Chesterfield, Missouri

23rd of October, 2017.
14:11 P.M

Following an exhausting scavenging campaign that started at seven o'clock in the morning and ended minutes before afternoon, Jonathan walked around searching for a temporary sanctuary, safe enough for him to eat his lunch in peace. His place of choice was a mall downtown, but much to his chagrin, the exit was blocked by a herd of zombies. He didn't want to take any chances. While he often looked too much into the little details that he believed can help him survive, he always overlooked the most important course of action he should take, in that case it being getting himself familiarized with the city's layout. There were guidebooks scattered around the barren city, a few tourism-related offices that probably had the needed information. All he had to do was take a walk. But the poor bastard missed his chance. And going back was too risky.

Mentally berating himself for his carelessness, Jon paced himself, his loyal friend Maverick sniffing the trail of footsteps a few feet behind him. He stopped to wipe the sweat of his brows as a large building laid before him. Not large in terms of floors; there was actually just one floor. Large as in wide and very extended. The words "WE'RE DOOMED" were embedded in the wall, near the front door, written with what seemed like red graffiti spray paint. The windows were planked signifying someone had fortified the place as part of some last-ditch effort to survive. Veering his sight up, Jon noticed a banner. It was already covered by the dust and nearly scraped off, but still barely readable. "Meat Processing Plant", written in yellow letters. Jon winced. Not much, but just enough to momentarily startle the mutt, who had caught up and was at that time vigorously scratching his ear. Although he understood that in an anarchic world overridden by flesh-eating monsters and armed lunatics, ethics were scarce, he still had a bad history with what his Dad called 'animal torture chambers'. His father, being the animal lover that he was, used to watch a lot of awareness documentaries concerning animal treatment in slaughterhouses. The video sequences, while horrible, were pretty standard for an adult, but would be permanently etched in the mind of a then-7 years old Jon, who was curious to see what was it that Dad was watching. It was still not enough for Jon to go vegetarian, but he would rather prefer to avoid places like that, unless there was no other choice.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, his right hand reached for an outer pocket in his backpack where his dusty scrub was crammed in. He grabbed the scrub, and put his left palm in front, repeatedly slapping the scrub against the fingerless gloves as clouds of dust formed around, forcing him to close his eyes and look away. Once the dust settled, he put on the scrub then wiggled at Maverick who had resorted to licking his balls to pass the time.

"Come on, boy!", Jon uttered, reluctantly making his way in through the front entrance.

The stench was what replaced the welcome crew in the abbatoir. It was strong and unbearable, even managing to penetrate through Jon's scrub. As he held his hand in front of his mouth, he looked down to the mutt who seemed pretty unfazed. He was always curious as to how dogs handled foul odors, what with their enhanced sense of smell and all. That was probably explained in one of those Biology classes he used to attend, but he mostly took advantage of those to take a power nap, reminisce or doodle, depending on his mood. As for the interior, there was not much to look for. There were some machines placed around, dirty white clothes smeared with dry blood and what appeared to be cows, attached to hooks, hanging upside down, and skinned. The only source of light was coming from the roof up top, which was severely damaged and needed the hand of a very skilled roofer. Or maybe two roofers. All in all, it wasn't the best scavenging spot, which was fine by him cause he wasn't looking to scavenge anything.

Walking a great deal all the way to the back, he observed around, looking for a viable way out in case a herd of zombies decided to show up. Unfortunately, the backdoor was obstructed by planks. Whoever had fortified the facility was expecting heat from all sides. In the end, his exhaustion won him over and he decided to sit down on the concrete floor, for once willing to take his chances. While the sky was pretty grim (it was Fall season after all), it still provided the needed illumination for him to mind his surroundings. The facility itself was embroiled by a dead silence, which was good. That way, Jon could hear if there were a group of zombies coming his way. And if only one figured it's way in, the facility was spacious enough for him to maneuver his way out. It was a win-win situation.

Using the wall to support himself, Jon pulled out his backpack in the front, unzipped it and then took out a can of wet dog food. He was momentarily distracted by Maverick, who was chomping on a hanging piece of cow meat as a swarm of flies buzzed around. You could tell from the stench that the meat was rotten, but Maverick didn't seem to mind. It was then that he also noticed a meat hook lodged in one of the cows. He gave himself a mental note to pick it up once he's finished with his meal. It would make a nice addition to his inventory.

Jon struggled a little bit to open the can, not because it was difficult but because he was trying to apply just the right amount of force in the pull tab to make sure that he wouldn't receive any cuts. He didn't carry around any forks or spoons, so he used his fingers. It wasn't sanitary, but if he was gonna die or worse, get infected, he'd preferred it happened by his own two hands. The young man let out his guard down and with it, his scrub, as he lost himself under the annoying crunching sounds his mouth made as he indulged in dog food. Most articles had an expiration date at which point if passed, it would go rotten. Dog food in the other hand, would gradually decrease in quality, but would still be eatable even after it's shelf life was over. Well, as eatable as dog food can be.

Jon smiled weakly as he had a trip back in the good old days. Back then, the theory of a zombie apocalypse was appealing to many. Most of them were socially awkward internet dwellers, but still. He wondered how they would feel about it now. Was there any person out there who was actually enjoying this shit? It was impossible for Jon to think of that, but then again not everyone was born like-minded. Not to count the psychological toll The Rising must have caused to certain people. He was pleasantly surprised that didn't happen to him. Unless it did happen, and he was stuck in a permanent delusional state, left to believe he had kept his sanity when in fact the truth was far off.

Yeah, he was overthinking it again.

