Tzofia glanced to the sound of a human voice- a new one, not previously heard before. Definite proof that there were indeed actual survivors. She wasn't alone anymore.

She looked to the man running towards them, shouting out, "Your friend is alive but he's definitely gonna need help! Lot of lost blood, going to need his wound properly cleaned as well, I don't have the supplies."

They were nearing the ground, for which she was thankful. Fire escapes weren't exactly comfortable places to begin with, being cramped into one with another person in uncomfortably close proximity -not to mention bleeding all over her- just made it beyond... awkward, uncomfortable, etc. She called back to the man on the ground, "You have any more, or just him?" Pointing at Brandon, she continued, "And do any of you know if there are still functioning evac centers?"

"I think they're gonna be fine, Carter.", Horus responded, hearing the faint sounds of a noisy truck and shouting coming from the distant motel. Searching around for something medical, anything medical, Horus only came to find rubble and micellanous office objects on the second level. The whole floor was composed of hundreds of cubicles, with only the upper right side un-accessible due to severe rubble. A large hole opened up in the middle of the floor, allowing a dangerous entrance to the first floor.
Opening up one of the oldest cubicles, Horus found the corpse of an office worker, a decomposed computer, and a wall phone. Slitting the neck of the worker for safety, Horus proceeded to loot his/her pockets (the body had been severely disfigured, and therefore unidentifiable). "Anti-bacterial spray and tissues, some germ-a-phob you were." Throwing aside the dirtied tissues, Horus kept the spray and returned to Carter. "Hey, I didn't find medical tape, but I scavenged some Purell.", Horus announced, tossing Carter the medical item. "Spray it on some cloth, if that's not clean I don't know what is.", Horus added before sitting by one of the murky windows accompanying the soldiers. Eyes going blank, Horus slipped into a slight day-dream as he surveyed the distorted setting of Union City.

Though he grunted with frustration at Horus' lackadaisy attitude, he couldn't do much about it. When the other returned with the purell, he sighed and laid out another strip of his pant leg before pouring most of the bottle out on it. After letting it evaporate, he folded the strip of cloth up into a pad of make-shift gauze and clenched his teeth. The colonel gripped the jagged metal in his and suppressed a howl of pain as he carefully pulled it out. With that done, Carter quickly pressed the sanitized cloth against the hole in his leg and affixed it with a final strip of cloth from his pant leg. "Fuck... If we make it back, I'm making sure that fire happy soldier gives me two hundred fucking pushups..." The colonel laughed, joking with himself. Horus was never a talkative one, so he left him be. Besides... He was harder headed than a bull.

(I couldn't think of much to do for now, I'm sorry.)

The woman notified Greg that Brandon is alive. "Thank God" Greg sighed in relief. Until she mentioned the blood, and lots of it. "Damn it I should have brought the first aid kit from my backpack." Looking down, Greg muttered. He looked back up and announced "I've got a small first aid kit back at.." he stopped for a brief moment and thought "is she to be trusted? Can I trust her and tell her where the rest of us are?".

"Back at a building where the backpack is. It's just back ahead" he continued. As they nearly reached the bottom of the fire escape, she asked if there where any other companions. Greg was confused, to trust he or not to? He wondered.

"Yes there are a two more of us" he announced as he approached the bottom and reached for Brandon's legs. "Not that I know off miss, the stadium was supposed to be the last one though" he answered to her question. Helping Brandon down, he asked "Are you okay Brandon". He grabbed him gently and put him down on the sidewalk. Greg laid his hand out to the woman as she went down the staircase. Now they're all down on the ground.

Greg held Brandon from his arm and laid it upon his shoulders, helping Greg limb up. "Shit.." Greg thought as he saw Brandon's injury. "Remind me to never let you play with explosives again man" Greg said, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "Come on miss, it's straight ahead" pointing at the bank building by his chin. As they started moving towards the bank building, Greg wasn't afraid anymore, rather he felt safe. Being with others in this fucked up city for now is the best thing that could happen to anyone.

