For the third day now, sirens blared throughout the city. However long they would go was a mystery, until they ran of juice, but when that would be was anyone’s guess. By the second day the people manning them had long vanished. A few lucky bastards had managed to tuck tail and run. The rest? Well, that was always anyone’s guess. Though with or without, the sirens continued to echo on. Not that anyone was listening. They were warning to get out, to evacuate the city. Which most people had already done, some even before the sirens were sounded. Anyone who stayed behind probably was too interested in following instructions. Ainslie Ross was one of these people. She didn’t know much of anything about the virus that had racked and destroyed the city she had spent her whole life in, but she knew enough to not want to follow the herd. People were coming back from the dead. And she couldn’t help but think that going where there were going to be a lot of people, was not the best idea. So, she stayed where she was. She’d wait out a few days to beat the traffic and leave on her own.
Today was the day. Slowly, she pulled herself from her bed. A luxury she doubted she’d be seeing in quite some time. Moving to her bedside table, she took the glock that sat atop it and shoved between her belt and jeans. A makeshift holster, if you would. Then with all the stealth she possessed she made her way down to the living room. The darkness created by the boarded up windows still came as a small surprise, despite having been there for days now. Only a week prior she had sat here with her sister chatting while the sun beamed through the room. Now it felt like she was a squatting in an abandoned house.

Approaching the door, Ainslie readied her gun and peaked outside for any sign of the monsters that were now wandering the streets. Luckily, the still-blaring sirens distracted the majority of them and briefly she wondered if that was why the people working them had left them on. To give anyone left behind a chance. With only a few stragglers, Ainslie went outside and bolted to her car. A pure-white 1954 Chrysler New Yorker and Ainslie’s pride and joy. So, with a quick change of gears she bolted and began weaving through the streets with a new recklessness. Maybe the apocalypse did have its perks.

“Like no road-laws,” Ainslie joked aloud to herself as she pulled up to a small apartment block, a short drive from her own house. Leaving the car to idle she quickly got out and broke her way through the building. Finally she made it to her destination: Unit #372 on the third floor. Her sister’s apartment, where she could already hear the muffled cries of the toddler that lived inside. Not wanting to scare the babe or her sister any more than they undoubtedly already were, Ainslie knocked lightly on the door. A few moments passed before she heard the door unlock and the chain being pulled off. Without a moment’s hesitation she pushed her way in.

“C’mon lets go,” She said hurriedly, grabbing the other woman by the arm and trying to pull her out when she stopped to look back. “Where’s Toby?”

“He got called to Camp Murray,” Isabel’s voice was choked as the tears she wasn’t hiding well, filled her eyes. Almost immediately Ainslie face turned red, matching her hair, as she bit her tongue. Toby, her sister’s husband, had simply left his wife and son to fend off the undead. For the brief moments that Ainslie spent gathering her mind, it took almost all her strength to not blow up.

“I said. Let’s go.” Gritting her teeth, Ainslie ushered he sister out and lead the way back to her car. As soon as the three were seated, Ainslie once again sped off through the streets. Though with her sister and nephew now in the car, she drove much more carefully.