He snapped out of his thoughts just in time to see Maverick looking far off into the distance, where Jon's view was blocked. His ears were up. That usually meant there was a threat nearby. Your usual dog would bark if he sensed a threat, Maverick would stop whatever he was doing and then scuttle to some hole nearby. Thankfully, Jon had noticed that pattern in time and had managed to use it to his own advantage. Getting up on his own two feet, slowly, Jon muttered something at the dog, motioning at him to hide behind a specific container at the far end of the facility. The dog wasn't having any of that though, and simply followed his head, heading into some unknown direction. Whatever was coming their way, it wasn't a reanimate, as Jon had his ears peeled and he wasn't hearing any moan. He did hear some heavy breathing, however, like whoever was coming their way had some serious lung issues. "Fucking scavenger", he thought, assuming to be only one of them based on the sound of footsteps. Everything seemed to fall into place, really. The heavy breathing - probably some old hermit who couldn't bother himself to watch his nicotine intake. He had most likely followed them for quite some time, making them out to be an easy prey. Boy, was he in for an unpleasant afternoon.

He brushed his back against the wall, and then threw a peek, making sure that he'd avoid stepping into John Doe's peripheral vision. As he confirmed he was nowhere near him, Jon carefully reached for the hook, trying to pull it out of that wretched piece of meat. He found the process of pulling the hook out with one hand very difficult, so he grabbed it with his two hands and, following a brief struggle, finally acquired the meat hook. He seemed to have caused quite the commotion, as his ears picked up the footsteps sound again, this time closer..and faster. Without skipping a beat, he turned around and flailed his hook at the attacker, who seemed to have gotten close in a short time. He barely missed the head and before he could land another attack, he was thrown away into a wall in the same manner one throws a beer bottle. Dazed, reacting on instinct, he managed to hold his attacker back as whoever it was tried to lunge at him with all their might. "Old man, my ass", Jon thought, his sight still blurry due to the earlier attack. He grabbed the scavenger's head and tried to push them back, and at that hazy state, decided that the assailant was either a woman or a guy with very long hair. Unfortunately, it was none...

"MAVERICK! MAVERICK!", Jon cried out in desperation as he came to his senses, wishing that he didn't. What he initially made out to be a human, turned out to be a loose-skinned, flesh-eating abomination. His hand nearly sunk inside it's head as he tried to push it back. It was rather amazing, how a hollow creature like that turned out to be so strong. Seeing as how Maverick wasn't answering his calls for help, Jon, tears streaming down his cheeks and on the verge of vomiting, looked to his side to see the hook within reach distance. It wasn't long before the thing began clicking and gritting it's teeth, a behavior which he apparently failed to notice in the other undead. He wasn't even questioning how a zombie could get that fast. At that moment, he just wanted to survive.

As the distance between the zombie and him grew closer, Jon gathered all of his strength in an effort to push it as far away from him as possible. Things got slightly more difficult as the zombie, which was at the time kneeling, had placed it's bony knee on Jon's leg, causing him to let out a blood curdling scream which would then echo through the facility. No telling if that was intentional or not. Still not ready to die, he did his best to ignore the stinging pain from the leg injury and put all his focus on what was standing in front of him. Or rather, above him. He barely succeeded in pushing the zombie's head to a safe distance. The timing had to be right. Quickly, he removed his hands from the head and just as quickly got hold of the meat hook, swinging at it with his right hand, a passing sense of relief overcoming his body as the hook made contact. Jon darted up on his feet, confident that he had killed that fucker, only to learn that the swing had missed the head by a couple of decisive inches. The zombie, with a meat hook stuck up it's throat, dashed at Jon, who needless to say, was in the brink of shitting his pants. The reanimate was just as fast as during the first attack, but Jonathan had seen the second one coming and that enabled him to dodge it, albeit barely. While it didn't make direct contact, it was still enough to hurl the poor kid into the nearby wall, as he struggled to keep himself on his own two feet. Engaging a zombie in a fistfight was foolish. He needed to somehow obtain the hook and try again, do it right.

Trying to catch his breath proved to be a near impossible task for Jon as the zombie's fist attacks became relentless. He kept fumbling back in an attempt to dodge them, but while sloppy, the strikes seemed to carry a lot of strength. Amidst that parade of screaming and cursing, Jon did notice something. A window of opportunity, you could say. As soon as the zombie launched another attack, he limped at it as fast as his injured leg allowed it and took hold of the hook, and along with it, took hold of the zombie which was attached to it. It was tough, but he gathered all of his strength and dragged the zombie down the hall, which was clicking his teeth even more intensely than before. The undead, which didn't really seem to mind the hook, tried to grab Jon's foot with his left hand, but Jon was quick to stomp the arm all the while carrying that thing around, leaving a trail of blood behind. However, the zombie proved to be more savvy than expected as it launched another swing with his right hand, consequently removing the hook from it's neck as an audible crack sound was made AND throwing Jon down on the concrete floor.

"AAARGH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!", Jon screamed his lungs out, crawling to the direction of the metallic hook. He stopped for a brief second to see if he still had all of his fingers. Turned out the last attack had hit his wrists, causing the fingers to numb out. He would probably feel a great deal of pain once the adrenaline rush stopped. He felt the zombie's cold, gaunt hands on his shoulders as it went for the bite. The finisher. In what can be described as luck, and a quick reaction time, Jon elbowed the zombie to the head with all his might, causing it to fall back because of the brain trauma. The pasty fucker recovered itself pretty fast, and lunged at Jon yet again. Thankfully, the young Walker had already grabbed hold of the hook and swung it for the second time, this time colliding with the brain. The zed lingered there for a couple of seconds, as if dumbfounded, and then fell on top of a disgusted Jon, blood oozing from it's cranium.

Breathing heavily from all the exhaustion and the relief, with his eyes all welled up, Jon pushed the corpse away but didn't bother to get up, as the adrenaline was still surging through his body causing every limb of his to shake uncontrollably. He was afraid that somehow that zed transmitted the disease to him. He had no idea how the infection process worked. But he didn't stress himself that much, as he was already under a lot of stress from his earlier confrontation. He'd just have to see what would happen in the following days.

