Clattering down from his stairway hiding place, Horus came face-to-face with the intruders he had predicted before. Aiming his pistol at the sudden reinforcements, Horus slowly lowered his guard at the reference of Colonel Carter's name. "Hello, Colonel and companion.", Horus greeted, the badge of colonel on Carter's camo vest dissolving any doubt he may have had. "Me and Brandon were already planning an escape method, nice of you guys to join the party.", Horus lied causally, adding a bit of sarcasm to the last part of his sentence. Heading back up the stairs, Horus motioned for the other marines and Brandon to follow him. "You good at zip-lining, Carter?", Horus asked, climbing a few more set of stairs before he finished his thought. "Either way, you'll be learning soon." Horus broke open the emergency exit to the decomposed roof of the motel. Cutting a multi-foot tail of electrical wire from the energy distributer found at the edge of the roof, Horus tied the wiring to his cavalry lance and threw the oversized spear over to another nearby building, the weapon piercing itself into the structure's top. Horus soon tied the other side of the cable to a pole that erected itself out of the motel's broken roof. With a minor tightening pull, Horus had created a length similar to that of a zip line, able to transport the soldiers to a more capable setting. "Well?", Horus asked, Breaking plumbing tubes out of the exposed walls on the roof before cutting them into graspable sections of piping. Positioning his makeshift piping zipper above his head and onto the sturdy cable, Horus hung onto this handheld as he slid quickly down the strained wire, the piping his only support. Finally gliding onto a stout department store's roof, Horus beckoned for the startled soldiers to follow his lead. "Come on you pansies!", Horus shouted, not loud enough to alert the undead swarming the motel, but enough for the taunting his voice to be distinguished by the marines on the inn roof not too far away...

No answer came back after Greg knocked at the door, "Well I've knocked" he thought, seconds before pulling out his gun and busting the door open, Carter had shot the knob down with several shots, and kicked the door open, as it swung open Greg didn't storm in giving Carter a head start. As Carter stormed in, Greg made sure no zombies were following them, except for the two slow walkers approaching from a fair distance.

"Clear" notified Carter. Greg swung the door shut and propped a chair onto the door, making sure it kept the door shut. The place wasn't so filthy as Greg anticipated. Zombies nearly made their way through that front door, it wouldn't last, but the windows are much fragile, no zombie seemed to swoop through it yet, mindless those things are thought Greg.

When all the sudden one of the survivors rushed down the doors, aiming his gun at Greg and Carter, as he lowered his gun he mentioned a escape plan, "zip-lining", Greg is Acrophobic, he would rather face a firing squad rather than falling from the top of a 6th story building, nevertheless he had to do it in order to survive. They rushed through the stairs, Greg was getting nervous by the minute, his sweat scented the air about him.

At the roof the private conjured an idea Greg would never think of. A zip lining was ready in a matter of moments, crafted from the most unorthodox components, a spear replica and a wire. Greg approached the ledge, looking down he swallowed hard and exhaled in worry, trying to grasp his breath. He took a few steps back as the private clung a plastic tube and glided down to the neighboring building.

Greg was suddenly dizzy, about to puke his intestines out. "You guys go ahead, I'll be right behind you." He mumbled trying to put words together, trying to calm his stomach, he sat on the gravel and let out a burp, leaving his throat sore.

Motel
"Horace!" He saw them running up the stairs, passing him. He followed the out to the gravel roof. He say the makeshift zip line. "Hell no." He muttered under his breath. "Horace! Don't zip line. I have a better idea." He looked at the soldier, who was sitting on the floor, looking ready to pass out. "we can throw the scotch out and light it on fire. It'll distract them and we won't have to do, a suicide missing across that, 'zip line' of yours."

"Well, better do it fast then, Brandon!", Horus shouted over to the more stable soldier, who's idea was clearly more orthodox then his. Horus pointed prominently to a humongous bank building, the structure of which leaned ominously to the right."I'll meet you guys there, or anywhere in-between!", He cackled. Plucking the Calvary lance out of it's root in the department store's roof, and breaking the cable off of the motel and whipping it around back to him, Horus used the same method as before to zip line off the grocery store and onto yet a smaller building. Horus repeated this process until transporting himself far enough away from any zombie threat to make his presence unknown. Quickly climbing down from the 1-story restraunt he had ultimately ended up on, Horus ran across the uprooted two-way street that divided him from the opposite side of this concrete jungle, and towards the skyscraper-type rendezvous he had informed his comrades of. The only thing that worried Horus now was that his companions could keep up with him, hopefully they would.

