Sophia and Doris

Doris is nearly up the stairs when the others return and Sophia is there helping her the rest of the way. She says, "we should find the offices. Less likely to have deaders in them, I think, and you'd be surprised what high school personnel keep in their desks. Might even find some bottled water or food if we're lucky."

Evan James Stewart had fucked up. Yeah, he'd fucked up big.

Bugging out of Dulles just before the parameter fence came down to a innumerable horde of shamblers, he'd managed to hitch a ride with a likewise rational minded man called Mike.

Mike had seemed an alright guy; the kind of man who kept his head in a crisis. But Evan hadn't seen the bite on Mike's wrist, and so when they were speeding through Washington, dodging shamblers left and right, and making good the gaps created by the bus over the last few days, Mike's turning had come as somewhat of a surprise.

Evan had thought Mike had simply got a bad cold. He was coughing nastily enough, but as Mike seemed pretty level headed, he took him at his word when he dismissed it as a "flu". What a stupid idea that was; no one can be trusted in these broken days of ours, no matter how genuine they seem to be.

Mike collapsed at the wheel of the car suddenly, sending it flying off course and into the back of a heavily modified bus. Evan was knocked unconscious on impact, the passenger side airbag deploying in earnest to save his face from the inside of the windshield. When he woke up minutes later, he felt the cooling and clammy hands of Mike, grabbing at him from the driver's seat.

Evan managed to unbuckle his seatbelt, open the door and tumble out of the car to safety.

No sooner had he stood up, the resonating thunderclap of a high powered rifle from a nearby house proceeded an explosion of tarmac by his feet. He ran, carried blindly by andrenlaline, towards the nearby school; it was the largest structure by far in his immediate vicinity, and to a primitive mind Hell bent on fight or flight mechanics, it seemed the safest.

Immediately he regretted his decision, almost slamming into the back of a horde of them as they gathered around the outsides of what he thought to be the school's gymnasium. He spun on his heels, and darted back, only to find more blocking his retreat - drawn by the commotion of the crash and the gunshot. He looked for any way out of the nightmare, any way at all. An open door along the building's side provided just the escape he needed.

He bolted across the green, dodging grasping hands, and shoving aside clicking jaws, and threw himself through the door. He was on his feet in a flash, trying to close it - only to find that the lock had been shot through at some point. Realising he'd soon be bumped to top of Death's "to-do" list, he simply resolved to vanish into the maze of corridors he was presented with.

He turned randomly at intervals, taking a left, then a right, sprinting past classrooms and offices, until he came to a sudden halt before a group of shamblers - no, not shamblers - PEOPLE!

Moans echoing through the lifeless expanse of the school instantly inform Evan that the horde has followed him. No doubt they'll just stumble about the place until they find someone.

If the group is going to move, then now would be the time to do it.

Sophia and Doris
If Sophia had been old enough to swear, she might have. Doris filled the gap with her own expletive as another stranger came barreling into their group, this one accompanied by moans and dead things.

"Like I said before," Doris said. "We need to get the hell out of here. No time for the offices. Let's find an exit that's not swarming with dead things. Who knows if that's even possible at this point."

Doris is renewed enough from her rest to at least pretend she's not tired, or in pain. Sophia takes her hand like normal and together, the duo gives each other courage and strength. "This way," Doris points, heading them deeper into the school.

"Oh, aye lass. Scrounging around for supplies in here would be a great idea. Never know what these poor kids left behind."

I looked around. Empty. Quiet, save for the shambling and moaning from downstairs. We were safe.

For now.

There was a notice board nearby with a map of the school. Decent looking floor plan, the office was nearby too. Most of the school was classrooms, like a school should be. There weren't many good places to maybe find supplies, although the cafeteria and the kitchen looked like good places to search. Maybe we could find some food or canned supplies or something. Desperate times called fer desperate measures, just like all the other shite we'd had to do up to this point.

Shite, now that we had some breathin' room, I had space to think. What was that nonsense downstairs?! That wasn't a full-sized horde we were facing, more like ten shamblers. Why did that Asian chick have to fire her gun anyway? Only thing that noise did was attract bloody attention, and that was something we could really stand to not do. Now we were three people down, a little lighter on the load maybe, but those three people also were carrying supplies that we could use. Too little too late, I guess. No sense cryin' over spilled blood. Better them than us. I...we wanted to live. It was what we were doing. Getting to Easton, slogging through the mud and the shite and the blood and the death. Especially with little Sophia along with us. Poor little angel. I can't even imagine what she went through to be here with us right now.

Which was what I could say for the sudden new appearance.

Suddenly a new face appeared from one of the corridors, followed behind by a chorus of moaning and groaning.

Shite, more unwanted deads.

"Oy! Wanker! This way! Follow us!"

I turned tail, not bothering to see if he came along, and followed Sophia and her caretaker. If we knew what we were doing, we'd get out of here fine.

Momentarily safe, the adrenaline rush left him as quickly as it had kicked in. His hands began shaking and his breaths came short and ragged. He was vaguely aware of the group speaking, but all noise faded into the background. Things began to blur and his eyes glazed over as his mind drifted.

"Oy, what's-yer-name, our pal here needs help up these stairs. I don't think she'll make it on her own. Besides, we need to go up to get somewhere safer, which is anywhere but here. If there's an alternate route out of the school somewhere else, I say we head in that general direction, but we ain't goin' anywhere until she gets help."

His eyes focused and he snapped back to reality. He'd almost had a panic attack. Those had come regularly since getting back from Afghanistan. The odd thing was, though, that for whatever reason, being under pressure or in a stressful situation seemed to alleviate the stress. Dismissing the thought, he spoke to the woman.

"Yeah... uh... It's Alex." All assertiveness gone from his voice. He'd heard a small voice pipe up with the idea of searching for supplies. It'd be a fruitless search. The only place with supplies of any use would be the med bay, not schoolkid's desks or lockers. He looked to the elderly woman, who seemed to have somewhat regained her vigor. It was obvious it was all a facade though. She was running on fumes.