Drained of his appetite, he willed himself up, grabbed hold of the bag, stuffed both; the can and the scrub in the bag and zipped it. He noticed Maverick who had come out of his hiding hole, sniffing the dead RA for a couple of seconds before he decided to lift his leg up and piss on the corpse. Jon let out a smirk, not the type of "I'm happy" smirk. The forced kind of smirk, where his mouth opens wide but there's no glimmer in his eyes. He'd usually be mad at Maverick for acting like a scaredy cat, but he was too exhausted for that. For the meantime, he needed to check his wounds and perhaps take a shower if he still had time.

With that in mind, he limped to the fallen zombie, grabbed the meat hook, and then limped out to the exit, with Maverick chasing after his steps.

January 8th 2010

The ring sparkled brightly on her finger, the stone was big but not overly so. Ryan took her hand and kissed it before moving up to kiss her face, the ring reminded him of her eyes, somethjng in the way it caught the light. They were stood on the balcony of a 5 star hotel in Seychelles, the honeymoon had finally come around after Ryans insistence that he put it off no longer, he managed to get the time off.
Fran turned to him and told him she was going to get ready for dinner, Ryan smiled and playfully grabbed her arm and pulled her back for another kiss before she bumbled off.
Ryans view returned to the skyline outside where the stars were now visible in dark blue sky, a smile crept over his face, he was finally away from home, from work, from the stress.
He turned back inside the room and closed the balcony doors....

---
April 22nd 2016

Things at work had gotten strange of late, Ryans department were getting alot of work on a number of strange orders. Ryans research team were being sent top secret reports, which wasn't exactly news to him, but the nature of the reports was. His team had never dealt with situations like this.

'What are they trying to catch?'

Was Ryans first thought as he put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

At home things weren't much better, Fran wasn't herself by any stretch, she was overly stressed, agitated and very paranoid. When Ryan came home he noticed she eas peering round the curtain to see who was coming up the driveway, her greeting was empty, void of any attachment to the man she loved.

Ryan sat her down and pushed a button on the remote control sat on the arm of the sofa flicking on the television, before passing her the remote. He headed into the kitchen and fixed them both a drink, Bourbon on the rocks for him, a Bourbon and coke for her, something was seriously wrong and he felt they deserved something stronger than tea.
As he picked up the tumblers from the work top he accidently knocked over the cutlery stand which fell to floor with a loud clang, in the other room her heard Fran scream and jump from her seat on the sofa. He knew something was really wrong now.
He bought over her drink and assured her that nothing was wrong as he headed back to clear up the mess.
On his return, he noticed her glass was already empty, his face screwed up and he felt an overwhelming sadness fill him, his wife was a mess and he needed to find out why. Slowly he moved over to her and crouched, taking her hand in his he asked what was wrong. His eyes were searching her face for signs, any signs, fear, worry, sadness all were present. Her eyes were empty with the exception of the tears that were collecting at the ducts. She stared into his eyes.

"I'm scared... I'm really scared!... something terrible happened..." she explained, her body began to shake.

Ryan wrapped an arm around her as he spoke.

"Something terrible? at work?"

Her shaking became erratic and try as she did, she broke down, the tears were in full flow and all she could manage in response was a nod.

---
---

Ryan Bishop
August 13th 2017
1203hrs
Somewhere off of Route 44.

His vision blurred as he managed to crack open his eyes, the metallic taste of blood lingered in his dry, dirt ridden mouth.
He was laying on the ground, face down, he put a hand to his mouth and felt the inevitable sting caused by a big gash on the inside of his cheek, he attemoted to wipe the blood and dirt from his mouth but it had already dried. He made a move to stand and felt a wave of pain fly through his body freezing him to the ground. looking over his left shoulder he saw a black SUV on its roof, the front end had been crumpled in, a fragmented pole hung out the front of what was left of the windscreen. It was definitely a government vehicle, he didnt need to look at the plates to know that. He tried rolling onto his back which proved easier than standing, and managed to get a better look at the crash site, there was petrol spilling out from the engine which he noticed was pooling on the ground next to another pool of what looked like blood. He traced the pooling blood back to the car, in the drivers seat was the motionless body of the driver and saw where the other end of the pole in the windscreen ended up, he grimaced at the scene and felt his stomach turn. There was another body too, outside the car and a short way behind it, this body too was motionless.
Ryan slowly eased himself up to his feet, fighting back the searing pain coursing through his body. He took a step, his legs were ok, thankfully, and saw for the first time what this city had been reduced to.
A searing pain reverberated through his head, he clutched it and gritted his teeth. He noticed another small patch of blood by the rear door of the car and remembered how he had scrambled from the wreck, trying to distance himself from it incase it exploded before he passed out.

He rubbed his head tenderly before heading over to see if the motionless man was alive, Ryan moved as fast as his damaged body would allow and practically collapsed next to the man. No vital signs. He was gone, on closer inspection he noticed half of the mans face had been sheared away, the result of being flung out of a high speed vehicle with nothing to slow you down but your face. Ryan exhaled deeply as the image before him burnt itself forever in his memory, clambering to his feet for a second time he decided he needed to find shelter, he took a deep breath and fought back the pain riddling his bones as he moved over to the wrecked SUV, something glinted in the afternoon sun, catching Ryans attention, a small gunmetal grey pistol lay in dirt the other side of the car, he moved closer to the weapon and crouched down, a whimper of pain escaping him in the process. It was very familiar to him but at first glance he didnt recognise it, turning it round in his hands he saw a small logo with the words Bishop & Strauss emblazoned. It was his, it struck him to check for any other possessions he may have with him. He found only a wallet in his pocket and a backpack with his name sewn on it resting on the ground, half in and half out of the vehicles smashed in rear window. He checked the pistols chamber, one round sat neatly inside, the mag had a few rounds missing, Ryan looked around for any sign of what it may have been that he was shooting at but could see nothing in the immediate area, the smell of cordite was lingerng in the air around him, he snapped on the safety before holstering the weapon in his waistband.
He moved slowly back to the dead body behind the car and searched it, he found a pistol, again one round in the chamber but this one had less in the mag than his own.
Again he looked around in confusion.

