The Walking Dead: To Greener Pastures

Some nights, if I shut my eyes real hard, and drown out their groans with the musings of my fears, I can picture a world free from the grip of death. I've built barricades, reinforced walls, all to keep them out. Or perhaps this is my tomb: where I will lie in fear, and scream, and attempt to claw my way out but to no avail. Nobody is out there, and I am buried amongst the dead and the rotten. Oh, what could we have done in the eyes of God to deserve such a fate. I'm low on water, and food is bound to run out soon, but I have on valuable commodity.. I'm alive. I may just have a monopoly on that. I haven't seen another soul since the army left to find a brighter spot to call their tomb. I remained.

The man at the desk shuffled, drawing the chair a bit closer, and wrapping his jacket tighter around his frail body. He shook his ballpoint, and continued to write:

My wife left me when the army did. She took the kids, Lucy and.. was it Alex? She said that they'd have a chance out there. I told her that our luck had run dry a long time ago. And so, I remained within the walls of my fortress, among the pictures of those whom I've loved and lost and almost forgotten. Every night, I hear them clawing at the door. Every single night, slow, consistent. They haven't abandoned me, at least. I'm not alone in the world. I am one of many.

At the front of the house, the door -- which was unlocked and unbarricaded -- began to creak under the pressure of the undead. More walkers on the street turned in curiosity, then began to converge on the scene.

It won't be long, now. My time is almost up, my tomb is almost uncovered. I will be free, and safe, just like I told them when they left.

The door shattered open from the weight of the bodies, which began filing in and down the hall.

I wonder how their safe haven turned out, so far away from our home. I wonder if Lucy still plays with the doll I got her last Christmas.

The walkers found the study, spotting their prey in the dull light.

I wonder if I'll feel pain, or if they did, when the world caught up with them.

---

Two months earlier..

Desmond Williams

The rumble of an automobile engine choked to a halt, as the beat-up old Toyota Corolla rolled to a halt on the outskirts of a largely forgotten city. The car gave the impression that it was running on its last leg, anyway: two windows were shattered, the body was dented from fender to bumper, and there was a large gash running along the passenger's side, rendering both doors inoperable. The grill was covered in blood and sinew, and it looked like a genuine horror movie under the hood. The car which had carried its sole occupant across three states and away from immediate peril was no more. But it had served its purpose, in the end.

Desmond Williams, clad in genuine Italian thread, stepped out of the automobile and smelled the too-familiar scent of death. He paid it no mind; working methodically, he slipped the dead Corolla into neutral and pushed it to the side of the road, before grabbing his rucksack and slinging it over his shoulder. Reaching into the side pocket, he felt the metallic grip of his silenced Beretta, and he held the gun out in front of him in traditional Weaver form while proceeding down the deserted road. It's a different world, now, the ex-lawyer thought, as he eyed his pistol, and the various wrecked cars lining the street, and found a noticeable lack of anything breathing. One week ago, he was sitting in his office on the eighth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, drinking coffee and poring over the file of his newest client. Then New York City became a tomb, and hell would freeze over before Desmond allowed himself to be locked within. So he found the first working, abandoned car that he could, and took off -- primarily sticking to back roads and auxiliary streets -- down the east coast. He made it as far as Delaware.

Despite all the ways in which the world was different, Desmond remained the same man. Sure, he now carried his life on his back, and never went to sleep out of arm's length of his Beretta, but he had always been a survivor. He didn't lose anyone close to him during the initial outbreak, simply because there wasn't a soul living on Earth who could say that they were close to Desmond Williams. There were only smiling faces and ephemeral flings, but Desmond made no roots: which made it far too easy to leave the city he had lived in all his life. His parents were dead, he lost them long ago and in another life, it seemed. But they were spared from the end of the world, and Desmond was spared from having an emotional reaction to the apocalypse. And so, he trudged along.

It took ten minutes of walking before he encountered the first walkers. At first, he only saw the one: what remained of a middle-aged lady, still strapped into the wreckage of her destroyed SUV, which had apparently collided with a road sign and spun out into a telephone pole. She spotted Desmond when he saw her, and immediately began trying to claw her way out of the seatbelt. The lawyer slowed his pace and detoured to the wreckage, where he stood and stared at the women for a lengthy moment. Her skin was yellow and sagging and rotten, and her eyes held utter indifference. No malice, no emotion, only death. They locked eyes, and the lady briefly stopped trying to resist the belt. Then, she gnashed her teeth and drooled a viscous red-green substance, and Desmond raised his pistol and lodged a bullet in her brain. She slumped into the seat, and only then did Desmond dare to fully approach the SUV. He walked around the wreckage, searching it for anything useful, before coming full-circle at the windshield. With care to avoid the glass, he hoisted the street sign up and out of the impaled windshield, and stared down at the faded yellow letters: Welcome to Wilmington.

A ringing engulfed his hearing as his vision slowly came to existence. Amidst the sound of the ringing he could hear the crackling of a large fire and screaming, chaos that was once under a shameful attempt at being controlled. “W-What the fuck...” His focus came in as he looked slightly off to the side at the sight of his unit's Humvee. Its side was caved in where the 10 ton Mack truck, carrying a full load of Best Buy product, as seen by the scattered TVs and Laptops strewn across the pavement from the jackknifed trailer that had undone itself in the process. The driver of said truck could be seen twenty feet away from it in a lifeless corpse. John's eyes widen as he scrambled to get up, only to notice the sharp pain from his shoulder and the migraine that had begun to show its ugly head. 'Fucking should-ARRGH' He silently screamed as his weight buckled the dislocated shoulder. He grit his teeth and growled as he placed his other hand on the shoulder and jammed it up and back, placing it in its appropriate place, causing his vision to fail on him once more. 'Gotta move...Gotta get up now!'