Distant footsteps echoed down the shadowy corridor, accompanied by a quiet symphony of quiet groans. The others hadn't seemed to have heard yet. Alex had been about to mention it when a stranger came hurtling towards them, a look of blind panic painted on his face. The stranger barreled into them, seemingly too flustered to say anything.

If Alex didn't do something, they were all dead. But he found himself unable to think. The usual anxiety and fear had cast a suffocating fog over his mind and he couldn't seem to formulate any sort of plan. Luckily, (As unlikely as it may seem!) The old lady had taken the lead. There was life in her yet! Checking he had one in the chamber of his glock, he followed behind her, wondering just what it was she had in mind. Wether she had a plan, or was simply guiding them deeper and deeper into the school, trapping them and sealing their doom.

Doris leads the group down the corridor, bringing the newcomer along with them. Despite the deteriorating situation, she remains calm and focused, a trait befitting of someone who had lived to a full life. The rest follow her without question, but in truth, she only really cared that Sophia was in tow. The others, they were full grown adults, and she would be damned if she was going to babysit them. Sophia though? If Doris was going to one last thing with her life, it would be to get that girl to safety.

She reaches the end of the corridor, and it splits in two directions. It is a question of left and right, but the chorus of the dead suddenly raises a few octaves - and she sees them. They're coming from the right, scores of them, crammed wall-to-wall. They see Doris and Sophia, and their shambling pace quickens with the prospect of fresh food.

Doris does not flinch, she does not panic. Her heart thuds in her chest, bringing agony with each beat, and though it restricts her sprinting potential - it doesn't restrict her ability to make a decision. She runs left, grabbing Sophia's hand firmly, and pulls her along. Up ahead, she's greeted by sun light; the whole wall to her immediate right is windows the whole way across the corridor.

And what's better?

There's a door! A fire door, still shut, but easily opened by a push-bar. A quick look out the windows reveals only a couple of shamblers, with their backs turned and some way off. Finally, an exit!

She runs towards the fire exit, puts her hands on the bar a-

BANG.

Doris falls backwards, an inch-wide hole in her chest. Sophia screams.

The sniper it seems, has taken particular interest in the school...

The group, only seconds behind, screech to a halt. A second shot sounds, shattering a glass pane. The unsettling noise of dozens of foot steps can be heard shuffling behind them.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, would be one way of describing their position.



Roland J. Anderson halts as he hears the shot; the shooter is close, very close.

He stands in the garden of a suburban-looking house, which overlooks Washing-Lee High school. Shamblers are everywhere, slamming against the garden's reinforced fence, moaning for his flesh. A quick look around confirms that they're unlikely to break through though, because someone has gone to a great deal of effort shoring the place up.

The fence panels themselves have been reinforced by metal poles, and have been given a good barbed wire coating. The house's windows are boarded up, and the stairs to the porch torn to pieces.

Another shot rings out, and Roland flinches, ducking low. Is the shooter friendly? Maybe, but then if he's shooting the dead, why are his shots so sporadic? He must be targeting something specifically, but what?

Roland moves closer to the house, his training kicking in. He moves slowly and quietly, edging around the building, until he comes to the front of it. A throng of dead men yank and batter at a chain mesh fence in front of him, and it seems that like the reverse of the garden, someone had spent an equal amount of effort shoring it up.

Another shot rings out, right above him from a bedroom window. He sees for a second the muzzle of a rifle poking out. Then he looks back, towards the school, past the dead clawing at the mesh fence. It's too a far distance to glean any real detail from, be he can see movement along a windowed wall - not the usual shuffling gait of the shamblers, but rather, the spasmodic rhythm of living people.

Roland puts two and two together quickly, the bastard is shooting at people! But why!?

Shouldering his rifle, he decides his course of action.

The shamblers’ chilling moans echoed through the gymnasium and hallways. With a spare few seconds of respite, Evan caught his breath in the musty, long vacant school smelling faintly rotten. A map of the campus showed he would have entered from the western end, by the numbered-300s classrooms. He quickly committed the layout to memory and noted a likely emergency exit in either the cafeteria or theatre, then hurried behind the foreign woman at a safe distance.

Evan warily tailed the four survivors after the fresh incident with Mike. There was no makeshift weapon about that he could take for defence in the constrained space but the heavy switchblade in his jacket’s zipped pocket remained a comfort. He eyed the young girl holding hands with a fragile old woman, who appeared to bear no familial relation to each other but their clasp was tight and determined. Their bond was a sharp reminder of the kids who had trusted him, who saw him as an older brother, that he had abandoned. He followed the pair’s lead - nearly into a throng of zombies - they dashed left at the V-junction.

He could see the exit! A gunshot thundered - the old woman crashed to the floor. He reacted fast - he shoved the screaming girl down. They were protected by the short wall raised to waist-high that ran the corridor. A second shot burst a window; shattered glass fell on them. “Crawl!” Evan urged. He moved with elbows and knees above the ground, the quadrupedal training had been a staple diet, and was foremost towards the door. He stood up by a full wall at the exit. It was a narrow harbour. The shamblers were closing in. They were trapped. He pressed his hands onto the bar: the sniper would be watching the door and he didn’t know if the exterior would provide any protection from their attacker, but he had to risk it. He opened it - a small gap - to steal a glance at their surroundings.

Roland kept his body pressed up against the house as he stay on one knee as thoughts were swimming through his head. The situation presented before him was not all that different from the various scenarios he had been in. Well except for the countless dead bodies swarming the fortification of this house yearning for his flesh. That was hardly worth mentioning now though given they were not going to break thru this fence anytime soon. The current problem was an unknown assailant taking shots at the living instead of the dead. The first question was why this person was doing this? Did he know these people, was his shooting at them justifiable, or was this some crazy old coot who had seen too many wars? Roland recalled the various fortifications, torn out stairs, boarded windows, damn good fencing that would have taken someone with experience to produce. Roland raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, this situation was not an easy one, he had no information to go on really, he did not know the intentions, the motives, or the emotional status of the one doing the shooting. Which meant he had to make a choice, let this guy do as he pleases or stop him. Again he did not know how well this man was prepared for someone or something to try and break into this house. Hell Roland didn't even know if the guy shooting was the one who made all these fortifications, all he knew for sure was that there are living people being targeted for execution. No, he could not just leave, the world was hell torn, but he could not just simply forget the oath he long ago took. He had sworn to protect people, so turning a blind eye, even at the end of the world as any knew it, was not acceptable to him.