"What in the hell were we shooting at?" He questioned.

The otherside of route 44 he saw a hotel, it looked as deserted as the rest if the area, he really needed a decent lie down and a relaxing shower, try and get his head straight and remember what happened before the crash. He dragged his bag from behind him, he ejected the mag from the second pistol and stored it in his pocket, he hoped he wouldnt need it, he opened his bag and stuffed the second pistol inside before onve again climbing to his feet and cautiously heading over to the hotel.

----
The lobby was was lifeless, it looked as if someone had been in a struggle of some kind, papers, chairs and plants were strewn about the floor. He proceeded past them and approached the receotion desk which he found in a similar manner to the lobby. He headed knto the back room and found himself a key to a room located on one of the higher floors, he wanted a better look at the city.
It was eerily quiet throughout the hotel and noticed a few of the rooms had been vacated in a hurry, the rooms a mess, their doors wide open. Heading up the first staircase he found himself on the fifth floor, where his new accomodation was located. The room was locked when he arrived and upon entering noticed that it had been left as one would expect from a low key hotel, he closed and locked the door behind him and headed straight for the shower.

October 29. 1206 hours. CDC Center. Third Floor.

The monitor had a countdown going and all four of the guards were looking at it, talking animatedly. “Look, I don’t fucking now how or why either. I’m assuming it was supposed to be removed from the programming but it was overlooked since shit was thrown together so fast. It’s probably a cleaning protocol or something. Some time to remove them from the rooms and sanitize them.”

There was an explosion of questions and ‘what the fuck’s and the guard just held his hands up and waited for a moment of silence. “Hey, look. Look. I didn’t DO this. Ok? I’m just telling you what I THINK. Fuck. To be honest, the hows and whys don’t matter anyway. They’re moot. What matters, what REALLY matters, is that when that clock hits zero, EVERY room, every door here is going to unlock and open. Automatically. First, second, and third. Come noon, November 3rd, that’s fact. Tomorrow. So instead of worrying about this shit, let’s put our heads together and figure out what exactly the FUCK we’re going to do. Take 5 minutes, relax, and think. Come back in five.”

It was about fifteen minutes later that they came to a decision. Two separate decisions actually. Two of the guards decided they were going to stay and hold down the place. They couldn’t see the other floors as the cameras were damaged, but they assumed there couldn’t be much down there in terms of undead. And the living would have no reason to be here. They figured, especially with a few bodies from those inside the rooms, they could clear the place and then barricade it and use the building as a base of operation.

The other two guards decided to utilize the helicopter that was on the roof and head north. One of them assumed it was better to go north, have a more moderate or cold climate, assuming that the reanimated would have harder times in the cold. It was a logic that many zombie enthusiasts believed--but that was before there were ACTUAL reanimated dead walking the Earth.

They could not access the armory, they didn’t have the credentials, so they would have to wait until the doors unlocked. Until then, they each had a loaded side arm and 3 additional magazines. That seemed sufficient and they didn’t divide it up any further. In fact, they split everything in half. This included food, water, and medical supplies.

---

The next few days were a mix of arguments, tension, anxiety, and NOTHING. There was literally nothing to do but wait. Within the first day, everything that needed to be done was done. They checked gear, checked gear again, slept. Ate. Checked gear.

That, and they watched the time tick down, daily.

Come November 3rd there was an eerie silence between the guards and they all more or less huddled in the control room eying the clock, occasionally talking, or walking away only to be sucked back into the room.

CDC Center. Fort Leonard Wood, MS. Third floor. Room 8.

3 Nov 2017. 1143 hours.

Jon laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the chest. This was the 5th day in a row now where there had been no activity from anyone outside of the room and that worried Jon to an insane degree. He knew something was wrong, even before. They'd come in and clean, sort things out or do maintenance when he was drugged, most likely gassed; and they'd also answer the comm systems at all hours of the day, but not recently. Even before that however, things seemed to get off of their schedule and he could detect shortness and stress in voices of the attendants.

Jon's room was rather plain and modest. There was a bed, the small but full sized kitchen, a small bathroom with a shower and a small side area with a small table and single chair. In that room was also a treadmill and some books. Jon kept it simple. He wanted computers and news papers, but that was a sever no-no, as anything that allowed outside communications was forbidden. There were no windows, only a couple fluorescent bulbs mixed with some form of "day light" that Jon assumed helped the body cope with not having direct sunlight, almost like lizards and snakes get when kept as pets. He assumed the doors and walls were soundproof because never once had he heard anything outside of the confines of his walls. Not even thunder.

He looked over at the shower, then the small dresser, debating what to do. He sat up and yawned, looking around. His eyes once again feel to the large, orange envelope that was on the counter next to his bed, the sealed envelope that was there when he came into the room and hadn't moved since, at least on his account. It simply said "Jon. Open upon release only." He'd seen and read many envelopes like this before but this one was more intriguing as there was generally no wait period, or at least not a wait that stretched for nine months. He shrugged and sighed, then decided to go take another shower...

After Jon got out of the shower, dressed, he went to sit back on the bed. He clicked the comm and asked for assistance, but again there was no answer. He stared at the envelope, then to his dwindling food supply hoping that one of two things happened: technical difficulties or that all the shit outside calmed down, and they simply had other things to worry about for a few days.

Jon's gut told him it was neither of those.

He sat, starting at the door, and his gaze went to the envelope again. He hadn't looked at the thing more than twice in the months he was here, not until the communications stopped. He started to look at numerous times a day after, wondering if he should just do it. Then, there was a noise that Jon hadn't heard in the room before and because of that fact, common sense didn't kick in for a moment. There was a loud, distinct and as the door unlocked. Without thinking, he moved to the door, ready for whatever came in while his hand reached up and snatched the envelope. He opened it and tossed it aside, pulling out a small sheet of paper while keeping his focus on the door.