Once again he began to move, slowly as to not cause much dizziness but enough that he wouldn't remain on the ground for too long. John had, as soon as he got up, ran over to the Humvee to check on his brother in arms...Only to find them dead. Tyler, known to John as “Kermit”, had his head cracked open against the driver side window. His best friend, George Ramirez, who he called “Rammy”, had been thrown about when the vehicle was hit and his body laid over the shifter, his head smashed against the dash with blood running down to the shifter. James Johnson, “JJ”, a greenhorn just out of the academy and into the unit, had his neck cracked open among other wounds. The last man, Felipe, who they all called “Frenchie, was nigh recognizable as he took the brunt of the accident. He scanned over them as his heart jumped to his throat. His breath hitched a few times as he let out a almost inaudible “Oh god”. He had gotten his team killed, so he thought. But thinking soon stopped as he felt a forceful yank back by unknown hands, only to see as he fell back to the ground, a face that was bloody.

She, if she could even be recognized as a she now, was missing teeth and skin on parts of its face, not needing to mention across its neck and torso. “Fuck!” He yelled as he grabbed hold of its collar and pushed up, attempting to literally save his own skin. Among the pain emotionally from his friends' deaths and the physical pain from his shoulder, he also had heard the sounds of feet approaching his area. Quickly and instinctively he he went to action. His right hand shot down to his left side, unsheathing his issued blade and jammed it multiple times in the side of the walkers head, its lifeless eyes becoming even more so as it went limp. He rolled back onto his feet as he withdrew his rifle and and looked around only to furrow his forehead. What seemed to be dozens of these...things, came charging at him with crazed looks in their eyes. Without hesitation he raised his rifle and fired, the sound of muffled pops echoing through the city as the silencer did its job. 'Move. Don't stay. Get the fuck outta here.' He thought as he shuffled backwards, occasionally looking over his shoulder for some kind of exit, or way to escape. Car, truck, bike....hell if there was a skateboard he would use it. He didn't care. John had pivoted and ran around the corner away from the horde and into a nearby building.



Heavy panting, the sound of boots hitting small puddles as they slapped down onto the pavement. 'Was it supposed to rain today?' He wouldn't know. All he knew was that it was cloudy and it had begun to drizzle earlier. He focused on the road in front of him, Creek Road, near Aston PA. He had taken residence in many spots since the Fall of Wilmington, DE. In most of these cases, it wouldn't be for long. His most recent was at the 7eleven in Aston. Packing his bag with a few small candies and water and a cartoon of smokes before he moved off to Cocoa's pizza across the street to snag a few beers. A few pops could be heard from the inside of the pizzeria as John had cleared the entire place before enjoying a few brew-skis. For John however, a few meant about a case, especially should his past come creeping back to him and it didn't help when he could at night still hear the screaming of soon-to-be-dead survivors begging to God for a second chance only to be snuffed out in the quiet night. He had awoken sometime in the morning and could hear the sound of walking corpses attempting to enter his place of residence. Apparently, one of the coolers had become loud enough to attract a few of them and had a bit of a fight making his way out of the building but had managed to get down the road and onto Creek Road, a windy, wooded road that lead towards Brookhaven and Chester/Toby Farms.

He had continued down the street, passing nearby cars for both the rising dead, survivors or even a set of keys for one of the said vehicles and it wasn't until he made it near the Brookhaven Swim club did he come across a Dodge Ram 1500 with in small silver print, the word ”Hemi”. He grinned as he made his way over. A few silent kills, severing the stem from the rest of the body, which he learned over the time was an efficient way to do it, and he had made it to the truck. He looked into the driver side window to see if there was anybody, or anything, in there. Seeing it barren, he then opened his hand to place on the door, slowly closing his hand around the handle to open it with the least amount of noise. With the familiar sound of an unlocked door, he smiled and opened it and placed his gear in the passenger seat but remained with his rifle. John was a patient man in some aspects but when he finally came across a truck that was; 1) not locked, 2) not crawling with corpses and 3) not on fire or damaged, his frustration would raise as he tore the car apart for the keys to it he would curse aloud and slam a fist on the arm rest, causing it to crack. “Where the fuck-” He had leaned out the car to check to see if anything was near but jumped and raised his rifle down, firing two shots at a hand under the truck. John positioned himself in a way that would allow him to leap a few feet away from the truck so he could crouch down to see...

Nothing...Nothing but a dismembered hand. How did he miss that? A question that he pondered, even though he knew the answer. He needed to stop moving. He need some rest...good rest. But he still brought his sights to the hand. 'Nothing attached to the arm......But....wait....no way-” He smirked at the sight of a set of keys, a key-chain on the set with the words ”Dodge” etched into it. He moved in close to the hand with pistol drawn, just in case his mind deceived him but this time it was to his benefit. He had jumped into the driver's seat, fidgeted with the keys for the moment until he found the right one and placed it into the ignition. Turning it he would see the lights come on, the annoying repetitive beeping sound when someone didn't buckle in. Further he would her the sound of a monster beginning to churn, the sound of that sweet, sweet Hemi.

That churning would turn to the roar of the engine coming to life...

Anytime now....

Anytime....

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN GODDAMN PIECE OF- ARRRRRRGGHHH!”
It had no gas. The owner of said hand had forgotten to refill his call before the walkers came. Sadly this cost him, sadly this infuriated John as he got out of the car raging about how “THAT STUPID FUCK HAD A DAMN TRUCK WITH NO FUCKING GAS!? ARE YOU SHITTING ME? CHRIST ALL FUCKING MIGHTY MAN! SHIT!” He kicked the truck multiple times, putting some major dents into the side of it. Now he could try to cipher some of the gas from the car that was in front of it but that would take to much time and effort and he didn't have that kind of time. So instead he would continue walking until he reach Brookhaven. From there, he would see what he could do.