Roland slowly started to edge his way around the house again, the first priority would be an access point, he did not want the person shooting to know he was entering the house. If he could he wanted to enter undetected and neutralize the target before they could react. Roland kept the details in his head as he surveyed the surroundings, his excellent memory is what gave him an edge in his job, and had earned him the rank of commander. Roland made one loop around the house silently, from what he could tell all the windows were boarded on every side, he could easily bust out one of the windows if it came to it, the problem was it would make too much noise, he did not have a team with him... it was just him. He would not risk the main entrances, if this guy was the one who fortified this place then he would not doubt know how to set traps. He needed and entry point that was not only less likely to be booby trapped, but one where he could take out the boards without the man hearing. Roland silently came back around the house as another shot broke the moaning of the shamblers, going to the farthest side of the house he got on his stomach near one of the basement windows. Pulling out his flashlight he shined it through the cracks in the wood. The other thing he did not know is if this man was alone or not, another chance that he was not willing to take.

"Okay..."

Roland spoke really low under his breath so as not to be heard, the basement of the house was small, and from what he could tell he could not see anything inside... at least nothing moving. Roland slowly turned his body as his feet were positioned towards the window, from the delay time of the shots he was guessing the rifle being used in question only had about a good five rounds or so before it needed to be reloaded, the sporadic shots and then the delay in between seemed to indicate that. So he need to break this entry point when the person was shooting to lessen the chance of his detection. Roland waited silently, when he heard the shots start again he thrust his foot forward and smashed the boards in the window with one strong kick the boards cracked from the weight of the kick. Roland waited another second as another couple shots popped off, launching his foot again he cracked through the boards breaking them down the center. Turning his body he faced the window again, reaching forward he slowly pushed the broken board and loosened them pulling them and placing them beside himself. Taking off the remaining broken pieces of board he pulled out his Glock 22 and clicked on the attached flashlight and pointed it into the basement and looked around.

It was at best small as he had seen, it was littered with various things such as an old washer and dryer, a workbench on the far wall, some shelves with old tins on it and various other junk that looked really old. Roland saw the staircase that lead up to what he hoped was an unfortified door, looking below the window his entry point was clear, turning his body again he took off the backpack completely and dropped it through the hole as close to the ground as he could. Then with his feet first he inched into the window and with a bit of a tight squeeze he went through the window as he slowly let his feet hit the ground. The moment he touched the ground he pointed the 22 in all directions to quickly secure nearby corners for any possible threats, however there were none, just a musty old basement filled with ancient junk. Picking up his pack he secured it on his back again as he Looked towards the stairs, Roland got low again and started to move towards them, he stayed clear of direct contact to the door at the top, he could not hear shots popping off anymore which meant the person might have known he was here. Roland was as quiet as a church mouse as he inched forward and got to the stairs, he tested them with a little weight, they were sturdy enough, making extra sure to check under the stairs for any kind of trap he found nothing. Making his way up slowly he got to the door an listened but it was silent, ready or not the game was on and he hoped he was two steps ahead of whoever this shooter was.

"Come on, you little RATS!" chuckled Miles, cocking his father's rifle. His fingers trembled over the bolt, excited with anticipation. "This is MY town!"

Miles Green was twenty five years old. He had been born to a good suburban family, educated in a private institution and had been working his way to a PHD in the field of physics before the world went to shit. He didn't care for any of that though, because for him, the shamblers had brought him freedom.

Always, he'd been forced to walk a path set before him by his old man. Always, he had to clamber over obstacles that he never wanted to even encounter. He was a warrior, God damnit! The U.S Army was his calling, but no! His father had put all those dreams to sleep with his overbearing ways. That didn't matter now though, because his father was dead - and so was his mother. Good, let them rot in Hell.

The fire door over at the school started to creek open. Miles' Mauser Kar98k - a meticulously maintained relic his grandfather had bought back from the Second World War - was more than enough to punch through that wood. He sighted in on the door, adjusting the scope with practised hands. How he had loved this rifle when he was growing up; he could still remember the odd days that he would sneak out with it, hitching a ride with his cousin, to some remote location to shoot it. It had been risky, if the Cops had pulled him over then no doubt he'd of faced his father's wrath, and the rifle would have been confiscated.

That hadn't happened though, not even close. And father was dead now.

He pulled the trigger, the antique firearm kicking against his bruised shoulder. The fire door splintered in the middle, and it shut instantly.

"Did I get you? Or didn't I? Come on, come, it's okay! It's O-FUCKING-KAY! Show yourself, you little RAT!" Miles sneered, breaking into a cackle.



Garret Mercer had been watching the school since the bus arrived, with eager anticipation. It had drawn the dead away from the house he was in, and the sniper's shooting had further diminished the build up of shamblers in the roadway. At last! The squad car was deserted.

Keeping low, he moved from the house, sprinting from one bit of cover to the next, and only stopping to check the coast was still clear. He'd been trying to get to the abandoned police vehicle for days - he'd seen the driver show up, before the sniper killed him. That meant it was still functional, and that more than likely, it still carried supplies.

As he crept across the road, he paused briefly, to look at a house surrounded by the dead. A shot rang out, and Gerret flinched - he saw the shooter in the window. And then he saw something else; a shadow slinking below the window. His heart froze for a moment, because he knew if either of them saw him, the game was up. He had to do this quickly.

He reached the squad car, stepping over the body of a decaying former police officer. He knelt down, and painstakingly separated the ice-cold fingers away from the officer's pistol. He didn't know too much about guns, and right now, he didn't care beyond the point that it would be useful in the future. He stuffed it into his bag, ensuring the "safety" was engaged. He didn't know much about guns, but damn, almost every American knew they had a safety cache.