Motel Roof
"Go! Now everyone get out of the building!" Brandon took one last swig of scotch before he dropped it with a crash on the sidewalk, and threw the lighter down on top of it. There was the smell of smoke, and a soft wavering of the Flames. Brandon rushed down the stairs and out the door, watching the horde walk into the flames.

Shaking his head, Carter watched Horace's shenanigans and sighed. "He's gonna get himself killed... I don't know if that's a good thing or bad..." He holstered his pistol and moved to Greg, patting him on the back. A moment later, Brandon Tossed his molotov, and though he couldn't really fault the man's actions... It would distract some of them, but... It didn't have the bang to get the attention of the horde. He shook his head and helped his companion straight up on his feet. "Still your stomach, we were never gonna go on the devil's zipline... Eating a bullet woulda been safer than that. He pulled on it and it came right off."

After a moment, the colonel stepped back and pulled up the MP-5 that hung on his side. He gestured forward and gave him a weak smile. "Nothing but bullets are about to be flying... Let's go soldier. This your first time in combat? Just been a post sitter til now, arresting drunkies?" The man laughed encouragingly and nodded. "If so, you're doing well. Let's get doing... Cover my rear."

One of Horace's companion came up with a much better idea. Greg wad relived at the thought that there is another way out of this fucked up situation, Carter patted Greg as if he knew how he felt at the moment, as if it wasn't already obvious how Greg was feeling about that "zip lining" plan. Horace's companion sipped from his drink and tossed the bottle down. Carter helped Greg get up, not as if he needed it, he was capable of standing on his own, but it was the act to show that he was there for me, Greg thought. He stood straight inhaling the smoke coming from the fire that distracted the mindless horde, though some didn't gave any attention to the fire, still trying to breach the front door.

Greg sheathed his machete, he took out his hand gun and took out his crimson combat knife, held it firmly, ready to put it in one of those things head. He thought about using the M16, but bullets are scarce, you never know what could happen in the future he thought, looking at the weapons he held in hand "this should do for now." He thought. But was it?.

Carter asked Greg if this was his first time in combat. Greg gave a slight chuckle saying "no sir, this isn't my first..nor is it my last" he replied with determination. " it's just that I've never dealt with such creepy horrid things before, seeing them is enough to stir my stomach."

"Well do!" Replied Greg on Carter's demand on covering his rear side. Rushing down the stairs Greg inhaled deeply, "I am ready" he whispered as he exhaled slowly. Stepping out the motel the horde was distracted with the fire. "We should go find Horace!" Yelled Greg loudly enough for his companion to hear, but with out notifying any zombies of there presence.

There was a faint, slllck as Brandon stuck the combat knife through the the temple of a zombie. There was a small group of six around him. "Shit." He mumbled. There was a small puddle of blood nearby. Brandon ripped of a piece of cloth from a dead woman's shirt, drenched it in the blood, and put the cloth over his gun. Most were distracted from the fire, but he didn't want to risk attracting them back. Under the cloth of blood, the go shot sounded like a slamming door, but with the moaning of the zombies, it was barely heard.

After most were killed and the rest burning in the evergrowing fire, and his comrades nowhere to be found, Brandon sat back against a metal barrel. 'A barrel. Of what?' He thought. Oil. He jumped up and ran. BOOM! the sound echoed through the alleyway, and the glass of the motel shattered with a crash!.
"Oil. How could I have been so st- cauhh, cauht!" Smoke entered his lungs as he spoke. There was an oil reserve further down, and a truck must have passed by carrying it. 'That must have gotten their attention.' He thought as he blacked out.

"That's very fair... These things take some getting used to..." He said quietly as the two quickly made their way out of the motel. On the way out, he covered his mouth and nose with the inner part of his elbow, still holding his weapon up. Even with the slight protection from the fire's smoke, he coughed just slightly as he scanned for Brandon, groaning a little with frustration as he did so. Horace was gone, and now he couldn't even locate the firebug. "Yes, we should find Horace." Carter replied evenly, hacking a little as for just a moment, he wished he'd smoked... Might make this situation a little easier...