Jazileena

Jazileena hadn't been home when everything went to shit. Making her way back to her house abandoning the incoming calls for help, it was too much for the police force to handle. She simply watched as one of her dear friends had his face basically ripped off by one of those, things? What even was all of this? Her emotions were in a windwhirl as she got back in her car driving off down the road only to be spotted by traffic, she turned back taking the long way home, her baby would be alright. She would be at home with Westley like always, he would keep her safe. Thoughts kept racing through her mind as she parked the car in the driveway hitting one of those dead things in the process getting blood all over her car. All her police duties went out of the widow as she basically ran around back where she could hear the yelling of her boyfriend. Getting there just in time to watch him basically abandon her little girl Vanessa her face twisted into the horror of a mother losing her baby. In that moment she lost a piece of her soul.

Memory had failed her for the days that followed. After everything happened she must have packed up and got back in her car driving, where she planned to go was forgotten yet she only stopped to move something off the road and carry on her way. She had used up most of her ammo shooting those damned pieces of vomit from the safety of her moving car. She no longer cared if they had been human she hated them all and just wished to just wake up from this nightmare. She stopped her car on the side of the road rolling up windows and shutting it off. SHe curled up in her seat and grabbed the backpack from in back just holding it close breathing in the scent. She was in pain and honestly she just wanted sleep. Plans of sleep were broken by a single walker begining to claw at the passenger window. No clue where she was, no clue what should would do, she felt useless.

---

He sat up, screaming, and gasping for oxygen. Another nightmare, another night of shit as far as sleep goes, and another night that he was unlucky enough to have to wake up. Ever since the infection, ever since that night, he just couldn't dream... Pressing his gloved hand to his forehead, he continued to gasp, trying to catch his breath. Grasping desperately at a crumbled paper bag he had folded in his back pocket, he breathed in and out of it quickly, calming his hyperventilation. His nightmares were getting worse.

Standing up, he observed his surroundings. In daylight the house looked different, at least from his view in the treehouse. He had taken refugee overnight in a child's tree-house, due to the retractable ladder and the distance from the ground, that way he could sleep without worrying about being killed in his sleep. Looking over the wooden fence, he watched several walkers move about the behind the sturdy wooden fence. They had caught his sent, and it wouldn't be long before more joined. He needed to move.

Gripping his bat, he lifted it to his shoulder and kicked down the retractable ladder then climbed down quickly, then spun around and stepped back, pressing his back against the tree. He surveyed the yard, as well as the inside of the house before deciding it was safe to move. Walking carefully, keeping a slight eye on where he stepped, to avoid any unneeded noise. As he walked, he heard movement in the house, and froze, staring at the being before him.

A woman, age obscured by decomposition, was standing at the clear glass door, staring directly at him. She was undressed and her hair was wet, but the worst of her image was the hand, hanging from her teeth. A tiny, young, hand. This beast had taken the life of an infant, this fucking monster had killed the child of the body it possessed, and it would not live to breath another day.

Jogging forward, he slammed his bat, nails first into the head of the woman. To his luck, it was fiber glass, and didn't shatter, but the nails went through, directly through it's skull. Pulling on the bat, he found that it was firmly logged in the glass, and would take some force to pry it out. Putting his foot up to the glass, he pressed hard, so hard that when it came loose, he and the bat were flung backwards, and he was left groaning on the cement patio.

After a few moments of groaning, he looked up, making sure that the body had fallen to the ground upon the removal of his bat's support, he was lucky, as it had. Standing up, he lifted the bat up from where it had fallen and slowly pulled open the sliding door, being careful not too make any sound as he did so. Upon closer inspection of the body, he saw a shiny, diamond ring on the ring finger of it's left hand, meaning she had been married, and meaning that this house wasn't nearly as empty as he had found it the night before.

Conner

Conner walked along the road heading, somewhere. His van had run out of gas a few miles back and without any family who cared he didn't have a plan. His shirt was a cruel reminder of how fucked this all was yet he trudged on determined to find something. He had a purpose, everyone did, he just needed to find his. He held the strap to his crossbow up since it had been rubbing on his chest all day as he walked his knife held in his left hand. He felt oddly okay and he couldn't explain it. Yesterday he was losing his shit over this all but apparently he'd regained his composure.

His little happiness was interrupted by the sight of one of the dead, internally wincing at the sight he stepped forward raising his knife before gripping the what used to be a woman's shoulder and slamming his knife into the side of her head pulling it back out and letting her fall. He wiped the blood off his cheek with a gag before he started walking again.

Maybe he could find a bike? A bike would be pretty nice in this situation. He pushed the thought to that woman out of his head before hearing a noise off in the distance, more walkers? He took to staying closer to the buildings as he started his way into some city, maybe he would find someone here that wasn't dead. That sure would make his day a whole lot better just seeing a face that didn't want to just eat your flesh. Then again a person could be just as dangerous as one of those things, hopefully he wouldn't run into any problems.

His eyes looked over at one of the dead slowly shuffling down the side of a wooden fence. He made his way hugging the side of the house and crouching for a moment just letting the thing pass, there were more behind him, and Conner could hear the slow shuffling of feet. He just hoped they wouldn't notice him, his mind focused on what was going on around him before he heard the sound of more footsteps. He froze for a moment to think was there a walker in the back yard, most likely. Then he stopped the footsteps weren't shuffling like the others, sticking his head around the corner he saw, a person. An honest to god person. This made him feel much better.

He watched as someone entered a house pushing open a sliding door, he thought about saying something but stopped himself. Who just has a nailed bat sitting around? Unless this guy made that thing just awhile ago, did he even have time to do that. Conner just watched him disappear into the house planning to listen for a bit. Still it was nice to see someone, alive.

Justin Holdner

Justin sucked in a shaky breath, the bat loosening in his grip as he stared at the body that lay in front of him. He didn't know how long he stood there, yet the sensations he felt were undeniably real to him. There were not enough horror movies in the world that could make it as real looking as he saw now. With a crane of his neck, he finally shifted his gaze to his bat as the dark red viscous began to drip from it. Awkwardly, he crouched down attempting to smear off the blood onto the pavement. It's noises echoed softly around the public bathroom walls he was in. He swallowed the lump in his throat, covering his nose with a jacket sleeve now from the stench of the body. He began to stand, his brown eyes glancing around the room. Justin's reflection from the mirror stared back at him, a look of concern on his face. Strands of hair fell everywhere on Justin, no longer neatly kept. He exhaled slowly as he walked up to the sink in an attempt to tame his hair with some water. Once he had fixed it into a damp, yet decently kept mess, he cupped his hands under the water, taking a few good mouthfuls before exiting the bathroom.