He took but a second, read the message 3 times and then grimaced. He tore the note into three pieces, sticking one part in his pocket to dispose of later, sprinkling another on the floor and the other he put in his sock. Overboard? Paranoid? Yes, a little bit. God bless the CIA training. At least he didn't eat all or part of the thing...

He took a moment and simply stood there, then after a few more moments, he grabbed the handle, slowly pulled it down and began to open the door...

It was interesting how much noise everything made now that man was no longer the dominant species, no longer driving, talking, building, or bustling about. On the flip side of that fact, it was almost always so quiet. There were now no clocks, no appointments, no car alarms going off, or text message alerts. It was easy sometimes to drift off and lose perspective or drive. Being witness to the world now and how it had changed along with how it changed those still alive was hard. It was even harder when you were alone for long periods of time.

Chris struggled with finding motivation right now. He laid on the second floor of the abandoned building, staring up at the black and charred ceiling for a few moments before turning his head and looking first left, then right. He looked back up with a sigh and closed his eyes.
“Just lay there. It doesn’t matter. You know this. There’s nothing out there for you or anyone. Everything is dead. Everything is dying.”

Chris grimaced and ignored him. Always nagging, bitching, or wanting to quit. Sometimes, Chris would just dismiss him, sometimes he’d pointedly correct him, or go point-counterpoint. At this time, he closed his eyes and just went with it. The truth of the matter is that right now, at this moment, Chris agreed.

He closed his eyes and wiggled his fingers momentarily. One of his hands wrested on the 9mm revolver that was laid on his chest. That was the norm: that gun was almost always at the ready for danger, but at this moment, his fingers wiggled on it as he contemplated using it.

It wasn’t the first time, even dating back to before the Rising. It most likely wouldn’t be the last. Unless, well, unless it was his last battle with the idea of punching his own ticket.

Then there was a sharp voice that all shouted at him, even though at the same time, it was a whisper. “CJ, what the HELL are you doing? You know better than that, so don’t even think about it. You DO know better.”

He rolled his head back to the left, opened his eyes, and looked into the face of his wife. Even in all of this, she was beautiful and pristine, as if the whole world crumbling around here didn’t affect her at. In fact, it was almost as if amidst all that the world had become, it made her beauty stand out even more. He registered then that her last statement WAS a statement, but it also had a tone that indicated she wanted some form of answer back. “I know babe. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s so hard. I can’t imagine going through this without you.”

She smiled and looked back at him. He sighed and looked back, wishing he could change all of this, give her everything she deserved. Instead, she was condemned to this fate, and that was just the way it was.

His ears perked up at that moment and he stood extremely still, holding his breath. Confirming that he did indeed hear something, he looked to the window and his father waved him over. “There’s activity, come check it out.” He nodded and as quickly as he could move to remain quiet, moved over and looked out the window. He couldn’t quite see yet, but he could make out footsteps off to his right. He knew it wasn’t a roamer. The steps of the roamers tended to be heavy, almost THUDS and many dragged one or both feet when damages. These were plain, good ol’ fashioned human steps.

They walked into view and he counted 5 men who were armed with a combination of melee weapons and a few firearms. They were talking and laughing somewhat casually but what drew Chris’ attention was that 3 of them were leading--well, prisoners it looked like. At this point he started relaying what he was seeing loud enough that he could be heard behind him. “There’s five armed males, melee and a mix of several firearms. Three of them are leading...it looks like 3 prisoners. Wrists tied by rope and they’re leading them. Looks like. A male, two females. One is younger looking, or small. Can’t tell.”

As he watched, one of the men gave the rope a jerk and the larger woman stumbled. This elicited a laugh from the group and Chris shook his head. “Son, leave it be. If they got caught now, it’ll happ—,” Chris angrily waved a hand behind him to shut up. That, below, it wasn’t right. It disgusted Chris. In this world, people should be helping one another. They should be sharing and aiding. And that girl, she wasn't even an adult, he could tell.

He did the math though. Five on one. Those were not good odds at all. Regardless, he pocketed the handgun, picked up his rifle, making his way downstairs. He wasn’t worried about the men coming in here, Chris generally selected building that were noticeably destroyed, burned, or extremely dangerous. People tended to check places that LOOKED worth looking inside of. You didn’t stumble across too many people thinking HEY, let’s go check out what’s on the second floor of that burnt out, shell of a building.

He made his way down and slowly stalked to the window. He peeked, the group walking no more than 15 feet, moving to his left. He looked behind him quickly and his father was shaking his head disapprovingly, but saying nothing. Chris looked back outside and listened.

“...to get this fine thing inside and get down to business. And don’t worry Timmy, I’ll leave some left for you when I’m done.”

The hooded man then said something that Chris couldn’t make out because of the hood, but it seemed the other men heard it, because one of them walked up and kicked the legs out from under him. The man fell, hard, and then got another kick. There was confusion then as the men laughed and talked about killing the man and raping the women while the women pleaded for freedom or not to hurt the man. “Son, you have exactly 76 rounds. Is this worth it? You can’t take them, you can’t go with them, you know this. I know it isn’t easy, but this world, it’s cruel.”

Then, Corporal Black was next to him, whispering in his ear. “You got this. Do it. Take the ones with firearms first, you know the drill. They’re close together, easy targets. And you’ll get at least two before they react. Make that third one count and you’re golden, Devil. Kill those piece of shit rapist thugs. Look man, someone in this fucked up world needs to do some justice. Be that guy.”

“Ooh Rah Corporal,” he said with a slight smirk to his old friend. He moved to the backside of the building which was completely gone from the fire and moved out, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. He looked back and saw his wife, father, and Corporal Black, each of their faces a mix of emotions. He took another deep breath and turned the corner.

Black was right. The first two didn’t have a chance to move, and the third armed man was holding a rope and kicking one of the prisoners, only having time to look up before taking three rounds.