The two advanced further from the building, still unable to locate their fleeing comrade though they'd certainly found his small trail of destruction. A small group of zombies lay dead about twenty yards from where they'd exited, and a large number of the rest were milling about in the crackle of the fire, moaning and grabbing at the air as if a meal would pop out of thin air. "Where the hell did he g-..." *BANG*

When the barrel exploded, it sent the older of the soldiers to the ground with a surprised grunt. "Fuck... That's why you always coordinate with explosives..." He complained half heartedly, running his hands over himself to check for injury as he slowly rose to his feet. A small splinter of what used to be a barrel had punctured into the left side of his armor and the kevlar was already beginning to soak with blood. "Son of a bitch..." The colonel said quietly, clenching his teeth before his pistol came up, pointed at a small building that housed the motel's bacup generator. It was on fire, though a fireball of moderate size blazed just outside of an alley, and if that wasn't enough to tell them where the explosion had come from, debris were scattered away from the source. "That's the only way he could have gone without us being able to see him... Captain, I'm injured... This is your show now. Do we go through the fire or go around to find him?"

On his way out Greg noticed that three zombies managed to enter the motel through the front window, he shot the three of them with out hesitation. Looking forward to Carter making sure he is still there. Greg turned around shutting the door in attempt to prevent any zombies to come out. Releasing his mag, ten bullets left. Though he had another three mags in his backpack. It wont last for long he thought.

"Carter we should go fin-.." his words were interrupted by a nearby explosion. For a brief moment he was up in the air. Time seemed to slow down at a notable speed, it was quite, Greg felt the hot air on his bare sweaty skin as it sent him up in the air and threw him back down on the harsh gravel. Hitting his head on the ground , it gave him a sudden headache, his shut his eyes, took a deep breathe and swallowed hard. He sat down, looking down checking for any injures. There was none, except for the sharp headache his having. He reached for the back of his head, rubbing his head roughly. "No blood..good" he said as he tried to catch his breath. His memory of the last fifteen minutes were vague.

Looking around he saw Carter, Greg stood up and went straight to him. When he reached he asked "Are you o-" when Greg noticed a shard penetrated Carter in his leg. It was no simple injury nor a fatal one, "It's best we leave it untouched, it will prevent blood from coming out" Greg pointed.

When Carter asked him to lead the way to find Brandon, Greg thought about it for a moment. "It's best if we head to Horace, that's probably where Brandon will most likely go to." Greg suggested. He knelt down and grabbed Carter's arm and placed it above his shoulder. Taking a deep breath. He pulled Carter up, helping keep his balance and supporting him to walk. "We ought to go now, this place will be swarming with those things." He said as he nodded to carter.

Motel, 20 Minutes After tThe Explosion

Brandon got up, grunting from the pain in his ribs . He felt to see shrapnel, logded in his left side. "Shit." His shunned was turning crimson red. Everything had been attracted by the explosion. The only thing left was a fire escape, leading up to a building. He stumbled up the ladder, hanging on for his life. All those things were below him. From the top of the vantage point, he could see the bank building, and two small figures getting even smaller. "Hey! Hey!" He yelled and waved, but he could not be heard, nor seen. He had to find a way to get to them. He looked down the fire escape, at the evergrowing horde of zombies. He had to... He had to get to them.

Carter nodded in agreement, groaning a little as the captain helped him limp along. He still held his submachine-gun in the arm that wasn't around Greg's shoulders, ready to fire. Though the streets ahead of them were mostly clear. The colonel clenched his teeth as pain flared up in his leg with every step, and if it weren't for Greg he probably would have collapsed by now. The bank was only a few blocks away, though as far as the old soldier was concerned, it could've been a mile.

The two crossed a couple of blocks without incident, avoiding whatever undead were shambling about with relative ease. Most were entranced in the motel's fiery demise. However, just before they reached their destination a small group of fifteen infected wandered out of a nearby alley on the two soldiers' right. "Shit..." Carter groaned, quickly bringing his weapon up. He began to fire, emptying half of his mag in 3 round bursts in an attempt to kill some of them. The first volley struck a female directly in the chest, though the recoil pushed a round upward and through its throat, leaving it nothing more than a corpse with a snapping head. The second and third bursts found their marks right in the foreheads of two more infected. However, his next two shots did nothing but burrow harmlessly into the infecteds' torsos.

As Greg helped Carter walk, he couldn't but think about Brandon, Horace's companion.
The more we are the better the chance of our survival he thought. But Brandon seemed capable of maintaining his survival in this living hell. Their way to the Bank building seemed clear, no obstacles, none for the moment at least. Greg was struggling to help Carter limb along whilst Holding his combat knife and 9mm handgun. He sheathed the knife with his left hand. Tucked his handgun between his belly and pants afterwards, making sure it wont fall off.

