front of the cafeteria. She sighed, placing her hands on her hips, and Hershey nudged her curiously.

Looking down at him, she outstretched her soft palms to rub under Hershey’s jaws. He loved that, and his tell wagged happily.

“I guess it’s time to dismantle my work of art.” Hershey couldn’t understand a noise she uttered, but could understand when her thumb pointed to the pile of chairs assembled unceremoniously in front of the moving walls. Sitting down patiently, he watched with curiosity as she began to shove chairs and tables out of the way, shouting in a somewhat muted voice that the doors would open up soon.

“Hope they heard me,” she muttered, and continued her tedious job. Hershey could hear the crowd outside; many heartbeats, included one that told Hershey there another big dog outside. Bigger than him, he thought, before getting up and prancing back to Kate. Together, they sat and watched Selina work endlessly on her well put together fortress.

Selina POV: NOW

“Give me a break buddy. I piled a lot of shit in front of these doors, and I’m the one having to pull it all away again. By myself.”

“I could help you,” Kate voice sounded from behind, and Selina was quick to respond.

“No! Don’t stress yourself babe, I’m nearly done.” And truly, she was nearly done. Just three more chairs and a table and…presto.

Selina pried open the doors, mouth popping open as she was greeted with a vast array of people. An awkward little group composed of strangers and familiar alike. There were clear groups, but the groups intermingled with each other pleasantly and Selina was almost surprised someone hadn’t pulled out a shiv yet and demanded money, power, or safety.

“Um,” she pushed the doors open some more, “Welcome to our humble abode.” She said sarcastically, gesturing an arm flamboyantly in the direction of Hershey and Kate, sitting lonely and confused at the back of the cafeteria, “Hurry up and get the fuck in so I we can pile up some chair and tabled and avoid them.”

She jabbed a finger pointedly at the assembling group of undead in the background. College students, she thought sympathetically, noticing several of the decaying, walking corpses had shoulder bags drooping from their bodies. Positively, she realized, it slowed many of them down; those bags were probably filled with laptops, binders, or notebooks, maybe even textbooks, and that would surely hinder those mindless monsters.

Gesturing again urgently, the pulled one of the doors more widely open, holding it for the large group. Behind her, out of her eyesight, Kate had her hand stuck in her backpack, indiscriminately wrapping her hand around the handle of a handgun.

MALIK & KALI THORNTON

Emory University. Kali knew that living and studying on this wreck of a campus had once been the destination of her brother's fragile dreams for the future; the ones that never came to fruition. There were relatively few corpses around the cafeteria – some moving, some not – when compared to the maze of streets and alleyways they had to take to get to the radio-designated rendezvous point, but those that were gathering on the fringes of her line of sight painted a gruesome picture of young hopes crushed brutally by an apocalyptic fist.

She liked that sentence. Very poetic.

Having noticed a group beginning to gather, she tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled shyly, showing off two rows of pearly-whites. Behind her, Malik stiffened as if he were about to move in front of her and hide her from view, and she didn't blame him for that; however, to stop him she reached behind her and put a hand on his arm in warning. The first two to arrive (other than the mysterious figure from before) were a man and a woman, both older than she and Malik were at her best guess. Kali observed them for a moment – mostly because they barely gave her a chance to speak with their supposedly reassuring banter – and decided that they weren't lovers. Maybe friends?

“My brother's much the same,” she said eventually, a brilliant (if slightly false) smile plastered across her face. Her dad always had said she'd make a good salesperson. Like the man – Aldous, she reckoned – Malik had moved away from the gathering group to stare stoically at a discoloured red patch on the ground. With a shudder, she realised it was a pile of scattered, chewed entrails. “I'm Kali, and that morbid stick over there is Malik. We think there's people in there but...” Kali ended with a shrug that could either mean 'they're now walking corpses' or 'they're assholes waiting for us to die'.

Glacing warily at the group coming in from behind – two men – she realised they had a dog. A large dog. Perhaps it was just their gender putting her off but she was glad Aldous and Grace had taken it upon themselves to talk to them. Kali carefully slipped over to her brother who was standing with his back against a wall marred by graffiti that proclaimed the end of days. “Dark, huh?” she asked, pointing it out. “Might not be crazy religious folk doing it either – I can't say I disagree with them.”

“I think after the first few 'Oh God's that went unanswered when some Thing was chewing on their insides made 'em reconsider piety,” he said humourlessly, nodding to the spray can lying over by the wall and spattered with blood. “Less competition for Med School, I guess.”

Kali made a noise in the back of her throat that was probably as close to a chuckle as she'd come in the past few days. “Well, I can get the leading role in any show I want.” Malik's lips twitched, though the tense lines around his eyes didn't soften at all. His brow was still furrowed.