The fourth man got out half of a plea to let him live before he was gunned down, and the last one managed to flee a few steps before taking a round in the back of the hip. He fell down and screamed and Chris kept the weapon trained on him, moving by the hostages and looking around to monitor the rest of the area, checking for other threats. He moved to the bleeding, shot man and just looked at him. The man was almost screaming and you could literally see he was in an excruciating amount of pain. “Please, man, please, don’t shoot me. I...I wasn’t...I swear I hardly—,” he went on quickly before Chris cut him off.

“Shut up. I’m not going to shoot you. You were shot in the hip. That round probably shattered your hip. You don’t feel it now, adrenaline and all.” He took a moment to look back at the hostages and then scan the area before continuing. “So you’re either going to die from internal bleeding, die of infection, get bit, or live and be unable to put much, if any weight on your lower body. Not ideal I know, but people like you should be fucking wiped from the earth. I hope you fucking suffer.”

Just for good measure, Chris kicked him one time in the hip with all of his force which prompted the man to scream bloody hell for several moments. He was back at the hostages in a moment, and the man was still screaming. He removed the head covers quickly and looked at them. They were beat up, sweaty, dirty, and you could see that they’d been crying to some degree. “I’m gunna cut those ropes. You are more than welcome to anything these guys have after I take anything I need.”

The group looked around, slightly confused for a moment before the light of hope shone in their eyes. He didn’t untie them, but instead looted the bodies first. Behind him, they were telling one another it would be ok and trying to be reassuring. The only thing he took was a gerber utility tool, and some 5.56 rounds that he wanted. He looked around one more time, ignoring the man screaming in pain about 20 feet away, he moved to the group and began to cut their bonds as they thanks him. He cut the young female loose first, she was around 16 maybe and she immediately went to hug her father while Chris cut the mother free, then the father.

He simply said there was no reason to thank him and then he declined an invitation to join them. “I have my group, we’re good. I appreciate it. Please be careful.” He moved to the building he was using, told everyone “we’re out in less than five mics, let’s go.” He got his own stuff together and when he went down, he heard his wife. “I am not happy you risked your life like that, but. You did the right thing.”

He nodded and looked over at Corporal Black, who was smiling and nodding his head to indicate he too approved of the decision. He looked around, seeing that they were ready to move out and didn’t waste any more time. He stepped out and moved away from the building and in a direction that wasn’t where the other group had come from, but not where they were going either. Gunfire drew attention, and they needed to stay low and quiet and be on guard.

He looked one last time and the mother waved her hands, watching the lone man walk off without another word.
"Son, you're going to have to learn. You can't save everyone."

Ignore

(( To avoid any confusion, this post will be taking place BEFORE Sterling’s post. So this post will happen first, followed by hers up above. This post is supposed to have been the first “active/live” IC Post. ))

CDC Center. Third floor.

As Jon pulled the door open, he looked peeked out and looked around. The hall was empty but immediately to his left there was an opened door. He saw that inside was a group of what he assumed was the uniformed guards of the facility. Two were looking out of the office and spotted him immediately. The guard nodded and said something to the others and Jon stepped out as they didn’t seem to be a threat or surprised.

Ultimately, he was happy. He wasn’t sure what kind of environment he’d be stepping into and this was one of the more ideal situations he was hoping for. Or at least that’s what he thought for the moment. Immediately Jon took measures to get a better idea of what is going on, and as he stepped fully out and towards them, he stuck his hand out to greet the guards. While he was going to be assertive, he felt the need to keep up appearances as well. “Hello, uh, I’m Jon. Jon Erikson, CIA. What, uh, what’s going on exactly? I assume the situation isn’t the best and that’s why we’ve been, umm, kind of kept in the dark the last few days. What’s the sitrep?”

The four looked at one another and one who Jon assumed was a more senior of the group looked at him and said, “we’re going to address that when everyone is out and grouped up. We...we’ll do it then.” All of them tried to appear calm, and they actually did good jobs of it. He assumed they had at least a few days to work this out, maybe even weeks. To someone like Jon though, it was obvious that there was tension and things were not ideal.

He did manage to look inside of the control room and the most immediate thing he noted was that almost, if not all of the cameras from the first and second floors were out, off, or pure static. So either there was a problem with internal computer systems, or they were lost. Being that this floor’s system was up, and most likely linked, it didn’t seem likely that it was a computer issue.

He guessed something happened on those floors and it wasn’t a good thing. As he spoke, he looked behind him and most of the other people had begun to either poke out their heads, or walk up and out of their cells.

As people started to come out and gather up, the guard that spoke before spoke up loudly again, this time addressing all of the people in the hallway.

“People, people, gather up. We’re going to be passing word here. We need everyone to just come on over and relax and listen up.” He waited a few moments for other stragglers to get themselves over.

(Collaborative post written by Tomahawk and Sterling)

Having traveled together for quite a while now Marni was used to and comfortable with the silences. Robin would take the front, she’d take the back. They’d discuss things pertinent to their actual hike and stay quiet for the morning. Marni wasn’t much of a morning person and if she wasn’t the one fueling the conversation it typically went unsaid.

Which wasn’t much of a problem, the blonde didn’t mind Robin’s self reliant nature. She actually preferred it.

They were making their way up the last hill (at least according to their map) before Leonard Wood would be visible when Marni started her typical round of 20 questions.

“Favorite dessert?”

“This shit again,” he replied, grunting. “I assure you, darlin’, I am not that interesting. But… strawberry cheesecake, prob’ly.”

“Yum! That’s a good one...I’d say strawberry shortcake.” Not that he had asked.

“Who’d you go to prom with?”

“Didn’t go.” Robin chuckled. “Better parties to attend elsewhere.”

“You didn’t go? So there aren’t cute pictures of you in some tacky tux?”

“Absolutely not,” he answered. “An’, truth be told, I fuckin’ hate suits… and tuxedos… and the like. Wasn’t built to dress nicely.”