Looking at the woman walking by his side he said "I'm Greg, pleasure to meet you. And thanks for saving my pal" he smiled. Once they reached the bank and entered. Greg announced his arrival by shouting, calling Horace "Horce we're here". He then proceeded to the counter where he left his backpack, limping Brandon along with him. He gently laid him down, and quickly took out his first aid kit from the bag.

"Let's fix you up" smiled Greg.

Brandon was slowly regaining consciousness, but the memories were faint, almost distant. 'Are- ok Brandon?' Most of the memories were blurred, fuzzy. He felt himself being carried. He heard the groans of, the zombies. He could almost picture their mutilated bodies. He heard a door swing open. 'Let- you up.' Brandon answered with a grunt from a sting in his side, probably an antibacterial solution. He felt the shrapnel rip through his stomach, as pressure was put on the wound. And it was tied up with a piece of clothing.

Horus was torn from his day dream by the clatter made on the first floor. "They're here.", Horus said in a deeper tone then normal. Picking Carter up once again, Horus led the wounded soldier and himself downstairs to help the new arrivals. "Crap, Brandon what the hell did you do to yourself?", Horus said in astonishment. Brandon had developed a huge gash in his side, and he was slightly singed in select places. It looked like he had blown himself up. "Here.", Horus informed, handing Carter over to Tzofia before he kneeled down near Brandon. After taking a hearty swig from one of his water bottles, Horus splashed the remainder of the container into Brandon's face with an effort to wake him up. "It helped, a little... He's at least looking straight...", He added before grabbing a cigarette from Brandon's pocket and lighting it. "Brandon, can you hear me?", Horus said calmly as he stood, the cigarette smoke swirling around him in the drafty bank building.

Rather than being handed off like a ragdoll, to a stranger no less... Carter grunted and stood when he was released, quickly leaning his right shoulder on a nearby wall for support. The colonel finally got a good look at Brandon then, finally recognizing the sour scent of burnt oil in the air. "Jesus..." He muttered quietly, gritting his teeth. "That's what I was afraid of... I hope he's not bad off as it looks, we don't have a surgeon here." With a short, grim laugh, he sighed and slid down the wall into a sitting position. "Then again... I've said that a few times... And they all made it. Let's hope I keep getting lucky."

"Good going Captain... You didn't just save one soldier out there." The older man congratulated Greg, giving him a wide smile. "I'd ask you to introduce her, but I'm sure she can speak for herself." Carter's attention went to the newcomer then, and nodded. "Colonel Schmidt at your service... But you are?..." He asked, intrigued. He'd seen that uniform somewhere... But couldn't quite place it. Maybe one of the Herc Mercs.

Greg took out a antibacterial solution, iodine, cotton and placed them by his side. He poured the solution on Brandon's injury, Greg was starting to feel unease as he attended Brandon's injury, it was bloody and very sickening. The wound didn't stop bleeding until Greg poured alcohol on it. Then came the most disgusting part. Greg had to pull that shrapnel from Brandon's side. Greg never did anything like this before, not once. Though he had some medical training.

As Greg slowly pulled out the shrapnel, his stomach started to rumble from the blood and flesh. "Aaaah" Greg groaned softly. The shrapnel was out. Greg was about to throw up. When Horace came and knelt down by Brandon. Greg took in a deep breath in attempt to prevent himself from puking. "He's gonna be okay" looking at Horace he assured him.

Greg applied the iodine around the wound and made sure to cover the whole injury. The wound must be stitched. Greg returned everything back to the mid-kit and took out the stitching tools. It will be a very unpleasant experience for Greg, but he had to do it. Before starting he searched the mid-kit in desperation to find a skin adhesive. It would make things much easier. But there was none. "God damn it" Greg sighed.

He prepared the needle and everything. He then took a deep breath before starting to stitch the wound. Moments later he was done. The stitches weren't that of an expert hand, but they'll do the job. Greg was relieved, he sat down back and looked around. He needed a drink after that little "surgery" of his. Greg noticed his hands were bloody, Brandon's blood. Now he needed a hot bath and a drink.