“Who are you even gonna act for? The Things?” He mused, throwing an arm around Kali's shoulders and tugging on her matted hair. She smiled as the subtly guided them back towards the group. “'What's for dinner? It is nor hand nor foot/Nor arm nor face, nor any other part/Belonging to a man.'”

“You totally butchered that, Mal,” Kali said, staring at him flatly. How did he even know it? He had never been the most cultured, and she had long since wished for a brother who actually appreciated art and drama rather than gory medical documentaries and self-pity at not becoming a doctor.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the door cracking itself open. Kali was glad, too, because she was beginning to feel as if the Things were closing in on them, attracted by the noise. “After you, m'lady.”

Kali pushed forward with one last dirty look at Malik, leading them into the cafeteria. She spared only a half-glance at the woman who opened the doors – mostly in complete and somewhat inappropriate appreciation for her hairstyle – and wandered over to the nearest corner. She let the trashcan lid she brought in with her hit the floor with a metallic clatter and rested her head theatrically against the cool tiles on the wall. Social interaction was tough.

Heather turned around at the movement of another. She flinched as the other person seemed to have raised her weapon and was about to... kill her? Heather's heart raced for a moment before she realized the woman was just scared. Anyone would be, really. Heather wondered if the other girl thought she was a zombie or just a violent person. Probably the first option, Heather figured, since most of people's worries were about the undead. Even when they weren't around, zombies were always on everyone's mind in one way or another. Whether it was finding a way to survive or thinking about one's family, zombies did rule mankind's emotions now. There would be no turning back, but maybe, just maybe, mankind could recover.

Heather dusted off some dirt from her jacket, and chuckled. "I guess I could be called crazy, judging by what I was just doing." she replied, and motioned to the plants behind her. "Just collecting samples. And yes, I believe so?" Heather tilted her head, as if trying to remember something. Her last sentence was rather uncertain. Heather shook her head, and sighed. She glanced at the University, and continued her story.

"Before the outbreak I was on the phone with my mother in France. She was the last one to talk to my sister, and my sister apparently said to come here. Not sure why, but here I am. I tried calling my sister, but she's not picking up, and I doubt she ever will." Heather explained, and put her hands on her hips. She had a habit of moving quite a lot when she spoke, gestures and all. When showing people things or talking about things she was passionate about or interested in, Heather often waved her arms and made gestures. She was told it was a 'European thing' but she shook it off, knowing full well that Americans did it, too.

Heather adjusted her backpack straps on her shoulders and then began to walk. "So, Aid Center, you say? Is that what it is? If it's a treatment place, like a little hospital, I'd like to help out. I have no injuries of my own, but I have treatments." Heather began talking again, and looked at the other girl, a big, proud smile on her face. When she talked about her work, Heather felt so very proud of herself; not because it was cool or anything, but because it worked. During times like these when the hospitals and stores have been raided out of medication, Heather knew where to find treatments in the most peculiar places. It was as if the cure was right under your nose the whole time.

Heather stopped at the doors, and then clapped her hands once, something she did when she remembered something. "Oh, that's right... where are my manors? I'm Heather." she introduced herself, and held out a hand to shake. Even if the end of the world was nigh, Heather sure didn't forget about her manors. And even though the times were grim, Heather seemed oddly peppy... but it wouldn't last long. Not in these situations. Heather knew that, too, and she tried to keep her sadness away, but it didn't always work. Thinking about her sister and her family felt like knives in her heart. She had to let them go.

Pushing the door open, Heather walked inside, and paused. "Cafeteria, right?" Heather thought out loud, and then turned to the other woman for confirmation. Even if she was right, Heather didn't know the way. With an unsure look on her face, Heather looked back forwards and swallowed. The worried feeling of meeting new people set upon her. Who knew who was in there? Heather imagined some tough biker guys with guns and a bunch of people from the country who flocked here for safety. Perhaps there would be many city folk here, too, but Heather imagined they'd rather stay in their home in the city. Sighing, Heather imagined just how poorly that worked out for them.

Not liking to stay still, Heather slowly took a few steps forwards, and then continued to walk at an excruciatingly slow pace. Her mind was caught up on the other people, not on walking. In large group situations, Heather was quiet. Not out of shyness, no, but because she was analyzing the other people. Despite her joyful appearance sometimes, Heather was logical and observant. She'd be serious if she needed to be. Heather took orders from groups quite poorly, so she knew working directly in the middle of a group would just get her defensive and fired up for nothing. She knew that, yes, she'd always be the one who stayed out of the middle of things. It was best for everyone.

Heather sighed loudly, and clutched the straps of her backpack. "Do you have family here?" Heather asked, hoping her friend wouldn't be offended. Heather also hoped it didn't brink back bad memories. The more she thought about it, the more risky Heather realized the question was. She'd have to wait and see if there were any consequences of her words, and even though it might have been bad, Heather was willing to take the risk. After all, everyone suffered. Everyone lost someone, and if they didn't... well, they were one of the most fortunate people on the planet.