His grip tightened on the bat as he had closed the door softly behind him, the breeze of welcoming fresh air hitting his face. You could see a great amount of the campground, as well as Taylor Pond. The various campers and trailers much farther down the paved road. It was void of human life, and everything felt still to him. Various pieces of trash were scattered around everywhere, it may as well have been a dump. With a slight grit of his teeth, he walked away from the campsite following the road which he knew would lead back to the main one. His footsteps were the only noises he heard, yet that didn't persuade him from loosening the grip on his weapon. His key to survival, that is. He wondered how his family was doing back in Ottawa...were they alright? Had they managed to escape in time? Justin bit the inside of his lip as he looked straight ahead, drawing a bit of blood. He shook his head slightly, knowing that thinking of such things would only upset him. Eventually after a while of walking, finally heading down the main road. A silence had grew upon him, walking for a while before he finally pulled out the Iphone from his pocket, texting.

"Are you guys alright? Answer me!! D:"

He pressed his lips together in a sort of frown, putting the Iphone back into his pocket. He hadn't heard from either of them for a few days now...it was most likely the phone battery, yet that still didn't make him feel any easier. Justin's gaze continued to follow along the road. There were hardly any cars in sight, and the ones he did on the road he would walk widely around them. It was barren, despite the few motionless bodies here and there...at least he didn't have to handle those himself. Justin didn't have a destination in mind. As long as he was farther from the city, that was alright with him. No fucking way was he heading back there. Justin unknowingly continued to walk towards Black Brook.

Ved

---

His head turned up as he heard a slight shuffling above him, looking towards the direction of the sound, he moved slowly, holding the bat at the ready, he prepared to be forced into another life or death situation. Walking silently, he moved to the bottom of the stairs and began to climb them, being sure to avoid the older looking steps to avoid any creaking sounds. As he moved up the stiars, he kept an ear out for the shuffling sounds he heard earlier.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard a few loud cracks and the sound of flesh ripping coming from behind a closed door down the hall. Inching forward, he watched the door closely and noticed that it was cracked open slightly, and the back of a male looking figure could be seen hunching over and consuming something aggressively, something small.

As he made his way to the door, the floorboards beneath his feet let out a quiet groan, looking down quickly, he moved his foot to the side, another creak sounding out. Looking up, he saw the figure freeze, sniff, then return to it's 'meal' as if nothing happened. Letting out a small sigh of relief, he closed the distance to the door, and peered in, getting a closer look of the man.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself, and as he exhaled, his good leg kicked open the door, and he took a long swing, his eye's closing mid-swing, a sickly squishing sound filling the air as his nails and bat pierced, then shattered, the skull of the walker. Opening his eyes, he nearly chocked in horror of what he saw. He was standing in a nursery.

He slowly, painfully slowly, looked down at the mangled body the walker had been holding, and feasting on, then dropped to his knees, tears falling freely down his faced as he heaved heavily, stomach acid spewing from his mouth like water from a hose. Choking out a sob in between heavings, he continued to vomit until his stomach was dry, then fell to the floor, clutching at his gut and sobbing.

In the hands of the now lifeless body, was the body of an infant, less than six months old, it's torso torn open from the teeth of it's father, and missing it's left arm, as well as chunks of the skull. Ribs jutted from the center of the body, and flies flew around the carcass of the infant. Blood poured from the body, a small pool forming atop of the older carcass.

Conner let himself stand getting to his feet in a matter of seconds. People, something he used to experienced with now posed a threat to his safety, taking a moment to think about this he looked at the open door with the question on his mind. Should he stick around or should he scatter? Conner did something that had been natural to him since he was a toddler, he paced. Taking quiet steps he darted his eyes around the yard mostly focusing on the sides making sure no walkers made their way back there. This was an ideal spot his eyes moving over to the treehouse, not ideal this was an amazing place for a rest.

His fingers found their way through his now messy black hair as he groaned out to himself, "Conner get yourself together you idiot." His eyes closed for a brief moment allowing himself to feel safe for the fraction of a second before the shuffling of rotting feet caught his attention. He opened his eyes gripped the knife he had been holding all this time tighter just standing in one spot, the thing could come to him. His heart sank as an unlikely thing occurred. The younger now deceased male coming towards him had once been his brother. He cursed under his breath for a moment, sure his brother had never been nice to him once in his entrie life but he still didn't deserve this.

As the thing lunged forward he gripped it by the neck sending the knife into its skull and pulling it out watching the corpse drop to the floor. Conner knew where he was now, he was in the town he once called home. He looked back at each side of the house it seeming as if nothing had followed. He knelt down next to the younger teenager fixing his body so he was just laying there before reaching down and checking his pockets. Finding his wallet and opened it up looking at the driver's license Cameron Davis, at this moment it felt as if the world was playing some sick cruel joke on him.

No longer caring about the person inside he took a seat setting the knife next to him holding up that wallet. His other hand balled into a fist a river of tears began to fall down his face. Cameron should've become an architect like he always talked about when they were younger. His mind wandered on how this could've happened, his brother had always been the smart one. He just sat keeping watch trying his best to see through the tears.

Desmond Williams

With a swift jerk of his arms, he tossed the mangled sign to the side of the road, and let out a barely audible sigh, before turning around to survey the rest of the street. It was an odd assortment, a half-urban hybrid of contemporary America. Adjacent to multiple small residential homes stood a drab apartment complex. Looters had already torn their way through the street, but a house or two remained relatively unmolested. His pistol at the ready, but in a dormant position, Desmond scanned slowly and meticulously back and forth. Shattered windows, blood stains, wreckages were likely no good. One of the townhouses next to the apartment had been impaled at the base by a FedEx truck, totally obliterating the doorway. It was a wonder that the structure still stood, and Desmond didn't want to try his luck on the interior. Two doors down, a quaint blue residence caught his eye immediately. Not because of the intact windows, or the closed, sturdy door, or the atmosphere of peace and nostalgia that pervaded through the view of the structure -- provided, of course, one closed their eyes and mind to the carnage beside, behind, and all around. No, what caught Desmond's attention was the pair of eyes staring back at him through the kitchen window.