Greg stood against his own will of comfort to check on Carter. As he stood he grabbed the mid-kit and headed to Carter, who laid against a wall. He sat beside Carter and asked him "You need any medical attention?".

Brandon got up. He grunted from the pain, but he managed to prop h8mself up on the wall. "Hora–acce!" The word came out like a hiss, mostly from the immense pain. His head was still throbbing, his heart was beating fast. It was, quiet, but to him, his heart sounded like tiny explosion, were going off in his head. But throughthe noise, he could still hear the groans, of the monstrosities outside. Except this one was, closer. "Shit." As he turned around it toppled onto him, it's elbow, jamming into his side. His combat knife was the closest thing. He couldn't reach it. "Horace! God damnit! Help!" Brandon tried pushing it back with his feet, but the skin and bone was so decayed, his shoes sank into it, and did nothing. "Damnit." The throbbing in his head came back, and he was slowly running out of energy. He felt his grip againts the zombie loosen, and heard footsteps coming through. "'Bout time Horace." He wispered to himself as he saw someone come running through. His grip loosened and his vision became fuzzy.

Horus had had a rough night's sleep. His dreams were filled with swarms of locusts, zombies, and screaming civilians. These visions may have troubled a lesser man, but still, a demented smile managed to creep itself across Horus' sleeping lips. He suddenly woke with a start due to the bloody murder screams from the first floor.
"Sh*t!", He cursed, startled from the sudden calling voice. Standing up, Horus took the liberty of bolting over the many cubicles upon the second level and looking down on Brandon through the immense hole carved into the floor's face. "Damn it Brandon! That's not how you handle a zombie!", Horus called before letting loose a full mag of bullets into the Zombies forehead, most of them just missing Brandon.
A figure ran up to the disturbed Brandon, coming to his aid before to save him, but now only to evaluate his obvious condition. Yawning, Horus strode to the other side of the second floor and descended to the 1st via the broken stairs, whom's handrail had been un-installed many years before.
Coming out to the undead infested lobby, Horus shot another half a mag into the ghouls crawling through the shattered windows. "So, Brandon, how'd cha' sleep?", Horus said much too casually, his tone referring to a time where they weren't always running for their damned lives.

Carter, awakened by the ruckus groaned and picked his weapon off of the ground by him. "Horus..." He sighed, making sure the submachinegun was loaded. 15 rounds and 6 more 30 round mags... It wasn't a lot for an automatic weapon but it'd keep them safe for a while. The old colonel slowly got into a standing position, gasping with pain as it shot up leg like a bolt of lightning. "Shut up and get Greg... We've gotta move. I'll protect Brandon." He leaned back against the wall and rose his weapon, waiting for any more of the undead to make it through a window. "And stop shooting that damn gun. It's only gonna draw more."

Greg awoke to the sound of gunshots, multiple gunshots. He abruptly got up from the office chair he slept on, rushing out from the cubic he was in. He grabbed his machete from top of the cubic desk in front of him and ran. He could barely see, his eyes yet to adjust to the sun's light that shimmered through the shattered windows. Greg rushed down to the first floor. He could hear Brandon yelling, crying for help. Just before he went down the stairs, he saw Horace firing his gun from a huge hole on the floor. As he went down the stairs in a quick beat, he was wondering what the hell was going on.

On the first floor he saw zombies crawling from the broken windows, trying to get in. Brandon was laying on the ground, along side a dead zombie. "You okay?" Greg asked Brandon in a shaky voice trying to catch his breath. Carter was shooting with his machinegun. Horace came down stairs, and started shooting the zombies outside. There were three zombies who managed to get in by the side door. "Damn we should have barricaded this place before going to sleep" Greg clenched his fist to the thought. Gripping the machete firmly he swung it towards one of the three zombies neck. The machete cut through its neck swiftly. The zombie's head fell and pounded the ground, soon its headless body followed. Two remain, Greg kicked the closest one on the knee, causing his leg to break and fly backwards. The zombie was crippled and dropped down. Greg shoved his machete through the last one's temple.