Greg looked down at Carters leg checking if it was bleeding. "Your le-" he was interrupted by a horrifying horde of fifteen zombies. They approached from the right side. Creeping out from an alley. Greg's stomach ached, his vision blacking a bit. His heart pounded like a wild mustang. He was terrified. Carter was able to shoot a couple of them. Aiming to their torso's. Greg gently put down Carter down, laying his back against a brick wall. "Carter, fire at will!" Greg put down his backpack and grabbed his M16, he clocked it and aimed for the zombie's knees and legs.

"Chuk...chuk" the mag was emptied. The horde was crippled. Greg sighed in relief. Breathing quickly trying to calm his Heart. He turned around, looking down to carter he said "You okay?". He carried Carter back up, along side his backpack and headed to the bank. Which was close.

When they entered, Horace was there to welcome them. Money was all over the ground. The place smelled of stink, it was terribly hot in there. Looking around Greg couldn't find Brandon. Looking back to Horace he said "Brandon didn't arrive yet!?..we must head out and find him!". Greg laid Carter down gently. He took out his handgun and a one mag. He gave it to Carter. "With that injury, I am afraid you should stay here." He nodded, "shall we go Horace?" Greg asked.

"Hmm... Not entirely...", Horus responded in his cracked, gasping voice. "I haven't had a chance to explore the other floors of the bank building, so God only knows what's up there.", Horus continued, "And, if we're leaving Carter here injured, someone's gotta look after him. Seems like your on your own.", Horus said quite frankly. Horus had perfected the technique of Bluntness, and used this conversation stopper so well it seem to conjure a verbal wall on whatever argument he was participating in. Horus, picking Carter up and slinging his arm around his shoulder, grunted in response to the new weight on his back. "God, son, your like the world's heaviest back-pack.", Horus chuckled at his own mediocre joke. Starting to haul Carter to the stair-well, Horus looked back to Greg and smiled under his rusted mask. "Take this, it's dangerous to go alone..." Horus joked again, pulling his cavalry lance from it's holder and handing it to Greg. Horus laughed once more, a dry, deep-bellied laugh that unnerved both soldiers. With a few more steps, Horus soon trailed Carter towards the stairs and up towards the 2nd floor

When Horace came to mention that someone needs to stay with Carter, A sudden chill ran down Greg's spine, he was afraid of the thought of going out alone. He knew that going out alone is dangerous, and most likely deadly. But Greg didn't want to be selfish, leaving Carter alone here would probably mean his death. "Yes you're right, you stay with him then" Greg nodded. As Horace helped Carter stand up and limb him to the 2nd floor. Greg put down his backpack, grabbing only essential things. three mags for the M16, a bottle of water, and three protein bars. Greg was famished after all that running and shooting. He laid his backpack near a counter. He didn't want any dead weight.

Greg sipped from his water bottle, and ate two of the protein bars afterwards. Leaving one for the trip to find Brandon. It will probably ease his nerve while walking in this living hell. He drank The whole bottle and threw it down. Now he needed to piss. Greg checked if everything is set. The M16 hanging by his shoulders, his machete and combat knife sheathed. The 9mm handgun was with Carter, but he didnt bother to claim it back.

Right before Greg head out, Horace called, making a joke that was totally inappropriate at the moment. But it eased Greg's mood. Greg chuckled silently. Horace gave him his cavalry lance afterwards. "That's awfully nice of you. Thanks" Greg smiled. It was a bit heavy, but it will be very useful Greg thought. Greg looked back at Horace and carter one last time and cried "Pray for me!".

He turned around and opened the door, the scent of rot and blood quickly ran through his nose. He thought about going back to his backpack to pick his gas mask, but thought not. It would make his vision narrower and vague. It isn't worth it.

He stepped outside. "Brandon you better be alive." He muttered.

Tzofia was jolted awake by the discordant thunder of rapid gunfire. She dove behind a table, expecting the window to shatter from bullets, or bodies, or something, something would surely come sailing through the window, splintering the boards and probably trying to kill her. Something was on the roof, but she never saw it. A huge blast shook the building and everything around it, and she hunkered down behind the table even more. Surely something would come, something was going to come.

But nothing did.

Cautiously she peaked out from behind the table, Glock at the ready as she rose slowly from her kneeling position, nearing the gap in the boards on the window to look out at the surrounding city. Her eyes widened as she saw what seemed to be a small horde laying in the streets, heads still snapping but for some reason, not walking.