Heather put a hand in her pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. She smiled a sad smile at the sight of such a simple luxury, and she popped a piece in her mouth. There were only five left after she took one. Heather then looked to the other woman, and held out the pack. "Would you care for some gum?" she said, in a hushed tone. She felt the need to be more silent in such a large, regal University.

Percival Chevalier POV — Emory University, Cafeteria

---

Buzzing.

It was familiar—odd, but familiar. Mostly off putting.

The fact that Percival heard the buzzing enough times to register it as a comfort in the whirlwind of emotions swirling thorough his mind didn't exactly sit well with him. Yet, there it was, like a dull bell chiming in the confines of his thoughts, alerting him to emotions as if they were visitors. Beyond the buzz a voice drifted through, muffled and directed toward him—if he heard right. A distinct feeling that urged him to tilt his head upward, following the voice in a slight swivel of his head as if he were being called for. Though, none of that happened; Percival was far too dazed and exhausted to even think clearly about moving.

"Hey!" it pinched his ears, ran in shivers down his spine, "I didn't get your name." The voice grumbled, quieter thanthe shouts directed toward him. It continued, growing louder but keeping in hushed tones, "Hey! Please, you have to get up; those things are everywhere. I'll have to leave you if you don't wake up, please. God, please." It's cries grew in concern, twisting into one last distressed tone that was no longer restrained by the calm that lilted through her words, so close to the edge of desperation and full of so much fear, "Please. Please..."

And he tried, Percival tried very hard, but nothing came forth. The grip of slumber held too tight and he wanted so bad to respond in any way, but tree days of no sleep left most humans delirious, incapacitated and he'd expended so much energy. He just wanted to sleep; the words caught in his throat, only reaching from the confines of his subconscious but never once pulling through. That buzzing only grew louder in his numbness and distress, until it the buzzing turned into something different, a full on groan—a collection of them—and further more moans, hoarse as they peeled through layers of decay and gurgled forth. It felt wrong against his eardrums, like someone willingly pour salt water into them and the noises sloshed about like the muck he'd imagined. The only response Percival gave edged panic through his mind, his eyes racing taught against his eyelids as if this were just a dream. He knew better, though, or maybe he didn't. There was only exhaustion that overwhelmed it, sinking into his bones like a dull ache that traveled throughout his body in wanton pulses.

From where he stood, still muffled by the buzzing and the cries and the exhaustion, the voice urged him on before completely turning away. If he could have, he would have slumped further down the oak in resignation, letting his head fall against the sturdy protection of the bark. It would consume him, he was sure of it, curl him into its roots and hush him back to sleep so those monsters couldn't touch him. Though the shock vibrating from the voice seemed to reel him back to reality; maybe he had moved, maybe this person was no longer resigned to leave him for dead.

"Aldous! Please, I can't lift him up by myself; I need your help," it could out, turned away from him again. Maybe it hadn't even turned back in the first place. It was feasible that Percival had imagined this all up. "I'm not strong enough. Please, I'll cover you, just hurry! Dammit, you wanted to save this man's life, well now's your chance."

Moments passed, aided only by the thick, heavy steps that only grew louder in its vibrations. Percival felt the pull and drag of muscle as arms slid under him and lifted, tensing under the weight of his body and his pack. A surprised huff of air slipped from the man's mouth, as if he was expecting Percival to be heavier... or maybe lighter, he couldn't tell—his arms flexed under the weight regardless. A shoulder urged him forward, before a sturdy chest replaced it, leaving along a light feeling to replace the heaviness the ground held him with. The oak no longer pressed against the curve of his neck. Yet, the sturdy feeling that bubbled calmness into his chest never left. That buzz, unfortunately, didn't fail to leave either.

Eyes still shut, Percival leaned into the embrace, unable to fight the exhaustion. Was he fighting it to begin with? A quick shake of his head was all the convincing he needed, though the man, Aldous, who held him seemed to take that differently and only further pressed Percival to his chest, a pleasantly surprised grumble heaving from his throat as Percival's fingers gripped tight to Aldous' shirt. But, he'd give no more than that; the exhaustion was too much for him and he deserved at least some form of comfort. The secure feelings of arms coiled beneath and around him, accompanied by the swell of heat pressed to his side, sleep only seemed the next logical step—an offer too good for him to refuse. That ache never left, only settled deeper until he'd succumbed to the slumber beneath Aldous' chin, taught and snug where he held him and ignorant of the cadence of his bounce as they trudged forward. Percival felt the rumble of the chuckle as he placed himself further along a stubbled jaw, finding warmth where he would probably too embarrassed to admit. Comfort over everything else and the stranger offered, so he willingly took. However, the amusement dripping from Aldous' voice only furthered the scowl he didn't know he was wearing, even in spite of the relaxed sag of his shoulder and lack of tension in his body.