Looking down he smashed the crippled zombie's head with his boots. "We cant stay here anymore!" Greg yelled. He bent down and pulled his machete from the zombie's bloody head. As he stood he continued "This place has been compromised! We better leave out the back door!". He sheathed his machete and ran back to the 2nd floor. He grabbed his backpack and m16 and went back down. "Horace help Brandon on his feet and go out the back door! I'll take care of these bitches here! Go!" Greg yelled as he clocked his M16 and started firing through the windows in attempt to slow the zombies down.

He looked at Carter, he wasn't in his best shape to fight. Greg got closer to him and said "Carter! Go with them I got your back! Just go find a safe place. I'll follow you once I am able to. Now go!".

Tzofia had introduced herself. "Tzofia Meier, formerly your equivalent of what I believe is a Captain in the IDF, now platoon commander in Magnum Security- as if that matters anymore."

But right now was not the time for remembering introductions. Things had been peaceful for what seemed but a fleeting moment right before everything went straight to hell in a handbasket. Somebody had started shooting, and then more had started shooting, and suddenly the undead were pouring into the building.

She'd caved in two skulls before she really realized what was happening, and froze for a moment until another zombie burst into her sight. The sight of the shambling corpse spurred her into action, and she whipped out her Glock- putting a bullet in the zombie's skull. Running past the now actually dead undead, she saw... Brandon, that was it, grappling with another zombie. Just as she was about to pull her own gun and shoot, a heavy weight settled on her shoulder and she whirled instinctively, narrowly avoiding a bite to the neck from the ghoul. Hissing, she smashed her elbow into the putrescent face and brought her tomahawk around to cleave into its temple.

A burst of gunfire to the side caught her attention and she saw the zombie trying to bite Brandon collapse, its head little more than a few vestigial pieces of skull after having a full magazine dumped straight into it. She shot him a hostile look at the waste of ammunition before running to check on Brandon. He was alive, thankfully. She stood up and walked around a corner, checking to make sure there weren't any unpleasant surprises lurking behind it.

"And stop shooting that damn gun. It's only gonna draw more.

She looked back around the corner, the old Colonel had apparently volunteered to protect Brandon.

What a grand idea, have an injured person protect the other injured person, there was no way that could backfire!

She rushed back into the room, "I'll get him, you focus on staying alive."

"We cant stay here anymore! This place has been compromised! We better leave out the back door!".

She looked towards the sound of the voice, "No shit, Sherlock." She muttered under her breath, just one of the American expressions she'd picked up in her time here. "Next thing he'll be telling us not to let the undead bite us, because that might be bad." Running back over to Brandon, she shouted towards Greg/Mr. Trigger Happy/or whoever was listening, "I've got Brandon, you just keep them off us!"

"C'mon, up you go." She murmured as she hauled Brandon to his feet before looking back to the Colonel, "You ready?"

"Yes ma'am..." Carter said with a nod, dropped the empty mag in his weapon, replaced it in in a mag pouch and shoved in a fresh one. "Wish I could say I been in worse situations, but... I'm used to having an army to call in for support." He laughed darkly, quickly cut off by a soft groan of pain as he stood up off of the wall. He stumbled forward, breathing heavily and gave her a weak smile. "Long as you're not runnin' I should be able to keep up."

Raising his weapon once more, he slowly began stumbling his way out of the bank as quickly as possible, teeth clenched as his leg threatened to give out on him. "Holy shit..." Carter muttered to himself, hoping if his family was gone it was quick for them... Though he quickly shook the thought away. There were more immediate concerns. "Miss Tzofia, did you see any vehicles that may be operable outside? It'll get attention from the general vicinity of where we stop, but... We need out of here now."