The keys were still in the ignition, and he smiled. At last! He could get the Hell out of dodge. The roads further into the city were gridlocked, this was true - but that didn't mean he couldn't take the scenic route to Easton. He slowly eased himself into the drivers seat.

The sniper fired again, and Garret heard the distant shattering of a pane of glass. He looked over at the school, and saw people cowering away from a window-covered wall. That maniac was shooting at them! But why!?

Well, who cares. He has the car, it's not his problem.

Or is it?

He might be able to get them to safety. The car could take a bit of a beating, surely? He could drive right over that green, pull up, get them in- but no, wait a second. Maybe there's a reason the sniper is shooting at them. Maybe they're bad people?

He places his hand against the keys, preparing to turn them. Once the engine kicked up, he'd draw the sniper's attention no doubt, and he'd have to move one way or the other.

Garret quietly contemplates his next move; his conscience fighting it out with cold minded logic.

Garret pressed his hand against his forehead as thoughts streamed through his head. Two shooters, firing at people who don't seem to be returning fire. The shooter had his reasons to shoot at these people, obviously, but either way it was wrong to take a life. Perhaps he was just scared? After all that had gone down it'd be a surprise if people didn't act hostile at the nearest sight of another person. Most people valued themselves above strangers, and this man was obviously one of those people. However, Garret was not somebody who would put one life above another, and as much as he hated taking risks he knew the value of their lives were worth far more than his alone. He put the key into the ignition, pushed down on the clutch, and twisted the key. Feeling the car fire up noisily, he almost began to regret his decision.

Garret had been lucky though, from this angle he'd need no steering to get to the door, so as soon as the car began to move Garret pushed his head down onto his lap, holding the steering wheel with his hand above his head. He looked ridiculous, but at a time like this who would care? The car hit the curb before pushing against the fence, slamming his head into the horn. If he didn't have the sniper's attention before, he sure did now. As soon as that thought slipped through his mind the right window shattered, spraying glass into the car. "Oh my, my luck really isn't holding out today is it?" he whispered to himself as he eyed the glass.

He pushed harder on the gas, propelling the car further into the clearing. One shot, then the next, then the next. The sniper was consistently impaling the side of the car with each shot he took. He could feel the car pull back as a crash, followed by a screeching sound emanated from the car. He'd already torn through the second fence. Now the only thing he had to worry about was the fact that a man with a gun was out for his life. The next shot tore through the car one side of the car, and impaled itself in the interior. Garret didn't know how much further the fire escape was, but he certainly hoped it was close.

Roland twisted the door knob quietly there was a normal click of the knob indicating that it was in fact not locked, but that didn't mean that it was clear. In the S.W.A.T world, and easy door is a perfect trap, especially in high risk scenario's. Cracking the door a little bit he shined the flashlight through, he saw nothing that was apparent or connected to the door. Pushing it open with his hand he kept his back on the wall, but it opened without a hitch. Roland slowly moved through the door and moved his gun left then right securing his corners, from site this was just a normal house, there were no traps, the only thing he saw was scattered pieces of furniture, some of it broken for whatever reason. Walking out fully he entered into what appeared to be the kitchen, it was pretty much in shambles, and unknown conflict, looting, he didn't know and at this point it didn't much matter to him. The only thing that mattered was keeping his eye's and ears open so that he didn't meet an untimely end. Making his way out of the kitchen he immediately entered into a spacious living room, shining the light around he looked down the immediate hallway to the left and then around the living room itself. Pointing his flashlight towards the front door he noticed what appeared to be a shotgun hooked up to a chair, the system was elaborate enough, a line was hooked up to the door, the line was then connected to the trigger so opening the door even half way would have spelled death, and if you kicked the door in like a would be looter might then they would be dead almost instantly.

Roland shook his head appreciating his choice of not throwing caution to the wind, decidedly he left the shotgun hooked to the door as an extra precaution just in case some other lunatic might try to get in here and shoot him in the back. Roland went straight but slowly for the stairs that would lead to the upper bedroom of the house. Besides the shotgun at the door this house was pretty much empty of traps, in any case he would keep his eye's peeled. Roland slowly clicked off the flashlight on the 22 and put a foot on one of the stairs and tested it, there was a resounding creek of course. When he heard the yell from upstairs he immediately put his back against the wall and pointed his 22 at the top of the stairs.

"Did I get you? Or didn't I? Come on, come, it's okay! It's O-FUCKING-KAY! Show yourself, you little RAT!"

Roland heard the yell and then a rather cold cackle as a couple more shots echoed out, there was no doubt in his mind anymore, this bastard was shooting at innocent people because he could. Roland gritted his teeth for a second at the thought, the world is in hell, people are dieing everywhere, and this sick shit is killing living people, people who have probably done nothing to him. This had to end now, Roland put his foot on the stairs, keeping his body pressed up against the wall he side stepped up the stairs case, avoiding the center of the wooden steps. The edges of the stairs were more sturdy then the center so this would reduce creaking at least, but this dumb bastard didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything else then his shoot gallery. Roland let himself calm down a bit, a hothead was not what was needed right now, he needed to keep a clear mind or mistakes were inevitable. Roland made it to the top of the stairs easy enough, however he quickly saw an ill placed bear trap in the hallway, a last form of defense he supposed, would work on a shambler at best. Roland was like a mouse as he side stepped around the trap and got up against the wall, he was just in time to hear a car start up outside, and then several shots ranging out from the room that was only a mere five feet away. This was his chance, Roland went forward and positioned himself in the open door and pointed his 22 at the back of the mans head. The trigger was already half pulled back, he spoke in a rough deep voice towards the man at the window.

"Freeze! Do not make any sudden movements you bastard. I got this gun pointed at your head and I am a lethal shot. Now drop the rifle put your hands over your head. Do it now!"

The man in front of him froze almost immediately, however he did not drop the rifle nor did he try to turn around, he just stay still his head kept facing towards the window as he spoke. From his voice he was definitively a younger man at least in his early twenties or so.

"Your one sneaky sonufabitch to get in here without me even knowing about it. Then again with that demanding tone you sound a hell of a lot like a policeman to me. Then again policeman are dumb and would have tried to bust down the front door to get in here, so I would wager your something else entirely."

