Flashback...

December 18th 2015.

The man sat at his desk inside the CIA South Regional Office in Oklahoma City, going over the diagnostics of a test server that they'd be shipping off to Europe. It was a typical boring day, starting with going through emails, prioritizing them and then scheduling the day and rest of the week, knowing the emails tomorrow would change the majority of the schedule anyway. Thus was the life of Jon Erikson, a Computer Maintenance Tech for the CIA. Although the title sounded mundane, there was a lot to what Jon did and on top of that, he was amazing at his job. He would build, install, set up, and then integrate servers all over the world, servers that needed to be isolated from the public, safe from the highest levels of intrusion and be networked to the upper levels of the US governments, along with that of other nations on occasion.

A lot of money was spent on Jon because he was aggressive with his job, opting to go well beyond the normal CIA book of "how to train a tech" and get involved in things like cyber security, hacking and staying up to date on what was going on in the cyber world at all times. Initially, the higher ups didn't want take the time, or spend the money, training him. That was until Jon went home and in 8 hours, hacked into a CIA database and collected all of the personal data on the director of operations himself. He sent his boss an email asking, "how much would terrorists be willing to pay for this on e-bay?"

As soon as the investigation was over and Jon was released, he was given a lot more flexibility in his schedule.

Some days were simply answering emails and trouble shooting remotely, and on those days he DID feel like a glorified comp tech, but they were also a bit of a relief from the every day stresses. And to be honest, Jon didn't like dealing with people. He preferred to do things alone and would rather work remotely so he just didn't have to deal with people and their daily crap.

He looked outside and threw on a spring jacket, getting ready to head to lunch when the PING sound of an incoming email could be heard. The title was "SERVER - OCONUS" and Jon immediately groaned. He opened and read the email and his response was a somewhat loud, and annoyed "mother fucker." A few other people in the office looked at him for a moment, but one of the guys in the office who Jon actually talked to, Austin Boggs, came up over to him and clapped him on the back, asking "what's the good news?"

Jon threw his hand towards the screen, indicating to the email. "They're sending me to Turkey. Tomorrow. Un-fucking-believable."

Austin simply laughed at that and again gave him another clap on the back. "Oh man. Happy Christmas man. I guess that's why you get paid the big bucks, huh Mr I-Build-All-The-Top-Secret-Computer?"

He stared at the screen, shaking his head for a moment longer then sighed before turning to look at Austin. "Well. Looks like you're going to take me out and buy me lunch, since I'm going to be leaving early to pack my shit."

"Man we're CIA, didn't they teach you to keep your go back packed at all times?"

"Yeah, remember I had to go to Mexico a last week? My shit isn't even clean yet. And you're such a tool, those go bags are for when shit hits the fan. That's my stealth, ninja shit. Not my Fixing-Server attire."

"Yeah, because when shit hits the fan, they're going to call the CIA South and say 'quick, we need some of your deadliest techs to come and save the day!' Happens all the time Jon. We're all actually a bunch of super spies, ready to go take down super villains at a moment's notice."

Jon shoved Austin, timing it perfectly so that Boggs was pushed into and almost knocked over the big water jug on its dispenser. "Don't kill my dreams, asshole. I'm going to be the first person in this office with a confirmed kill."

"Yeah, confirmed to kill a bunch of time," Austin shot back as the two entered the elevator, heading towards lunch.

CDC Center. Third Floor.

Ashley and the three other guards were in various states of panic. The CDC center was compromised--again. Several weeks ago, the first floor had been lost. Something happened and the four guards watched over several days as one person after another was turned, or killed, or killed and THEN turned. Luckily, each separate floor was set to be independent of the other, so the infection didn't spread up.

However, earlier today, the second floor came under attack. What the guards could see was limited--they had video feed inside the facility only. So there was a few large explosions as the floor was breached and soon after a somewhat large force overwhelmed the 2nd floor guards. They then proceeded pillage the place and open the doors. Then there was a mix of rape, murder, and other violence as the raiders did whatever they felt like to the helpless people in the cells.

Ashley spoke up finally. "They're going to get up here. We need to go in the armory, let these people out and either get the hell out of here, or fight back. We can try to make it to the roof, they may just not even think to go up there."

There was a heated argument at that point, two guards wanting to simply raid the armory, leave the people locked up, and head out. Ashley and the other guard, Frankson, couldn't do that in good conscience.

In the end, the two took some weapons from the armory and left. Ashley made sure to secure the doors after they left. They were focused on getting their gear together and then opening the doors, but if they had watched, they would have seen that the other two guards successfully made it out by taking the staircase down and avoiding the main hall. The first floor was almost empty as the undead had been killed by the raiders, and then with all the raping and looting going on above, there was no reason to stay below on the first floor.

Ashley and Frankson went through the steps to open the doors, looked at each other for a moment, and then hit ACCEPT.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling again while mentally mulling over things. While most people wouldn’t have noticed or thought anything was wrong or amiss, Jon felts it the last two days. First it was just a few less communications than normal, and today, it was even less still and a barely noticeable stress in the voices along with a rush to get off the comm device. It could be anything, or it could be nothing.