"The hell happened...?" she whispered in surprise before she pulled back from the window. This meant there were survivors somewhere, she didn't know where but they were there, clearly. Scooping up the rucksack that'd been lying forlornly near the window, she gave the small resturaunt one last visual sweep for anything to take with her. She'd already cleared the back area of any food that hadn't already spoiled, and there had even been some bottled water, but there was nothing left worth taking that she'd not already crammed into the bag.

The door of the restaurant had gotten stuck in the time since she'd barred it with a table and locked it with a chain. Even after dragging away the table and pulling off the chain, the door took considerable effort to force open.

Stepping out into the street, she looked left and right at the carnage she'd been avoiding within the somewhat safe confines of the restaurant. An acrid stench burned her nostrils, and she hurried to don her gas mask- just in case there was something truly foul in the air. She fingered the grip of her Glock, but kept the pistol holstered as she instead pulled out a matte black tomahawk, constantly on watch for any shambling figures.

Where had they gone? Surely they couldn't be too far, there weren't that many safe pla-

"Hey! Hey!"

A shout pulled her attention to the top of a nearby building -apparently the source of the explosion judging by the cloud of smoke- and the figure standing on top of it. He was waving at something, not her, but something in a different building...

She had to get to him, he obviously knew other survivors, and the more potential allies, the better. The only problem was the growing horde of undead at the base of the fire escape, obviously drawn by the explosion and now his shouting. "Idiot." She swore under her breath, looking around for some sort of distraction for the undead. Nothing but abandoned cars, but plenty of those. An idea sparked in her mind and she ran for the nearest one- a pickup that proudly proclaimed it had a V8 diesel engine. Definitely loud enough.

The door was missing, it looked to have been torn from the frame, probably along with the vehicle's owner. The keys however, were still in the ignition. Poor bastard, so close to escaping the horde, but so far.

However, this worked in her favor, she wouldn't have to hotwire the vehicle, which made things simpler. All she had to do was make the truck go and not stop until it hit something or ran out of fuel, whichever came first. A quick search turned up some wire which would work nicely, and she hastily tied the accelerator with the wire, rigging it so that all she would need to do was pull hard and jump, and the truck would keep going without her. Maybe it wasn't the most original idea, but it would work, she hoped.

Preparations complete, she hopped inside the vehicle. Its interior was spacious, and more than one bloodstain soiled what must have been at least somewhat tasteful upholstery. Not bothering to shout to the man on the roof of the nearby building she turned the key in the ignition.

Miraculously, the truck started, the diesel engine growling noisily as she revved it to catch the attention of the nearby undead and, hopefully, the man trapped by them on the rooftop. Flooring the accelerator, she barreled down the crowded street in the truck until she was less than ten meters away from the horde. Yanking on the wire, she felt the accelerator leave her foot and press against the floor of the truck, and the steering wheel lock up, keeping the truck on a straight course. She grinned, it worked.

Then she jumped.

Managing to land in a rolling motion, Tzofia quickly stumbled to her feet to see the horde chasing after the rapidly moving vehicle. It was kind of a shame, that would've been a nice truck to have before the infection. Shaking her head, she wasted no time in hurrying to the now clear fire escape and shouting up at the man, who could hopefully hear her, "Come on! They're going to be chasing that for a while. Move your ass before we both get eaten!"

"I woulda killed'em, but... That's easier." Carter muttered, groaning just slightly in pain as he was lifted back up and the two shuffled into the bank. Once set down, he huffed quietly and bit his lip just slightly as his fingers ran over the metal lodged in his right leg. "Damnit..." The colonel muttered, though when Horace told Greg he was on his own he raised his head to protest. However, before he could get a single word out, Horace had lifted him on his back. He managed a grunt of frustration, but sighed and hung on the other man's shoulders as he was lugged up the stairwell. Even if he'd said something, Horace was as hard headed as the came and it would be too much work convincing him to go with Greg.

Upstairs, when he was set back on the ground Carter went to work. First, he laid Greg's pistol on the ground and pulled his entrenching tool out of its sheathe. He cut lengthwise down his pant leg from the wound and then removed the cloth below it. Carefully, he sliced the cloth into strips and tied one tightly around his leg above the wound. He'd remove the metal chunk soon, though he stopped to look up at the psycho he was stuck with. "You should have gone with him... It's safe here and I can still shoot straight." With his objections known, he shook his head and sighed. "See if you can find a medical kit somewhere... I need something clean to bandage this with if I'm gonna pull it out."