"It doesn't matter what I am, all that matters is you shooting at innocent people like its some sort of sick game. Drop the damn gun to the floor now, and put your hands on your head."

"Lets say for a minute that I did as you commanded, then what would happen? Would you cuff me? Cart me away to some prison somewhere? You see Mr.Policeman, this ain't your world anymore, people like you are obsolete, in other words your not needed anymore. This is my world now asshole! This is my town! An I will do as I please!"

The young man turned quickly with gun in hand, however Roland pulled the trigger on the 22 and struck the man straight in the chest as he turned around, the bullet pierced the center of his chest perfectly as he flew backwards, slamming the wall the rifle dropped to the floor as the man fell to the ground in a slump. Roland lowered the gun as he moved forward cautiously, coming up to the rifle he pushed it sideways with his foot away from the young man. The attack was quick after that, the man launched from the ground and came straight for Roland with a kitchen knife in hand. Roland side stepped as he put his hand forward and caught the mans wrist, with a quick movement he snapped the mans wrist breaking it completely. The man screamed in pain as the knife dropped to the floor, Roland pulled him in towards him and slammed his knee into his stomach and then launched him into the floor as he landed near the broken window. As the young man slowly and shakily got to his feet the bullet proof vest became obvious he leaned against the open window and the wall as blood was dripping from his mouth.

"You pig! Your a fascist pig! It was people like you who ruined my life! Made me be things I never wanted to be!"

"If killing innocent people for amusement is one of things people like me stopped you from doing then I am glad you sick bastard... But it doesn't matter it over now get on the damn ground!"

"Never!"

The man reached down quickly under his shirt to reveal the handle of a revolver, Roland raised his 22 just as the man pulled out his gun. Pulling the trigger one last time the bullet pierced the man straight in the head between the eye's. The mans face instantly became still as his mouth went agape, his eye's unmoving as he fell backwards and fell out through the open window and disappeared into the light outside. Roland lowered the gun as he slowly replaced it back in its holster shaking his head. Walking forward he looked out the window to see the body of the young man sprawled on the ground below. It was a damn waste of life, then again these days it always was, Roland turned around as he picked up the old world war relic and put the site up to his eye testing the scope. Looking back out the window the shamblers were still moving on the school, the fence now down presumably from the car he had heard earlier. Roland knelt down at the window next to a large box of rounds, checking the ammo count in the gun, he reloaded the weapon quickly as he put the scope to his eye and looked down onto the field. He had killed the sniper but those people were still very much in danger. Lining up the site with a nearby shambler in the field Roland pulled off a shot and put a bullet in its head as it fell. Pulling up the bolt he ejected the spent shell and took another shot taking down a shambler closer to the school splattering its brains across the grass.

"Time to move you guys whoever you are, I hope you realize your being helped now instead of shot at..."

"Oh bleedin' SHITE!"

I'd been right behind her when she got shot. I wasn't even expecting it at all. Today was just the bloody greatest day in the bloody fockin' world, eh. First we had to abandon our bus, then we got shot at, then we lost three of our own, then this stranger barreled into our gang and brought his dead friends, and NOW that god fockin' sniper had taken out Doris! Sure she might've lagged behind several times but she was a help! She took care of Sophia when no one else did! And now she was another bloody corpse on the floor! Good fockin' deal this was then! Everythin's gone to shite!

Still flat on the floor, I scooted forward and away from the window, grabbing onto the little lass as well. If no one else was gonna take care of her, aye, let this Irish bitch do the job. I got my hand around her arm and pulled, dragging her forward from the window and into the relative safety of the doorway. Now we were trapped between a bullet and seventy bajillion pounds of dead flesh waiting to tear us limb from limb. Stupid stupid stupid! All this would'nae have happen'd if we'd not been stopped on the bloody road!

"Shite shite shite SHITE. Well what're we gonna do now?"

Our new arrival took a peek out the fire door. A resounding boom made him retreat as the door exploded and slammed back into the frame, showering us with splinters. So much for that idea. More booming echoed across the street as our gunman fired at something else, and as I took a peek out the window, I saw why. A police car was approaching the school! There was a human driver in there! I flinched as another shot rang out and I saw sparks ping off the metal of the car's bonnet. The car crashed straight into the chain-link fence and the horn sounded once, but when I thought the driver was dead, the engine revved heartily and the car jolted right over the fallen fence and made its way over to us. Would be but a few seconds 'fore it crashed or stopped right outside the fire door.

Which means that we had to get it open somehow. I pushed on the bar to try and open it, but it was stuck stiff. That last shot from the sniper must've jammed it into the frame. Bleedin' 'eck. With a hand bracing the bar down, I leaned my shoulder against it.

"Alright gang! We hafta get outta here, so help me bust this bloody fockin' door down!"

Without waiting I reared back and gave the door one almighty shove with my shoulder, showering myself with another cloud of splinters as it barely budged.

Jesus-bleedin'-Christ this was going to hell fast.

I reared back and gave it another shove. Made the thing shift a fraction of an inch, wasn't good enough but it was somethin' at least.

In the back of me mind I heard the resounding gunshots from the house across the street cease, replaced by angry cracks like someone was settin' off firecrackers or somethin'. The car was getting closer, and in the next second he'd probably be here, hopefully his vehicle didn't block the bloody door shut. The engine noise had drawn several deads from the street, but as I watched the gunman fired his rifle again. I flinched, expecting someone else in here to fall over, but when I opened my eyes I saw a shambler staggering forward with a fist-sized hole in its face before it keeled over, re-dead.

Did that asshat have a change of heart?! First he forced us off the bloody street, then he killed Doris and NOW he was killin' deads?! Jesus-bloody-Christ!

Whatever the case, we needed this door open. I remembered, back before the chaos, that the army dude said his name was Alex. I turned back and looked for him.

"Oy! Alex! Ye're the strong type! Come help me with this bloody door!"

The shot rang out through the endless hallways, a reverberating lament. The door that had initially presented freedom and hope, had instead heralded doom. Or at least Doris' doom.