However, his training instilled in him that it was always better to err on the side of it being “something.” He had his bag packed along with his supplies, that had been done since day one, and he simply waited and rested, not expelling any energy in the event he’d need it later, while also catching up on rest. It was quiet in the room, the only sound was the occasional air conditioning vent making noise when the unit flipped on. Because it was so quiet, it wasn’t a surprise that suddenly out of no where, the barely audible CLICK screamed at Jon from across the room. He knew it was the door, but he didn’t move immediately, waiting to see if something was going to happen. For the first 30 seconds, nothing did….

Two men trudged along not far from the road, but far enough from it to avoid being in the open. It wasn't frigid, but cold enough that you see the breath as the two walked. The sun would be starting it's decent shorly and both knew, even without speaking the words, that it was almost time to find a spot. They'd walked through the last night and today, and while they could probably continue on for another night, there was no need to. They came to realize that the only time to push yourself uncessasarily was when, well, it was necessary. When the smaller of the two spoke up, his words were accented and he would occasionally use terms and sayings incorrectly, indicated that English was a second language. The truth of the matter though, is that Fuad spoke good English and butchered things to get a rise out of the other man who seethed at such things.

"This place looks as well as any to make a camp. Those bushes will make good to break wind, and we can start a small fire."

The larger of the two glanced over at the spot the smaller man indicated. Terry Burnard- T-Burn, more commonly, was his name- And he most certainly did seethe. He knew full well most of the jabs were intentional. He'd heard Fuad speak perfectly unaccented, smooth English before. And it just made it all the more irritating.
"Oh for god's sake, Fuad, speak proper English! And they'll break -up- the wind. If bushes start farting on us in camp, I'm going to be using this axe for a lot more than zombies."
He swung the fire-axe he commonly held in a lazy arc as he said it, narrowly, and intentionally, avoiding making contact with Fuad's ribcage.

"Proper English?" Fuad snorted, ignoring the axe--it wasn't the first time T-Burn did something of the sort, and it wouldn't be the last, and spoke up in what is his best attempt at a PROPER English accent. "Right sire. This seems like a dandy place to make a spot of tea. Be a good chap and pass me the crumpets would you?"

As the two moved to the spot, both looked around intently. In spite of the casual atmosphere and banter that would almost lead one to believe that this was another day at the office, Terry and Fuad were alive for a reason, well two reasons. First they didn't let the world kill them and smother them with hopelessness. That, and they were capable. They knew what to look for. They were survivors.

After a minute or two, Terry gave a satisfied grunt, tossing his axe down- Well, burying its head in the ground anyway- and practically ripping one of the bushes out of the ground, breaking it apart over his knee and with jerks of his hands, putting that muscle to work making firewood out of the shrub.
"It'll do. And never talk like that again, or the axe goes in -you-."
He didn't mean it of course. Fuad had saved his ass a dozen times over, just as Terry had saved Fuad a dozen times over. They relied on each other. More than either of them would ever admit.

"Let us make honest. You can barely hit one of those shambling flesh bags, and when you do, you end up missing by a mile and I have to clean up the mess. What makes you think you could hit me?" As Terry took his frustrations out on the bushes, Fuad walked in a few wide circles around the camp. Looking at the ground and ahead, listening in between the talking for any sounds that were abnormal. Some people believed in silence at a time like this. In their experience however, these talked would draw out any walkers within hearing range and it was better that they find them now then randomly in the middle of the night, with one person asleep.

"I'm like Muhammed Ali. Fight like a butterfly, sting like bee."
"Bullshit, you're more like Fuad- Use a shotgun because you can't aim, run screaming like a bitch from large groups of zombies. At least I have the balls to chop heads off up close and personal."
He tossed down his bush-o'-firewood, surrounding it with some rocks while he talked, and soon enough had a pleasant little fire circle... And was furiously rubbing some branches together to get the fire started. He'd done it before. Wouldn't take long.

Fuad made his way back to the camp and watched Terry work at a fire. That was something Fuad just couldn't do, and while he did have matches on him, both of them knew those should be saved for when they were needed.

Fuad grimaced and shook his head at Terry's going-ons. Fuad did have a shotgun, but just like the matches, he rarely used them. His prefered tools were his crowbar and his steel gauntlet. That gauntlet was an amazing piece of improvised weaponry against the undead as they had a tendency to reach out and bite or grab whatever was offered. Fuad would generally hold it out, almost giving it to them and as the bit or grabbed, smash down wish his crowbar. And on days he needed a bit more steam blown off, nothing did more to cleanse the spirits than smashing a steel gauntlet into the face of the undead.

Oh, the simple pleasure in life.

He sat down and didn't answer Terry right away, instead choosing to rummage through his pack for food. "What say you T-Burn, tonight call for a lavish dinner? I have a can of beef and barley soup."

Terry didn't answer until the first sparks of flame had taken, the leaves and brush soon catching, carrying the fire to the thicker-longer burning stems of the bush or two he'd ripped up.
"Yeah, sure. Soup sounds good..."
The rumble from his stomach seemed to agree. Zombie apocalypse or not... Terry was a fireman! Fireman's gotta eat.

The one luxury item that Fuad carried was a large pot. It was bulky and annoying at times, but when you had the time and resources to actually cook, it was a godsend. He took out a gerber utility tool and went to work opening the can after scooping up some snow to throw into the pot and water it down. Wouldn't taste as good, but there was more of it that way. After dumping the condensed soup into the snowy pot, he put it on the fire.

"Now we are cooking on fire!" He could almost hear Terry gritting his teeth...