“Have you been doing squats while I’ve been sleeping? Is that why your ass is so perky?” Perhaps there was a note of envy in this last one.

“That’s your question?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and an expression of incredulity. “And - just to satisfy your curiosity - I had a fantastic ass LONG before I met your scrawny rear-end, woman.”

She frowned unhappily. She was trying to gain weight in her ass! Twinkies n all!

“Just kiddin’. Your ass is fantastic, Marni.”

Readjusting her grip on the strap of her duffle over her shoulder Marni reached for one of her water bottles as they trudged on.

“Here we go, here we GO,” Robin murmured, eager to view Leonard Wood in its glory: surely a Marine Corps base couldn’t collapse under the weight of an enemy invasion - one unlike anything the world had seen before, maybe, but regardless… with as much fuckin’ trash as Marines spit on joint ops and during training exercises, Robin had assumed that they would be able to back it up and hold out after the deflation of society.

He was aggressively wrong, per usual. “Son of a bitch,” Robin whispered, staring out at the half-ruined Fort Leonard Wood, crown gem of the Ozarks, home to fucking NOBODY - nobody that he could see, at any rate. Months of wasted time and energy, broken dreams of order and purpose settled atop Robin’s shoulders, undoing weeks of periodic tension-releasing massages from Marni.

He visibly sagged.
At the top of the hill she paused beside Robin, looking down at Leonard Wood. “Well…” She sighed uncomfortably. “So much for the Marines…” Leonard Wood looked rather… Unoccupied.

“So much,” Robin muttered, placing a Marlboro between his lips with one hand and lighting it with the other, “for the Goddamn Marines.” Flicking the Zippo shut and tucking it into his plaid shirt’s breast pocket, Robin exhaled a tiny cloud of smoke, brows knit together in what could be described as the three time war vet’s only response to stress: annoyance.

Marni’s delicate nose wrinkled at the smoke wafting her way from his lit cigarette and fanned it away from herself. Disappointment wasn’t really the word she would use in this situation, she hadn’t thought Leonard Wood would hold anything of importance for them anyway, but being proved right hadn’t been as pleasing as it normally would have.

“Useless fuckin’ Corps cocksuckers, always bleatin’ on and on, every Marine is a rifleman, semper fidelis, the few, the proud - fuck you and fuck your stupid oorah-spoutin’, corn shuckin’, cocksuckin’ Marine Corps.” Robin’s voice carried as he forgot himself in a bout of rage, furious that his prospects of leading a normal, structured life on a military base imploded before his eyes.

Marni glanced over at Robin before pulling her duffle off over her shoulder and fishing out her binoculars. Being a Navy girl she could have taken offense to this little speech. She didn’t.

Fuck the Goddamn Marines.

“What now, sweetheart?” Robin inquired of Marni, casting his simmering eyes in her direction as he worked furiously on his cigarette. “Oh, look,” he added, pointing at a rundown bright-red vending machine: “They had Redbox.”

Bringing her binoculars up she was quiet for a time. “One of the buildings appears to have power…” She murmured, lowering the binoculars and then passing them to Robin as he looked over in surprise. “See the red light above that door? It’s lit…”

Eyeballing the three-story building with her binoculars, Robin frowned, clucking his tongue. “First sign of electricity I’ve seen in just about nine months… the fuck you think that means?” There were a lot of possibilities, and it went without saying that the facility must have a fairly large generator tucked away somewhere, probably chugging away on diesel. Robin hadn’t seen a lot of viable diesel in the last few months, however… who could have a large enough supply of fuel to power a reasonably sized building for any serious period of time in this environment?

Marni shrugged. She had no idea. Obviously they had some power source… Who ‘they’ were or where they got it she didn’t know.

“I don’t think we should rush into this,” he stated, setting the binoculars in his lap. “I think we should stay outta sight and keep an eye on the building; if somebody lives there, they gotta come out for fresh air eventually. Probably.”

“I agree...Wait out here...Watch for a bit… This wasn’t what we came here looking for...We need to regroup...Make some new plans…”

“Mmhmm,” Robin replied.

Part of her new plans included eating another twinkie. Unwrapping it she picked her binoculars up out of Robin’s lap, peering through them once more while chewing thoughtfully. “Guess the deaders don’t pay attention to the light over the door… Aren’t attracted to it…” That was good to know. Though her theory had mostly concluded the zombies were more smell and movement oriented.

“Yeah, they seem to be focused on sight and sound… not nearly enough juice left up-top to worry about a li’l red light.”

“Wanna set up camp then?” They were in a fairly good space, top of the hill meant no one could creep up on them...Of course that meant they were also rather visible…. Still!

“Yeah, darlin’,” he drawled in reply, “let’s do it… but let’s move, we’re silhouettin’ pretty bad up here. Anybody comes out they’ll spot us in a heartbeat.” Robin shouldered his ruck and his empty rifle, 1911 tucked into the belt of his jeans, and began making his way down towards a more palatable resting spot, a copse of trees and underbrush from which they could maintain a line of sight on the door without being terribly obvious about it.

Ryan Bishop
3rd November 2017
1202hrs

Sweat dripped from his brow as his muscles worked over time, he could feel the burning sensation running through his body, he pushed on regardless, it was the only option.

Ryan grunted as he finished his last set of sit ups and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, working out had become as important a task as salvaging food, he didn't want to find him in a situation where he couldn't escape danger because he was out of shape.
Standing up he headed over to the window and looked out, still no immediate signs of life, actual life anyway, there was plenty of reanimated life wandering about, but he was in no hurry to make contact with them. No hurry at all.

He grabbed his binoculars and stwpoed away from the window, he didn't want any shine from the sun to give away his position as he took closer looks at the buildings a short way away from the hotel, again nothing.

-12:14pm-

The shower was still warm enough to be enjoyable, Ryan leaned over to turn the taps off, they squeaked as he did so.
He had gotten himself into a routine, showering wasnt part of it as he woukdnt always have the luxury, but while he did he thought it wise to utilise.