"CONTACT!" Without so much as a thought, Alex hit the deck, crawling to the wall by the door for cover. What the fuck was happening? Had someone been aiming for a walker and missed? Another shot shattered a nearby window, erasing all doubt. Some asshole was taking potshots at them, not the undead.

The elderly lady whom had been so full of life and determination only moments ago had slumped to the floor, clutching at a devastating gunshot wound in her chest. It wouldn't take a doctor to tell you she wasn't getting back up from that. Not living anyway. Blondie and the newcomer seemed to have kept the little one safe. A resounding boom shook the entire building. Again; What the FUCK was happening?

The groans of the recently risen were getting closer and closer. They were minutes away from being zombie-chow. The gunfire sounded like it'd stopped, replaced by the sound of someone desperately revving an engine. Could someone be coming to help them? Alex scowled. Yeah right. More like the guy taking shots at them was coming to finish the job. Fuck. What could they do? If they stayed here, they'd be eaten. If they got out the door, they might get shot. The decision wasn't a hard one. Maybe dying was a hell of a lot better than definitely dying. Seemed Blondie had reached the same conclusion and had begun attempting to knock the door down. Although she gave the door some powerful shoves, it wasn't giving. Although she had weakened it considerably. His name pierced the chaos.

"Oy! Alex! Ye're the strong type! Come help me with this bloody door!"

He rose to a low crouch, turning to Blondie and nodding. Happy the gunshots had ceased, he rose to full height in front of the door, coiling his right leg into his body before unleashing it into the door with devastating, practiced force. The door flew off it's hinges and Alex was momentarily blinded by the light that flooded into the now empty door frame. His eyes adjusted as a deafening roar announced the arrival of a car, which skidded to a stop in front of him. The car was a mess. The right window was smashed and the body was riddled with bullet holes. But Alex wasn't the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. The guy had to be helping right? That was the only reason he would have taken gunfire for them and stopped here. He'd take any help he could get.

"Everyone into the car! Hurry!" He threw the passenger door open, getting in and turning to their savior "DRIVE!" It might have seemed a rude thank you for saving them, but there would be time for gratitude later. For now, all that mattered was getting the group to safety. He wouldn't let them down. He'd save them.

Garret heard the barrage of bullets stop, it was almost jolting. Nonetheless he continued straight, and deciding it was best to avoid a fiery crash into a school he threw his head up just in time to notice that his approach had been a lot faster than he'd thought. In an instant he slammed his foot on the brake, and veered right, skidding to a halt directly in front of the emergency exit door, which was now wide open.

Almost immediately people began funneling out of the doorway, and with good reason. For what lay behind them surely would have torn them to shreds. He heard the passenger door swing open, and looked to the back of the car as people began to enter the car. The man sitting in the passenger seat shouted at him to drive, and he obeyed almost immediately. Not even waiting for them to close the rear door he pushed his foot on the gas, and turned, directing them back into the direction he had entered.

"Keep your heads down. The shooters could still be a threat," Garret spoke as calmly as he could to try to quell the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins. Surveying the area, it had been a miracle that he hadn't hit any of the corpses wandering about on the field on his way in. He'd been driving blindly, and it could've taken only one shambler to halt his entire approach had it gotten stuck under his wheel. He'd lucked out in a way.

Garret looked to his left, eyeing the building with the shooter, as well as another person. He couldn't get a clear view, but what from all that he could see was that the shooter was still at the window. However, the other man had disappeared. But, where had he gone? And why had he not shot as well? Garret began to roll these questions around in his head as his eyebrows furrowed. Either way, they weren't getting shot at anymore, so perhaps he was just scared? Maybe he'd realized that this car was coming to save them? Perhaps they should approach him? Would that scare him more? Too many questions ran through his head.

Roland kept the fire coming as shells littered the floor, he was now on his stomach to keep the rifle more steady, leaning it against the windowsill. He watched the police car careen up to door the sniper had been making potshots at, Roland fired another shot as it tore through a shamblers head killing it instantly. Pulling back the bolt he reloaded the rifle as the door to the school was suddenly smashed open by a rather big looking man. Roland viewed the open landscape as he kept watch for close shamblers, he had taken the closest ones down as it was, watching the people run out of the school and pile into the car Roland took a couple more shots on nearby shamblers dropping them to the ground. Getting up off his stomach he was faintly realizing that he needed a plan to get out of this pen he found himself in. The chances of being helped by those people were slim, hell they probably thought the worst of him unknowing that he had dispatched the real snipers already. He was like a damn zoo animal in here and the situation was not lost on him, he had to get back outside and start looking for a way out. Roland turned and closed the box of remaining ammunition for the rifle and quickly threw it in his back pack. Taking the rifle he slung it across his back with his other rifles and looked out the window one last time, the police car was coming back towards the house, but seemed like it had no intention of stopping. Roland gave a small salute from in the window as he left the room quickly. Avoiding the bear trap he quickly went downstairs and approached the shotgun, unhooking the line tied to the trigger, he removed the shotgun completely and took it in his hands. There were only two shells in it, it was and old two barrel, so it was almost useless to him at this point an time. Roland unlocked the front door as he opened it an was hit by the brilliant sunlight and the sight of many undead at the fence.

The car from before had dragged some of the shamblers at the fence away, but it had not dragged enough away. In fact it seemed there were more here now then there was before and that was not good. Roland started jogging around the house again trying to find any means of getting the hell out of this mess. But almost every part of the fence was filled with shamblers on the other side. As Roland rounded the house on the opposite side he stumbled across the mans body again, slowing down he looked at it for a minute, truthfully he felt no real pity for the man. He was after all trying to murder people only moments ago. But he couldn't help but think that the situation could have gone differently. Reaching down Roland plucked the gun from the dead mans hand and opened it, only four shots were in it, and it was a revolver of and older model, so ammo for this would be hard to find, so another useless weapon at this point. Roland stuck the gun in one of the pouches of his tactical vest and secured it under a velcro latch, reaching down he quickly frisked the dead man, but found nothing of interest. Roland bent back up returning to his thoughts of escape, he scratched his chin as he surveyed his surroundings, spotting and wooden ladder a thought clicked in his head. Running to it he placed the shotgun in his pack with the butt sticking out as he picked it up and quickly alined it with the edge of the roof and started to climb. If that car had not left perhaps he could get their attentions, perhaps even they would not leave him completely, it didn't help him escape, but anything was better then trying to escape on foot, and if he could get out of here then it would help greatly. Plus getting on the roof would provide him with a higher elevation, perhaps he would be able to spot a weak point out of this place.