Brandon heard the roar of the engine, and the yelling of a woman, another survivor! What a bitch. Move my ass?! He would have, if he hadn't had a three inch piece of shrapnel lodged in his side. Brandon tried to lift himself up, but still had trouble, even with the support of the ledge. "I can't! I'm injured." He called back down. Brandon still had the bank building in view. A slight movement caught his eye. The door opened, and one of his fellow comrades from before came out. He waved, hoping to catch his attention. He tried to make way for the stairs, but without the ledge he had no support. He stumbled down the stairs, causing the shrapnel to move, deeper into his side. "Shit!" He got up, slowly, and painfully, using the walls as support. When the shrapnel drove deeper, it moved, exposing an exit, his blood slowly began to seep from his wound. If he didn't get medical attention, he would bleed out. Hurry up. God damnit!

"I can't! I'm injured." The man on the roof called back down to her.

"Shit." She swore, looking around for any nearby undead before hoisting herself onto the ladder. Climbing as quickly as she could, she paused for a second, what if this was a trap? What if he was just waiting for her at the top of the ladder with a knife to slide between her ribs? She hung on the ladder for several seconds, thinking, before shaking her head to clear it and continuing climbing. As she neared the top she bunched her legs, launching herself off the ladder and onto the roof.

He wasn't there.

"Th'hell is he?" She muttered, looking around. Still unsure whether or not this was a trap, she pulled out her tomahawk and moved a roll of gauze to a more easily accessible location, just in case he really was injured. "Coming, coming." She called out to the rooftop, her voice muffled by the gas mask.

She hurried around a corner, coming across the man... "standing" at the base of the stairs. She quirked an eyebrow before putting the tomahawk back on her belt and raising the roll of gauze. "Just for the record, I have no intentions of killing you unless you try to kill me. I also feel the need to mention that you have poor taste in places to get blown up in." She looked to his side and the wound, "I can fix that, you have companions, right?"

Just right infront of the entrance, Greg stood there preparing himself spiritually, and mentally. Inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. Trying to sooth his nervous mind. "God I wish we haven't abandoned Brandon" Greg muttered. He turned his head a bit, looking over his shoulder, looking at the entrance, wishing he could just enter and never go out to this horrid place. But he couldn't. " I've gotta find Brandon fast. It's probably all his fault, he came up with the idea of using a molotov" He whimpered.

Something caught Greg's attention, something moving, waving?. Greg caught it at the edge of his eye. He quickly turned. But there was nothing moving. "Could it really be him? My god he might have survived." Greg was slightly shocked. Or it could just be a zombie gobbling a nasty rat. Either way Greg is going that Direction. Seeing that there is where the Motel is positioned at. Greg walked down the road with the lance in hand and the combat knife in the other. His M16 dangling at his back, poking him with every step he takes.

A slow walker eked out from a tight alley. With no hesitation Greg launched the lance at the zombie's temple. It was better to kill them from a fair distance, rather than being close using the combat knife or the machete Greg thought. "God, Thanks Horace" he muttered in relief. Greg wiped the tip of the lance with the recently dead zombie's clothing. He rubbed the tip against his trouser making sure it's clean.

Greg stood there for a brief moment, looking down at the rotten corpse. To think that this zombie was once a father or a brother to someone. He had a life. He loved and lived. And now I despise "it" for being what it is Greg thought, as the wind seemed to ease down. The sky was cloudy yet calming and quaint. Greg wished he could just sleep there on the smooth silky clouds. Looking around, the place was so quiet he could just lay down and sleep.

Though the soothing quiet didn't last for long. A roar of an engine sounded from the same direction the motel was at. Greg's heart pounded. "That sonofa bitch.. is he trying to suicide!??" Greg thought as he rushed to the engine-sound source. On the way he stumbled and fell. A zombie crept out from a front door of grocery shop. He was no civilian, the zombie was a marine.

The lance had fallen away from Greg's reach. His combat knife god knows where. Greg reached for his 9mm handgun.. it wasn't there. "Shit..Carter!" He remembered giving it to Carter. Greg took out his M16..by that time the zombie had already reached Greg. The zombie lunged down on Greg's leg, holding it still and going for a bite.

Greg cloaked the M16 and aimed for the zombie's head and shot. luckily for Greg, the zombie marine was wearing a gas mask and heavy gloves. Greg sighed in at most relief. He stood up, searching for his combat knife. It was right under his ass. "Silly me" he whispered. He sheathed it and grabbed the lance.

He found two M16 mags on the marine. And one can of beans. He picked them up and headed straight to the engine sound source. There he saw a woman climbing the fire escape aiding Brandon down. A cheerful smile was on Greg's face.

"Need help?" Greg cried to the both of them. As head towards them.