"I won't be running, I've got to make you and this guy," Tzofia gestured to Brandon, "won't be left behind. Unless you can move faster with an injured leg and he gets energy from pain, running isn't much of an option anyway. Just keep that gun loaded and the walkers off me." That being said, she readjusted herself, letting go of Brandon for a second to draw her tomahawk, just in case. "Actually..." turning to Brandon, "you can walk on your own, right? The more people we have to shoot or stab the better our chances of avoiding that godawful new perfume the whole city seems to like, la pourriture, I believe it was called? Some nasty side effects though."

"Anywa-" she was turning to the Colonel when an ominous creaking from the roof caught her attention. She had already lunged forwards and shoved Brandon as hard as she could out of the way before scrambling back herself as the ceiling caved in right in front of them. She couldn't tell if Brandon was okay, and for the moment it didn't matter. What did matter was the cause of the collapse. No less than fifteen of the undead had gathered on that spot and the floor -already weakened with the strain of the apocalypse and all that entailed- had called it quits. "Shit!" she hissed, rushing in from the side before the zombies had a chance to stand, burying the tomahawk in one skull after the other. A decaying hand nearly grabbed her and she danced out of the way, pulling out her Glock and putting a round in the skull of the offending ghoul.

"Fuck..." she muttered to herself, looking up from the corpses -Carter had shot some too, she presumed- she called through the rubble, "Can you hear me? We're going to go on ahead. If we find a safe place I'll let you know somehow, any of you have a radio?" Not waiting for a reply, "If not, we need to agree on some point to meet up. Anybody know a place that might not be crawling with cadavers that didn't get the memo about being cadavers?"

No matter how much Greg shot many of those things creeping from the front windows down, more kept coming. The bullets wont last forever. "Come on people we gotta run!" He yelled. The only way out is either through the back door, the side door, or the front door, which was obviously blocked by waves of zombies, seemingly their number kept increasing by the minute. Suddenly the ground beneath them shook, as if something large have pounded the ground. But Greg was in no situation to take his attention off of the creepy crawlers eking from the windows and the front door.

A gust of dust passed by Greg's legs, it approached from the back side. Looking over his shoulders, he noticed a huge rubble Had blocked the way to the rear side of the room. "What the F***!?" Greg mumbled in shock. The side door is the only way out in this moment apparently. Now he is stranded with Tzofia and Carter. A woman and a crippled, just perfect!, he thought to himself.

"Hey!" Greg called out for Tzofia "What the hell happened? Are the others okay on the other side?" He asked. Greg had emptied his mag, yet those things kept advancing towards the group. By the time he drop his empty mag and replace it with a loaded one, at least five or four zombies would reach him. His machete isn't very useful when four zombies approach simultaneously in such a small space. He would be able to take down one or two before being knocked down and bit.

Greg rushed towards Carter and helped him limb to the side door. There he kicked the door with every bit of energy he had left in him. The door swung open, it lead to an empty alley. No zombies in sight..yet. looking back at Tzofia he said "You coming pretty girl?". The room was nearly overrun by zombies, their broken legs and withered limbs didn't seem to stop them though.

Brandon was still in shock when he was being passed from person to person. Then he was pushed to safety by the woman named Tzofia. That woke him up. There was a collapse, and he was stuck on the other side of it... With Horace. Somehow he was stuck with Horace, in the zombie apocalypse. What does that equal? Death, murder, killing, death, and oh yeah, did I mention... Death? While Brandon had respect for most people, he did not have respect for Horace. Mainly because Horace was not a person. He was a monster, a savage. But right now, if he just got out of the building, he could escape Horace. The back door wasn't jammed, so he opened it with ease. He grabbed his small bag of belongings, and bailed. He could not spend the rest of the apocalypse with Horace. He ran, heading for the open road.

Tzofia buried her tomahawk in the skull of another zombie. Another one came too close and she whipped around, smashing the weapon into its temple. They were everywhere. She looked around for a potential escape route, there was no way she could kill this many, surrounded as she was. The undead were everywhere, blocking off any potential escape routes she could see. Except... that side doo-

A rotting hand reached for her shoulder and she smashed it away, delivering a quick kick to its owners body and sending the zombie pitching backwards into several others.