Roland climbed onto the roof carefully, planting his feet firmly on the slanted surface, he got on his knee's and climbed up, edging towards the chimney he put his weight on it and stood up balancing himself to get a look around the house. The entire perimeter was surrounded by shamblers, from first glance it was not looking at all promising.

"Think god damn it, think Roland, time to put that strategic mind to work."

Roland spoke to himself as he thought of the items he had at hand, one he had a ladder, two he had a house full of odds and end items, three he had a body on the grass, four he had weapons, five he had a horde of shamblers who were yearning for his blood... or perhaps they would be interested in someone else s blood. Roland looked down at the body as an idea was hatching in his mind, perhaps if he used the body as bait to draw them from a portion of the gate he could hightail it out of here. The very idea made him feel less then human, but now wasn't the time to question morals, he was up shit creek with no paddle and a quickly sinking boat. That fence would not hold forever, no matter how strong it was, and the more shamblers that showed up the less chance he would have to escape. Roland made his mind up as he looked for a part of the fence with less shamblers, he quickly spotted a portion that did not seem to have that many, ironically it was the portion where he had jumped into this yard in the first place. He would have to place the body in an place where a hole could be utilized out of here which meant he didn't want every shambler around trying to go for the body. It was a useless idea if a conga line of shamblers came at the body all at the same time and continued blocking his route, and he would be damned if he was gonna jump on the head of shamblers to get out of here.

Roland slowly lowered himself back down as he carefully climbed back down the slanted roof, he did not need a broken leg at this point so he doubly sure to be slow. Reaching the ladder he climbed back down and quickly came back to the body. If he could distract them with this body and get a big enough hole he could get the hell out, there were minimal shamblers in the distance so he could easily avoid them, it was the group all at the gate that stood in his way. Roland bend down grunting as he grabbed the body from the ground and threw it over his shoulder, it wasn't all that heavy to be honest, but he was not also in the business of carting dead bodies either. Roland came to the gate in the back, closing his eye's he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do, the shamblers were loud in his ear making that hard, taking the body he hoisted it up to the top of the fence the best he could, pushing from the bottom he got the body over the top of the fence. He heard the thump and then sickening almost instant cracking and sloshing of the body being torn apart, Roland watched the best he could as the group of shamblers went for the body, almost like flies to shit, this was it the moment of truth. Roland pulled the 22 from its holster and readied himself, as soon as he saw the hole in the shamblers he lunged at the fence and scaled it very much like the first time and quickly jumped to the other side. Landing with a thump Roland was almost immediately off in a full sprint, the plan had worked better then he thought they had flocked to the body better then he could have thought they would. Changing his direction Roland ran straight for the open field of the school, jumping another fence he hit the sidewalk, raising his 22 he pulled off a shot and hit a shambler between the eye's.

Roland went from a sprint to a full running speed as he got into the field where the cat had only been moments before, at least here he could see the shamblers coming at him. The field was pretty empty the mass of shamblers still around the building. He had to get to somewhere safe, or he was going to sooner or later get caught by moving shamblers. His only real destination was the school, as bad of an idea as it was, unless that car came back for him he was on foot and had no choice. Roland kept his eye's trained all around, he didn't want to trip over a damn body or worse get caught by a ground shambler, at the same time he looked for an access point into the school, his chances were slim but if he died at least he went out protecting people like he always imagined he would.

4 Blackhawk UH-60 helicopters, belonging to the 12th Aviation Battalion and operating from nearby Fort Lesley J. McNair crest the roofs of the school's surrounding houses. The roar of their engines suggest they're in a hurry, and they pass over the survivors, seemingly indifferent to their peril.

One slows however, and performs a wide arching turn to come back on the school. It quickly descends, and it is clear to any pair of living eyes that the side doors are open, and perched on the platform, are sure-as-day soldiers. They take a few seconds, watching the police car as it races across the green, and assessing the suicidal S.W.A.T as he flees for the school.

They raise their weapons and fire.

But not at the squad car or the S.W.A.T, but at the masses of shamblers surging from the school. Their fire is inaccurate, but nevertheless devastating. Ranks of the dead fall to the waves of hot lead, many of them permanently - they are simply torn to shreds by the sustained automatic fire. Then they quickly switch their focus to the mass of feasting shamblers by the sniper's house. After a minute of ear-ringing gunfire, the soldiers cease their barrage. One of them holds up a loudspeaker, though over the roar of the UH-60's engines, his words are hard to hear.

"SURVI###! FORT LE#### #S ##NE! EASTON I# #T#LL O#E#A#T#I#O#NAL! T## ROA#S ARE A N#-#O! GO TO F##t #AS#INGTO#! WE SAW PLENTY O# BO#TS!"

The soldier is interrupted as one of his comrades pats him on the back, and shouts something in his ear. The soldier looks back a the survivors, shakes his head, and lifts the loud speaker again.

"SORRY, W#SH W# CO#LD H##P YO# FO#KS MO#RE! G#T ## ###TON."

The UH-60's doors are slammed closed, and it rapidly ascends. Scores of shamblers lay motionless upon the grass, though some are crawling towards the car and the lone S.W.A.T with broken limbs. Others, hundreds of them, have no doubt been alerted elsewhere in the locale, but for now the survivors have time.

Sophia

Sophia was still in a daze. She had been pulled along by someone, she wasn't sure who, and only remembered Doris's body growing smaller, colder, deader as a heavy arm pulled her down the hallway. Her fingers felt numb where they had gripped and been gripped by the old woman as she was shot in the chest.