It was a woman. Her eyes were wide and alert, and so were Desmond's. He simply stared, mouth slightly ajar in utter surprise, before he was able to shake himself out of the stupefaction and make an attempt at communication. Slowly, he unloaded his gun and raised it above his head, clip and piece in either hand, to show that he was no threat. Walking forward at an even pace, he did not take his eyes away from her's. She was the first human being he had seen in days, and she could be anyone. She could be a killer. But in this world, they were all killers, and he knew that one of them would have to take a deadly chance sooner or later.
"It's okay," he called, and hoped he was right. "I want to talk."

---

"...piiz'dets blyaa..." A Russian curse, that might have been meant for God's ears, was muttered by a lonely girl who sat curled up in the driver's seat of a police car.

Everything was fucked up, the past twenty-four hours being possibly the worst ever since this shit show called "existence" premiered. About this time yesterday, the lonely Russian-cursing girl, Anastasia Abramova, had just lost the only other person she had left in this world and she hadn't even known him for long. Carl Logsden was a member of New York's finest and had, up to this point, taught Ana everything he could about survival in this strange, fucked up world. He might have been one of those doomsday fanatics or something because he seemed to know exactly what to do, at least coming from Ana's point of view. Regardless of the man's hobbies, Carl taught Ana how to properly handle a gun, scavenge for food, and so on, but most importantly, he tried to teach Ana how to react to her changing environment. He coached scenarios her about what to do if she ever was injured, how to siphon gas, and how to judge people. He practically preached his advice and after a certain point, Ana naively began blanking him out not realizing he wasn't going to be there forever. Now with him gone...

Needless to say, Ana hadn't done much to progress herself, dipping into bouts of hopelessness and despair, not daring to leave the small parking garage that hid the Crown Vic and its inhabitant from the wandering dead. She had plenty of food to last her for awhile, even though she wasn't eating, but apparently in her grief-stricken bout and a general hunger, she consumed a lot more water than she should have, consuming the last plastic bottle's last night. Now she was parched but she was terrified to go out and scavenge for more. Fuel was also starting to become a concern. It had dipped just under a quarter tank this morning, fuel was wasted by Ana's attempts at working the CB radio listening to the static channels or occasionally voicing a plead that probably went unheard. Her resources were being burned at a rapid rate without her even noticing.

While Ana may have been moping about, she wasn't at the point of seeking her end yet. She sat up from her curled fetal position and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't been crying, but she wearily drifting in and out of sleep. She turned the key, starting the Crown Vic right up. She didn't really have a planned destination in mind, but anything was better than sitting here, she figured.

Ana spent thirty minutes driving about aimlessly. She remembered she was in Pennsylvania but couldn't remember the name of the town that Carl mentioned as they entered its borders. In all honesty, she was trying to find a way out of this town but she might as well be lost at this point. Her wandering eventually gotten her to some fuck-where suburbia. Eventually she found her way to an intersection which a sign labeled the perpendicular street as Chester Creek Rd. Giving little thought to which direction she was going, she took a left and drove down Chester Creek Rd.

The mindless dead would turn to see Ana driving at a casual, quiet pace, but something far faster than they could keep up with. She wasn't worried about them, steering around each of them if they were in her way. Eventually she reached a portion of the road where two vehicles had collided, leaving only a small passage off to the side. It was enough to fit her own vehicle by, but only just. She was hugging the railing as she passed by. Her attention was focused on the cars, seeing their previous owners fidget in their seat belts as Ana drove past, so Ana didn't notice what was in front of her until she had just about cleared the accident.

Directly ahead, about a football field in length, was a figure, not shuffling around but walking upright, back turned from where Ana was quietly watching from her vehicle. She seemed to have frozen in place, quietly coming to a complete stop. It looked like he was in military fatigues and he unmistakably was carrying a weapon in his hands. Ana's thoughts raced by as panic began setting in. What should she do? She so desperately craved someone else to take charge of her survival but she feared the things Carl warned her about when encountering new people... A sudden bang from behind, followed by a low groan startled Ana as she was deep in thought. Ana jumped with a yelp, turning to look at a lowly zombie that had caught up to her, and in that same second accidentally signalling her presence.

Hoonk!

Ana's eyes widened as she withdrew her hand from the center of the steering wheel. Her attention shifted away from the banging zombie and instead watched the man directly ahead of her, fearing the worst but hoping for the best...

@FallenTrinity

(I'm assuming this is ok, if not, please ignore me and/or delete this)

Ugh,

please just shut up! Dwyn sighed loudly from the comfort of her tent and reluctantly sat up. Her regret for camping close to the trailhead out of laziness was beginning to steadily increase. She had known Americans were loud, but the campers who had set up not far from her had been shouting continuously for almost a minute now.

Deciding to make the most of the moment, she reached into her hiking backpack, sitting safely inside the tent with her, and pulled out a granola bar to take a bite, snickering at the memory of how she had accidentally taken an entire box of the things through customs at the Dulles International Airport and nobody had noticed. Taking a second bite, Dwyn noted that the screaming hadn't died down, and she subsequently realized that the two females were not merely having some argument.

It could be a bear... the tourist realized, having forgotten that the Appalachian Trail was home to significantly more dangerous wildlife than Snowdonia. The nineteen year old forgot eating for the moment as she fished out her pepper spray and one of her cooking knives. A brief moment passed as Dwyn sat in silence listening to the screams, before wondering if leaving them to die - to what she was now sure was a bear - would make her a sociopath.