She looked back to the side door. Whatshisface had kicked it open and helped the injured Colonel to it.

"You coming pretty girl?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, burying the spike of the tomahawk in a zombie's eye socket as she did so. Glancing ahead of herself, she glimpsed a small opening and took it, rushing through the small gap in the wall of rotting flesh.

"Well, much as I'd love to stay here and entertain these wonderful individuals, they're a bit smelly and frankly I don't like that look they're giving me. So I just might take you up on your offer."

Sliding along the wall to the currently empty doorway, she grabbed one zombie -after braining it- and hurled the emaciated ghoul in the general direction of its fellows, toppling several of them and giving her a large enough window to rush through the doorway and shut it forcefully behind her; barricading it with a pipe and a nearby trash can and leaning against the wall to take a quick breath.

"It's almost like," she paused, taking another breath of surprisingly clear and untainted air, "there's a whole city of those things after us or something." She grabbed a rag and began wiping off the gore on her tomahawk, "Now that we're out of there, do you have any idea where we are or a place that's at least not swarming with shambling corpses hungry for the flesh of the living, less-than-pretty-boy?"

'La pourriture...' Carter thought, smirking as he limped his way slowly out of the bank ahead of them. "Well, that's one way to describe the sme..." He was cut off by the ominous creaking from above and behind him and just as he turned to look, the second floor collapsed in the center of the room, dividing the small group of survivors. "SON OF A B-..." The old colonel cut himself off, exhaled to calm his nerves, and leaned back on the wall next to the doorway out as he brought his weapon up. He closed his left eye, shifting his weapon from 'safe' to 'burst' as he took aim.

While Tzofia dealt with the few able to stand near her, quite a few were crawling from under the rubble, moaning and reaching for the nearest hunk of living flesh. Carter picked off the stragglers if they got too close to his comrades, quickly depleting most of his clip. Moments later, Greg grabbed him and Carter quickly stood up off of the wall, switching his weapon to auto as he did so. "Finally time to go?" He joked, groaning with each step he took. When they got out into the Alley, the colonel turned his head and rose his weapon again, firing his last 12 rounds into the crowd slightly to Tzofia's side. Didn't wanna fire at what was directly between them, he could hit her.

'Coming pretty girl?'

Carter couldn't help but snicker darkly at the comment as he swapped out his magazine, quickly taking aim to assist her in her escape if needed. She handled herself quite effectively though, quickly barricading the undead within the bank after she'd gotten out. As the three stood there in their momentary 'vacation', Tzofia asked Greg if he knew where to go next, getting another chuckle from the Colonel with her sassy response. "You two remind me of me and my wife..."

Horus' mind was blank as long as the zombies kept coming in. He was twirled into a ballet of death, a dance of bullet shells and hesterical laughing. He didn't care what the others did, as long as he stood there, borrowing bullets into more rotting skulls. "Ahah! Yes! YES!", Horus shouted, adrenaline rushing through his already abused viens. Bullets flung from his gun as long as they could, until a slight creaking was heard from above.
Horus, in his blind frenzy, shoot a barrage of bullets into the second floor without restraint, thinking a new hoard of zombies had appeared above him. "NOW YOU WANT IT?! AYE!", Horus shouted, before the subsequent caving of the roof, and a large chunk of cement finding itself a place on the side of his skull.
Now, waking up on the cracked ground of the bank, Horus looked towards one of the only exits he could find in his dream-like state. The back door. He saw someone crawling through it, might as well follow them? Picking himself up, his legs buckeling and tremors racking his body, Horus slugged himself through the door and out of the building, only to find Brandon as his companion. "Aww, sh*t. You haven't died already? Sh*t", Horus said, his words slurred and almost uncomprehensible. Horus' head bleed, but he was tough. He could survive 2 more of these head injuries, or atleast he thought he could. Spitting a bloody chipped tooth from his gums onto the ground, Horus sat by Brandon and asked "Where the hell are the others?" He hadn't had a clue what had happened in the bank building.