Sounds echoed around the girl's consciousness but none of them registered in her mind. They were just auditory waves washing over her like a rock on a beach, undisturbed by the water's rush and tide. Nothing made sense, it was happening too fast. She should be able to put it together, she wasn't stupid. She wasn't that young. Thirteen was old enough to do a lot of things. Like, stay at home by yourself and put yourself to bed at night. It was old enough to know to hide from your father if he came home smelling like the bar. Thirteen was old enough to take yourself to goddamn school every day because no one else would and they served lunch there. And thirteen was even old enough to use words like shit and f*uck, even if only occasionally and without a full comprehension of their weight.

Thirteen was not old enough to watch one of the few people in the world that took care of you shot by a random bullet and then continue on like nothing happened. "Doriiis!" the scream finally formed on her tongue and came out her lips. Life was a blur, wind whipped, engines roared, and heavy ammunitions above them roared down on the horrors behind.

Sophia came to briefly as she was stuffed into a car. It made sense, to be in a car. That had been Doris's plan, to get away from here. She was sitting on someone's lap. She didn't know what was happening and she didn't know what to do, so she said nothing. She just sobbed lightly into someone's shoulder as they car took off.

In the relative safety of the car, on one end of the back passenger seats, Evan raised his head up from taking cover and peered out the window at the roaring helicopter. “Military,” he whispered incredulously. “They’re still alive and they’re helping us.” He looked at the dozens of fallen zombies, impressed by the sheer firepower the soldiers had. Evan strained to hear and make sense of the broken words shouted over the loudspeaker, washed out in parts by the violent noise of whirs; but as a DC local, he was fairly confident in his interpretation of the puzzle and told the fellow survivors, “I think he said: Fort Lewis is down. Easton is still operational. The roads are a no-go. Go to Fort Washington, they saw lots of boats.”

Heading out to sea would be a good idea to get away from the zombies, at least for a while, he thought. They could drive down the river and resupply through less densely populated areas to arrive in at military base. But he needed to know if everyone he cared about was gone or if they were still alive, he could bring them along too. “I need to go back home,” he said. “It’s a few blocks from the pier. Does anyone else have family in Washington?”

Evan's haunting question is answered by an unbreakable silence; the sniper is running over to them, laden with weapons. A brief discussion suddenly cuts through the air, and hushed voices debate excitedly with how to react.

The sniper reads them, and stops, holding his hands up. The group look over at him, and then to the pile of broken shamblers that had so readily thrown themselves on something in front of the sniper's house. Alex puts two and two together, and leaves the car to talk to the man - his gun concealed, but nevertheless ready.

As fortune would have it, the sniper reveals himself as Roland J. Anderson. A brief conversation ensues, with Alex trying to verify the man's story, and after a couple of minutes gives an approving nod. Roland follows him back to the car.

Garret, Evan, Roland, Sophia, Angie and Alex manage to squeeze themselves into the cruiser's five seats. By now, more shamblers have started to spill out of the school, and others are making their way over the gardens of the houses. Dozens of them, no - scores of them. Maybe even hundreds. No one bothers to count.

Evan had translated the soldier's message, and many of the group concur with his results. Garret slams the cruiser into drive, and speeds off to the south, giving a throng of shamblers a wide birth.

The roads begin to empty as the car travels further away from the densely packed residential areas of Arlington, and soon the landscape becomes totally suburban. The group allow themselves to relax, but as they do, they realise they're missing someone.

Sylvia Velázquez, the City Councilwoman, is not among them. How they hadn't noticed, no one quite knows, but something must have happened. Maybe she was hit by the sniper as the group made for the car, and no one realised in all the panic, or maybe she was dragged away by some shambler in the school. No one remembers her screaming.

No prayers are said, no words of condolence necessary. By now, the group are used to the people they know dying at the drop of a hat. Sylvia is just one more sad footnote in a book of sad footnotes.

Garret tries to join the interstate, but the sheer volume of abandoned traffic forces him to turn around before they can even get onto the sliproad. Evan suggests South Shirlington Road, which proves to be mercifully empty. They procede with caution, not wanting to wrap themselves around a lamppost, but at the same time, not wanting to be caught unaware by the dead. As the crusier passes over a bridge, bringing the group into what Evan says is "Campbell Avenue", two things happen.

Firstly, Garret hits something - not a man or a shambler, but a piece of debris. The front passenger side tire bursts with an audible bang, and the cruiser swerves to the right. Garret fights for the wheel, bringing it full-lock to the left, but the car overcompensates and sends itself travelling sideways.

And then another car comes out of nowhere, speeding across from the right at a glorious 100 mph+. Whether the driver was a moron, or was distracted, no one knows - but they hit the cruiser at full speed which sends it flipping over onto its roof and skidding several feet. The other car flips too - its bonnet crunched all the way to the wind-shield, and disappears over the edge of the bridge.

###6 Hours Later###

The odd sound of an owl rouses the group.

Everything is dark, and everyone's minds are hazy. What the Hell happened? Where are we? Is it night?

Then that dreadful groan sounds from the infinite darkness, followed by fleshy-footsteps on tarmac. Hastily, the group works to free themselves of the cruiser's wreck, fighting against the soreness of their battered bodies to escape becoming a shambler's tinned food.

Sophia
Sophia is the first to awaken. Whether it was the lap she was on, the cushion of an overloaded car, or pure luck, she is only sore from the crash. She slips from any confines easily enough and moves to the light, slipping on broken glass and blood. In the dark, she can't tell if the limbs she is stepping over are are bent funny or just misshapen by the shadows of nightfall.

Sophia clears the window, cutting her arms on the glass and scratching her legs on the way out. From her new vantage point she can see that they are dangerously close to the edge of the bridge. And their car is totaled. Even if they could right it, the front end is smashed in and useless, the engine colder than the undead.

Looking back in the car, she can't tell if anyone is alive or not. The wind blows, bringing with it the sound of the dead, shambling and groaning. They will be here soon. She needs to hide. She opens the rear passenger door. It creaks and fights her efforts, but finally it comes. Inside, Alex is closest to her and she shakes the woman's shoulder.

"Angie. Wake up. Angie," she says. Her voice is a worried whisper, urgent for someone to be alive but worried of drawing the wrong attention down on them.