"Stupid fucking Americans can't take care of themselves," she muttered, unzipping her small single tent and stepping outside into the twilight.

The screaming girls were downhill from her, and Dwyn started to creep forward in that general direction, wanting to remain unheard. As she did so, the screaming dwindled down from two girls to one, making the Welsh girl feel uneasy enough to start jogging down the path at a faster rate. Off to her right was the faint glimmer of a dying fire, and as Dwyn approached, once again slowly and stealthily, she knew it was the correct campsite by the increasing volume of the girl's mixture of crying and shouting.

Wielding her pepper spray and knife and suddenly concerned that it wasn't enough, Dwyn walked up to the edge of the campsite carefully, cringing at the crunching sound of the leaves with every misstep. She found a tent similar to hers, and peeked around the side of it, only to discover a site she immediately regretted looking at.

There was the mangled corpse of a girl like her, its chest ripped open and some of the internal organs missing. Not far away the other girl lay on the ground screaming as something progressively tore her open and ate her alive. Dwyn did a double take upon realizing that it was not in fact a bear attack. Her heart felt like it dropped completely out of her chest as she saw it was two human figures instead.

The girl's body closest to her then began to twitch, and in the same moment the remaining color drained from Dwyn's already-pale face in utter fear.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck

was the only thought in the Welsh girl's head as she promptly turned around and ran, tripping over rocks and twigs and making quite a bit of noise but managing to scramble her way back to her own campsite quickly enough. At that point she realized that at some point during her panicked return the other girl had died, presumably leaving the predators' attention to focus solely on the other human making lots of noise in the forest.

"Jesus fucking christ..." she took a look around, and then suddenly ran to the bushes to vomit out of fear. Knowing it was essential to her survival to get over herself quickly, Dwyn threw her cooking gear into her hiking backpack, forcibly stuffed her winter coat she was going to use as a pillow on top of it, and strapped the backpack on before throwing herself to the ground pulling out the four tent stakes. As the tent halfway collapsed, Dwyn resorted to running off dragging it behind her by one of its corners.

"Jesus fucking christ..." she repeated to herself once more, jogging up the trail toward higher ground. She couldn't even think properly, only move, but was reassured by the fact that she was pretty sure she was doing everything she could to survive at the moment.

After a few minutes when she came up upon a part of the trail that was a steeper incline than previously, Dwyn slowed slightly to a powerwalk, hooking one of the plastic bars of the tent with her elbow and putting the winter coat on her head as she organized the cooking gear in her bag. Then, still moving forward at a steady but reduced pace, she carefully squeezed as much air out of her coat as she could before setting it in the 60 liter hiking backpack as well, which was now strapped backwards to her chest so she could access it.

As a final move, she pulled the tent bag out of the outside pocket and carefully walked backwards while dragging the tent and pulling the bars out of it to fold them up, too terrified to stop moving even if she could have done the job more quickly that way. At last she managed to roll up the tent fabric itself and put it in the backpack, and then began powerwalking forward again up the trail.

Without the total disorganization, Dwyn found herself able to think more clearly. Either they're stalking me or not actually chasing me, because I haven't heard anything for a while now, she reasoned. But what are they? Cannibals? Zombies?

She tried to think back to her high school biology class. Were zombies even possible? It seemed unlikely, but those two humans tore into those girls like they were animals, not in the way anyone with half a brain would do so. These thoughts plagued her, continuing cyclically in her head with no resolution as she hiked further and further into the wilderness.

An hour later, Dwyn finally got up the courage to sit down for a second to take her water bottle out and come up with a plan. She didn't dare speak to herself out loud for fear of not hearing a crucial rustling sound in the bushes.

I guess it doesn't particularly matter if they're zombies or just cannibals, she decided. I'll just find a vantage point using the elevation and make sure nothing approaches me. And if it's zombies maybe they wouldn't even be able to climb to reach me anyway.

It wasn't a full plan, but it was better than running off further into unknown territory at night panicked and with no plan at all. So Dwyn promptly took a sharp turn away from the established trail and forged her way straight uphill, eventually settling on a rock ledge that appeared to only have one direction of uphill approach.

Now at least safe for the time being, the Welsh girl, tears streaming down her face, sat with her back against the rock wall and stared down at the small cliff that led up to her position, afraid to look away for even a split second.

"Umeret'." A translation in the English word of 'Die'. Andrey killed his greatest enemy with his Makarov pistol with a one shot after his greatest enemy becomes a deadly ghoul, it was set in a alleyway between house to house.

Andrey was never scared from this ghouls, hell, he had enough from a fucking horrible situation. To the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan to a zombie apocalypse. He had enough! Andrey lost his job as a mafia, he lost his comrades but he doesn't know where his brother; Maxim Moskvin and his trusted friend; Czeslav Korbut is but he doesn't believe that they are dead since Maxim and Czeslav are both militarily-trained from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He left the alleyway while he was walking away from the scene as he smoke his cigarette and blows the smoke on the air. What a badass scene isn't?

Andrey had arrived in a forest situated between New York and Philadephia; he had walk on the road for days now, he decided to stop and sat on the rock. "Need to rest for a sec.", Andrey dropped his cigarette and stomped it. His energy were gaining and he was planning for what he will gonna do now. His mission is to go back to Philadelphia because to find his brother and his trusted friend. He heard a loud sound of groan in a distance, "Chto yebat?", he stand up to investigate the loud sound of groan in a distance. Shit. It was a horde of deadly ghouls. "Shit, a horde of ghouls, need to fucking out of here.".