He pulled the towel from around his waist and climbed into the clothes that were least dirty before making his way to the door, where he listened intently for any sound. When he was satisfied the coast was clear he lay flat on the grojnd and checked under the door for any shadows or feet that may lay the otherside of the flimsy wooden door before standing and opening the door, he gave each side of the hallway a glance and headed for the main office on the ground floor, where he could check the status of his barricades and check the camera feed for any updates in his security status.

No change, no shift within the items in the barricade and the hotel remained clear from what he could gather from the cameras.
It almost bored him sometimes, sometimes he wished there would be a change, something happening inside the hotel just to make it more interesting... Still, Ryan prefered being safe and bored than threathened and entertained.

Chris moved to the stairs slowly and quietly, always listening. He looked behind him, seeing his wife and the others and held his fingers to his lips. Silence was everything in cases like this. He didn’t hear them behind him and wasn’t worried--they knew the drill. He noticed his mother and father and found it odd that even now while stress and the cruel world aged everyone, the both of them still looked so young.

The apartment complex in the small town was lower end and basic with the building itself being 2 stories. He opted to choose a room on the second floor. It wasn’t ground level, but low enough that if he needed to jump, he could avoid injury. He didn’t spend much time on the first floor, he simply stood and listened for about 5 minutes. It was quiet and there were no signs of human life, so he was satisfied and began to move up.

The stairs creaked a little, but he hardly heard the others behind him as they followed. He got to the second level and looked left and right. Nothing seemed out of place or dramatically different. There was some random trash, a few open doors and some chairs in the hall. He motioned for a halt and listened again. It was a rather uneventful last fifteen or so minutes, but that was how Chris enjoyed it. When nothing was happening, that meant no one was getting injured or hurt or anything of the sort.

Nothing was what he wanted.

He moved from one end of the hall back by himself, quietly and slowly and finally picked a room. It was one on the end and with access to a fire escape that could be lowered. He secured the room and a few moments later, they were all inside and set. Chris took a moment to spread some random stuff around on the floor outside, things that would hopefully be stepped on, tripped on, or moved and make noise should anyone come down the hall. He moved inside, closed the door and slid the couch in front of it. Then he turned around...

His heart stopped and he felt a cold shock.

“No,” he said in a voice filled with panic. “No, no, no.” He looked around for something but it was obvious he couldn’t find it. The apartment was small and consisted of a small living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. He ran from room to room quickly, looking in closets that he’d already searched, same with cabinets and under the bed...

He stood up and felt cold dread and absolute terror. This can’t be happening. “Babe! BABE! KIDS!” He moved room to room again and kicked an end table in a mix of fear and anger. He calmed for a moment and looked at a mirror mounted on the wall. He stared at it for a split second and then looked around again. “Mom? Dad?” This couldn’t be happening. Everyone was gone.

‘They were just here, they were just RIGHT FUCKING HERE,’ he screamed in his head.

He moved to the end table and flipped it angrily, then violently tore the TV that was on a stand off of it and threw it into a wall behind him.

“Honey, honey please. Please, please. I...the kids. FUCK!” Tears started to stream down his eyes and that only made him feel more panic, which led to more anger. “Oh my god, where...This...can’t be real. This can’t be real.”

He moved towards the kitchen and flung the chair and table aside to look out the window. Nothing. “Babe please, please. BABE PLEASE!” The last part was screamed at the top of his lungs and was filled with desperation and frustration. “Oh god. Please, not the kids, not the kids, not the kids...”

It was then that the sounds started to ring in his ears. No, the sounds weren’t heard by his ears, they were sounds in his mind. He heard the violent CRASH and glass shattering. Then the hissing and crumbling of glass and metal. Then the sirens and voice. He heard voices. He ran to another window and looked out.

“Baby, honey PLEASE...I…I need, are the kids…” He felt weight on his chest, his body. He couldn’t breathe. He gasped, but still managed to scream.

The sirens. He heard the sirens. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t block out the sounds and the panic and he started to scream and put his hands over his ears. He kicked at the walls and smashed the mirror.

And he screamed and screamed. All he could here was a grenade, gunfire. And Corporal Black screaming commands. Then there was more screaming, but it wasn’t his own, it was his Marines and then a hellacious hail of gunfire, so loud and constant it seemed like one single sound. It was all around him and he fell to his knees and put his head down on the carpet.

He didn’t know what he was saying, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was just lost, overwhelmed. “Please, god no, please. Me not them HONEY PLEASE PLEASE I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!! I NEED THE KIDS!”

Everything stopped and he heard the music and laugher of the party, then heard the night ripped apart by more gunshots. He heard screaming. “Oh my god, no, NOOO! STOP PLEASE!” He didn’t even know he was screaming, or where he was. He just went into another rage, punching and kicking anything in his way, screaming until his voice was all but gone.

He didn’t know how it happened, or what had happened, but there was pain above his eye and he could taste blood. He looked around the room, one last time, hoping this was a bad dream. A nightmare. He was still crying, or maybe it was the blood. He felt his chest and heart pounding in a mix of rage and pure panic.

Everyone was gone. He fell to his knees.

He was alone. He went fetal and cried.

There was no reason to live. Everyone was gone. Nothing mattered. He pulled out his pistol and put it under his chin. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I’m so sorry. I wish I could...Not everyone. Please, not the kids. Not the kids. Please, not my kids. Please.” He started sobbing, closing his eyes as he cocked back the hammer to the revolver. He was sobbing, he couldn’t even form words. Everything was gone. Everyone. He was alone, he couldn’t protect his family. His parents. Wife. Kids. Family. Life. Everything gone.

He put his finger on the trigger and just said over and over, “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please, I’m so sorry...so sorry, please god, please. Not them please, I’m so sorry.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep final breath.“Honey. What are you doing?” He gasped and his head shot to the side.