"Figures, not sure any one in their right mind—even if you aren't technically in your right mind—can resist the temptation to snuggle this gorgeous, hunk of a—" Aldous voice was distinctly different from the one before, though it was comfortingly familiar. The voice from early, feminine in its intonation compared to Aldous, cut him off.

"For the love of God, he's unconscious and was this close to be Kibbles 'N Bits for those things out there," She seemed irritated when she spoke, but there was a faint hint of amusement beneath it all. "Would it kill you not to flirt with the guy until he's safe and, most importantly, awake?"

"And fed," Aldous added with a grumble, "But fine, jeeze. Can't a comfort a guy with a little bit of harmless carnality without being yelled at."

"You don't know how wrong that sounds; he's passed the fuck out. You might as well be enticing him with—" Aldous cut her off this time, a gruff hardness that felt a little this side of weird coming from Aldous throat echoing his words.

"Don't, Grace. Don't you dare." They'd stopped and the blast of air that smacked his face signaled he'd been turned, rather sharply and with a little too much roughness edged into it. He could only mumble his protest, though he was certain Aldous wouldn't hear it. Percival could feel the tension swelling within the man's body, feel his jaw clench tight along his head as it bared down.

An strained sigh filtered through the air in front of him, followed by Grace's response, "Go, please. The door is right there. We don't have time for this argument."

From the posture Aldous held before trudging in, Percival was quite certain that conversation would be over any time soon. Somehow, he was glad not to have been caught in the middle of it; it seemed like intruding into something private, meant for the ears of only close family. Why he ever cared to pick up on any of that—suffice to say, he spared himself the headache of the nosy, curious kind. Being right their, unable to do anything but listen, may have factored into that. That stray thought brought strands of the beginning of a bad migraine to the surface and Percival tampered down on it almost immediately, succumbing to the beck and call of slumber wrapped in the warmth of a stranger's arms. His parishioners would have thrown a fit, but who could deny a few restless day's worth of sleep and the offer of warmth this man so graciously gave him? Percival may come to find those thoughts turn regretful later, but at that moment, Aldous was much too like a self-heating blanket not to press himself closer; he could almost feel the indignant roll of Grace's eyes as she passed and her whispered, "Weak." And he hoped to God she was only referring to the fact that he probably fell too willingly into another person's offer of comfort and help. From Aldous response of, "Jealous," and Grace's rebuttal of, "As if," any rising suspicion that she may have looked down on him seemed to vanish.

Why he was scared of that thought—the question was pushed down among the others in favor of rest.

The doorway passed by in a gush of air while Aldous carried him over the threshold, surprised it was wide enough to accommodate his slightly horizontal frame. Walls did nothing to add to the security he'd found among Grace and Aldous, particularly in the protective hold he was being subjected to, something that was promptly taken away. Percival nearly reeled as hard, cool floor and harder, colder walls replaced the soft warmth of the Georgia air (replaced with the sterility of the indoors, with a dank, hidden sub-layer of rotted flesh) and the coziness he'd felt pressed against another individual. Percival had not felt the desire to rely on a person so wholly, a complete stranger no doubt, and the furrow in his brows hinted more at his discomfort, but also how those thoughts seemed to unnerve him. It felt too soon to trust any of these people yet, regardless of whether or not they saved his life.

That familiar presence returned and Percival graced him with a squinted eye in acknowledgement, brows still knitted together in a frown. Aldous merely smiled, prodded the middle of his forehead in an attempt to ease the tension away while he pressed a water bottle to his hand. A chuckle escaped the man's throat at his minor success in getting Percival to relax once more, though the frown on his lips didn't give way so easily.

"Mind sharing your ,name?" Aldous asked, tilting his head in curiosity, "I'm Aldous, if you wanted to know in return."

"I gathered," Percival responded slowly, pressing the water bottle to his lips as he spoke, "Percival." With that, he downed the water and shut his eyes, fully intending to succumb to the slumber that ached within him again, regardless of whether or not Aldous kept talking.

"Percival. Fancy name," Aldous responded, slowly testing the sound of it on his tongue in hushed tones to keep from disturbing Percival, "Well, you looked beat before, can't say you look any better now, handsome. Sweet dreams." A pat and squeeze on his shoulder was all he got before Aldous slinked away with a soft huff of laughter. Percival could feel the grin radiating from where they'd placed him.

Percival held onto that, and the presence of the surrounding people to comfort the anxiety and paranoia that threatened to fully wake him. He soon found that sleep that had been waiting for him to curl into a ball and just stop for a second too enticing now to resist. There was nothing left for him to worry about and he was fully willing to trust these people with his safety for at least this one time. Percival no sooner found a comfortable position where he sat, curling in on himself as sleep broke through the rustling feathers of a fleeing pigeon.