Andrey run to the forest and the horde of deadly ghouls are closing in as the loud sound of groan is going nearer and nearer to his distance. A ghoul is blocking Andrey's way, Andrey hardly punch a ghoul's face which brutally damage its face, when the ghoul fell down, Andrey stomped a ghoul's head three times and it died, he continued running. Fuck! Andrey is now chased by a several weak ghouls, he continued to run until he saw an uphill with a rock! A rock! The best way to hide from this idiot ghouls. He ran to the rock until he saw a Welsh woman crying. The groan was going nearer and nearer, at least the ghouls aren't in uphill yet but nearer. Andrey quickly hides on the rock, "You! Stop crying and be quiet or I'll shoot you! Stupid 'ghouls' are here, you need to be quiet right now." Andrey unleash his Makarov pistol, reloading, and aiming it to the Welsh woman, telling her to be quiet as the ghouls are there because of there groaning sound which is nearer and nearer. @Caramelcorn

DWYNWYN CHAPTER 2 @Comrade Doge

Dwynwyn instantly shut up at the sight of what appeared to be a middle-aged Russian man pointing a gun at her face. He had said something to her and she had been too confused to understand, but she assumed it had been something along the lines of telling her to stop crying. Her mind was racing.

I was wrong, oh my god, the color drained from her face once more as she concluded that the man was the same one who had killed and cannibalized the two girls. He certainly looked tough enough to have done it. It was stupid of me to have thought of zombies, I must have seen wrong. He's one of those crazed serial killers who slipped through the cracks of the horrible US mental care system.

The nineteen year old woman and middle aged man stared at each other in silence for a few moments. When the man turned his attention to the path downhill and pointed his gun outward and away from Dwyn, she took her chances and unleashed her pepper spray, causing the man to double over as his eyes burned.

"Stupid... girl..." he spit on the ground in order to reduce the urge to vomit and then turned back to slap her, but she was already on her feet and running, farther uphill than before.

Dwyn hardly dared to look back as she made her escape from the man she was sure had just killed and eaten two other young women on the trail. She ran horizontally along the steep hill, trying to put as much distance between herself and the man as possible. This time, she was able to think more clearly while running, having become somewhat more relieved that the zombie apocalypse did not appear to be happening.

Okay, that means I just need to get back to civilization, there should be policemen and everything, and I'll just go home; America is a stupid dangerous place...

I have no idea where I am, but I watched a tv show once about a man who got lost in Rocky Mountain National Park and set part of the forest on fire to attract a helicopter to save him...

Why is this man not chasing me down? He's clearly much faster than me...

She took a sharp turn and began jogging downhill as fast as she felt she could safely go with her heavy hiking backpack. When she reached a small clearing, she immediately sat down and opened up her cooking supplies, taking out the lighter fluid and matches. Dwyn then hurriedly threw the entire two liters of lighter fluid all over the dry pine needles on the forest floor, lit a match, and then watched a quick, hot fire start to burn.

To her relief, the fire appeared to catch instead of just burning out quickly, and a decent sized area of the forest floor was soon burning. She began to make her way away from the flames, searching for some rocky outcropping where she could safely wait for help to come. Locating another semi-sheltered rock ledge similar to the last, the Welsh girl scrambled up it, cutting her leg as she did so in her haste, and then sat down to wait again, this time clutching her pepper spray and knife in case the killer returned. She felt a little foolish doing so, remembering his gun, but she also remembered how he hadn't shot the other two girls, so maybe it was empty.

Her fire continued to burn through the night, though it didn't spread as much as she would have liked. After hours of nerve-wracking waiting, she sat up to attention as three human figures stumbled into view, silhouetted by the fire behind them. They didn't appear to be a stealthy and quick predator like the serial killer she had been picturing in her head, so she just watched them carefully, confused by their irregular gaits.

As the human figures drew closer, Dwyn saw their rotting faces and organs hanging loosely from their bodies, realizing that she had once again been wrong. There was no help coming for her. She was somewhat confident, however, that they couldn't climb the sheer rock face that she just had, and so silently, fearfully, she peered over the ledge as the three zombies clumsily hit themselves against the rocks and slid back down repeatedly.

Not long after, Dwyn watched as each undead corpse fell successively with the sound of three single gunshots. The man from earlier came into view, and she timidly peeked over the edge to meet his angry gaze, embarrassed by her use of pepper spray, the fire she had pointlessly started, and her panicked misjudgments of the situation.

Ved

---

He stood slowly, wiping the vomit that was on his lower lip with the back of his hand, then wiping his hand on his pant's leg. He needed to get the fuck out of here, but if their were undead still animated in the house, that would mean it hadn't been raided, and he need all the supplies he could find. Perhaps some food, or water, maybe even a few weapons and ammunition he could use for trade. Reaching down, he ripped the bat out of the walker's skull, then smacked it at an angle against the door frame, knocking the chunks of brain matter from it's place, lodged between the nails.

Making his way slowly from the room, he looked back down the hallway he had come from, and walked down it at a more regular pace, not certain if the house was clear yet, he kept his bat at the ready, held at an angle in front of him. He approached the closet that was midway down the short hall, and opened it quickly, then stepped back preparing to swing, seeing that it was empty, he pulled the light-switch an looked in. It appeared to be nothing but bathroom supplies, so he grabbed a bottle of Rubbing alchohol that was on the upper shelf, put it in his bag, and moved on.

Continuing down the hall, he reached the corner in front of the steps, and saw two open doors, one appeared to be empty, a few half-empty boxes laying about, but otherwise not much to see, and moved past it, into the master bedroom. It looked so peaceful, in stark contrast to the gruesome scene in the nursery just a few feet away. Stepping in, he shut the door behind him, and put down his bat, knowing that he was safe, as the room only had one open closet, and a window facing the front yard.

Looking around the room, he noticed an open book, a journal perhaps, sitting open with a pen holding the page on the nightstand to the right of the bed. Walking over to it, he sat down on the impossibly comfortable bed and picked it up, setting the pen on the nighstand. Looking at the most recent entry, dated 13 days ago, he began to read.

"My Wife has gotten worse, her screams fill the halls of our house and it won't be long before the police come knocking on our doors, that is, if there are any police left. There has to be, right? Surely the government was prepared for something as terrible as this, the military received billions of dollars a year, someone HAS to be out there, fighting whatever this is. They must be working on a cure for now, and are just trying to avoid needless casualties. Wait, I can hear the baby, I will be right back.

A break between line's indicated the man's return

Finally, it took about three hours but I managed to get him to fall asleep, poor kid is starving and I'm too afraid of whatever my wife has become to go back downstairs. I have her locked in the broom closet, but we can still here her. She gets louder and angrier everytime I go downstairs, In all honesty, and pardon my french, but I'm fucking terrified. I miss her, I forgot how lonely it was to sleep alon-

The entry ended suddenly, and presumably from him getting up to check on his wife, perhaps she had fallen silent and he feared for her life? Perhaps he was convinced he heard her voice, who will ever know? But clearly, due to the mess in the other room, he had done something that freed her from the closet.

Standing up, he moved out of the room, grabbing his bat as he went and walked down the stairs. He needed some fresh air, and a cigarette, so he went outside, and lit one up, the soft sobbing of someone unseen ringing in his ears.

"Hello?"

He called out, looking around to see where the sound was coming from.

Conner had gotten himself up and wiped off his face picking up his knife legs slight shivering under him at the shock of it all. Sure he had seen this happen, hell he saw a man ripped to pieces in front of him, but just seeing his brother like this was just too much. He took a hand wiping off his face still gripping at his knife tightly, more so something to grip at than the need to defend himself at the moment. A voice called out and he grew quiet just wiping his face off on his sleeves drying tears.

"I'm out here." he paused a bit thinking about what he was going to say before calling out, "I just want to talk. It's nice to hear, well, words." It was obvious he was forcing himself to stop crying his other hand going to grip at the strap that held his crossbow to his back trying to be ready for anything.

@Pirouette

John had been cursing aloud at the stupidity of people in chaos. "Why can't you fuckers seriously plan ahead? I mean, outside of this shit people wouldn't have left their tanks empty because of work. That asshole had over one hundred thousand miles and I CAN GARUNTEE, that he would have to tra-" He jumped and turned, SCAR up and aiming behind him at a...car?

A working car?

Goddamn it must've been his birth-

Wait a minute....

What the-

It took him only seconds to analyze and react to the situation. The first second he took in the car itself; Police car, Crown Vic, front plate said "New York". 'Long drive...' The second second he took notice to the occupants of said car; Aggressive figure in back seat, threating presence, female, Caucasian in color, long hair, looks frightened. 'Why is she-'. The third second was when he reacted he looked over through the ACOG part of his scope to take notice to the walker outside of her car and fired two shots; The first hit the neck, whipping the head in his direction and the second hit its head, brain matter spattering the driver side window. He the quickly swung the gun to the inside of the car. From the driver's point of view it would seem he was aiming his gun at her however two more muffled pops went off as the glass from the windshield shot inward with two small holes to show where the shots were. Close to her seat but punctured behind her as the unwanted guest smacked its head against the back seat and then quickly went limp. John kept looking down his sights through his one eye while his peripherals handled the surrounding area as he moved in, his military training could definitely be seen in his movements. The gap between him and the car closed quickly as he made his way to the driver's window. His eyes bore into hers with an icy coldness mixed with a distant stare. It showed experience and, if she looked into them, a past that haunted this man's life.

"You're ok now... Are you hurt? Have you been bitten?" The last question was asked with a bit of edge as he gave no chance to answer as he backed up, his voice much louder and colder. "Have...You...Been. BITTEN!?" He wanted answers clearly and expeditiously. The rifle was brought up to her face from behind the glass. His arms were steady, unmoving, yet all signs showed that any sudden movement he would fire. "Answer me..."

The little girl sat among the pillows on her living room floor, each one having been brightly decorated with glitter and stickers to this young lady's content, boredom mostly. Pushing herself to her feet she wiggled her toes happily taking another bite of the sandwich she clutch each bite as if it would be her last.

Trudging out of the living room making sure her feet were quiet as she stepped onto the hardwood floor of her kitchen Gabel finished the sandwich eyes almost sparkling as she finally had spotted the can opener under a pile of what used to be important papers her father had set down. She moved the papers aside little fingers clutching at one of the handles before she took it over setting it on the table with a soft thud the sound just enough to trigger the groaning of her father in the bathroom.

Gabel looked over at the bathroom door her happy expression turning into a frown before she spoke in a whisper, "Go away monster." The clever girl knew what was really going on and had been taking care for herself since her father locked himself in the downstairs bathroom telling her everything she needed to know before the man passed. Gabel really did miss him.

Sounds from the entryway caught her attention, scraping hands on the glass frightened her. Had they finally gotten past the gate? She neared watching this monster claw mindlessly as the window it's dead growl directed at her, she froze her eyes watering slightly at the sight before her a ripped open jaw basically hanging from it's place, she was suddenly feeling sick.

Quick little footsteps backed out of the room and ran upstairs hitting each step with a soft little padding sound, the past few days she had learned to be quite due to the noises that thing that used to be her father would make. She paused at the landing in between the stairs little eyes peering out at her front yard focusing on a broken fence. Maybe she could fix it? Maybe if all the monsters went away, oh who was she kidding, she was only seven. Gabel just stood there watching the dead things outside from the safety of her home.
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Shaky fingers ran through part of her hair pushing it back behind her ear. The sound of the walker's slight scratching was maddening to her at this point, hand going to rest on the steering wheel she just looked over at it examining this creature. Skin slowly rotting away, its bloody teeth snapping against the window, chunks of flesh still hung down from the thing's mouth dangling in a sick manner, blood caked into the fingernails hands just grabbing at the glass dumbly wanting to get inside.

Jazileena kicked against the bottom of the car's carpeted floor screaming at this sick creature having lost her cool, "PISS OFF!" Just making everything worse she took a deep breath, the monster frantically trying to get in scratching more violently than before. From a distance Jazileena could see more of these things coming, it was time to move.

Turning the key the engine roared back to life, wasting no time Jazz had it into drive within a matter of moments taking off shortly after. She would find someone, she needed to know at least someone was alive. At this point Jazileena was looking for a reason to exsist.