aaa

aaa

Genesis J.

He threw himself into the grimy wall of the Chicago alleyway, the slowly fading light of the nearby lamppost bathing his form in a dark orange glow. Every breath of air that came out of his lungs was painful, and he could feel the tightness of fear and panick gripping his heart with an iron fist. Slowly letting out a breath, the teenager opened his eyes, having not even noticed that he had closed him. God damn it...what was going on? No, this wasn't the time for stupid questions...he knew what was going on. It was fucking obvious. Zombies...rotten corpses, that he'd never think he'd see out of literature, video games, and movies...they were real. Hell yes, they were real, and they were god damn savage. What could he even do? He didn't know where his fellow students were - they were separated hours upon hours ago, and Sergeant was dead. He and Jacob saw the man get his neck ripped out by their bus-driver. And now, zombies were ripping through people like a knife through butter, and his phone was busted, and he was alone, and there was like six zombies following him, and-

His hand's tight clenching cut off his thoughts, which were slowly becoming more and more panicked. He could do this...he just had to go. His breath was slowing, and his lungs no longer felt like they were on fire. He could make this...he just had to think. He needed to get control of himself, think, and act. Sharp, fast, and efficient...just like he was taught. With a slightly wavering grunt, Genesis threw himself off of the alley's walls, leaning forward so that he could peek outside of the alleyway, and into the dark streets. So far, there was no one around him, except a few parked and smoking cars. No signs of survivors, and no signs of zombies. Bringing his head back in, Genesis glanced around, eyebrows narrowed as he began to glance around for something, anything to defend himself with while he found a safer place. There was some trash, a rotten banana peel, a trashcan and a trashcan lid, and right beside the trashcan, only slightly rusty, was a piece of lead pipe. A quick glance upwards showed that it fell from the fire-escape above him. Whatever...it was something. Grasping it hard in his right arm, Genesis sighed once more, before biting his tongue and ducking out of the alley.

Only to be face-first with a rotten, groaning corpse.

"Fuck!" He instinctively yelled out, taking a quick step back in pure shock. The zombie stepped forward only a second later, and Genesis got a full look. Rotten, decomposed flesh. Lifeless eyes. Hair torn from it's scalp, and a body only a witch would kill for. It was a woman. And it lunged at him. "Fuck off!" He side-stepped the rather clumsy lunge, and felt a surge of righteous anger course through him. Why the Hell did this nightmare have to happen? Why did this lady decide to get bit? While the zombie was recovering from it's lunge, a full-powered, textbook baseball swing with a lead pipe slammed against the back of it's head, cracking open the flesh and sending it flying into the wall. Not even hesitating, Genesis exhaled harshly as he slammed the lead pipe into the zombie's temple twice more, splattering gore and rotten brain matter over his jeans and the dirty ground.

For a second, he was simply breathing heavily, light brown eyes hard and focused as he stared at the disgusting mess with his usual stoic expression.

The next second, he was trying not to puke.

___________________________________________

Genesis J.

He almost had tunnel vision, his arms and legs pumping as he sprinted down the dark street. An abandoned car rested in the middle of the road, but Genesis barely paid it heed as he instinctively leaped over the hood, using his hands to spring over it. His head moved left and right, looking for some place - anyplace to get into, so that he could lock the Hell outta the door, and try to reach his mom. He needed a safe spot, even if it was temporary...he just needed to think in peace for a bit. Slowing to a jog once he came across a two-way corner, Genesis was about to head left when he caught notice of what seemed to be a stairway leading down. Downwards meant slightly hidden, and that was enough for him. Jumping down the few steps that lead to the location, he landed and glanced around, not even noticing the blood that was quickly drying on his hands, pants, sneakers, and the lead pipe that was still clenched tightly in his right hand. A door was open, leading right into a dusty room...a bar.

He stepped into the room, relief blossoming in his stomach, when he caught sight of a blonde-haired teen leaning against the far wall - more like collapsed, and he seemed like he was crying a bit. Genesis didn't blame the guy.

"Shit..." He whispered as he made his way fully into the room, not knowing that he had mirrored what the boy had said earlier. The teen was about to rub his face, when he realized the blood currently coating his hands. Thinking better, he just frowned and glanced around, before finally focusing his gaze on the boy. "You okay, man?"

"This is Cassandra Wilkam's reporting in live from New York. Widespread terror has struck the heart of our country, spawning in our own fair state, spreading to Boston and Philadelphia in a matter of hours," The reporter looked over her shoulder. An explosion smoked the sky a few buildings back. She turned, blue eyes wide, nervous, struggling to focus. Her hands gripped tightly to the microphone, knuckles freckled white and fierce, anxious red. "The dead walk the Earth." She paused, almost as if she didn't believe what came from her mouth. "Roger. Zombies? Honestly?" Cassandra digressed and continued onward with what was prompted. "There have been allegations from a scientific underground group..." She struggled, plucking the microphone from her ear. There must have been a thousand reporters shouting in it, reporting their findings, screaming for mercy as mindless teeth found warm flesh. She chewed a manicured nail and looked once, twice behind her. In hindsight, everyone had a chance to see what they were dealing with.

"Oh my god, Roger," her voice was tight with terror, watching a man fall beneath four or five mangled, bloody zombies. His screams were enough for the camera man to reach forward and snag her wrist. The microphone dropped. The screen went in and out on partial, covering sneaker, heel and sidewalk, the view behind, what was in front.

--- To Rose... ---

That was all that Rose needed to see. She'd clicked the television off and scampered elsewhere. Everything stuffed in her car. It was first to Fowlerville to see if her mom was still alive. She hadn't gotten any calls from family. She'd packed all she could manage into her truck and booked it before traffic hit, taking the backroads down to the dentist office.

When she arrived, of course. The panic. The sterile (read: explosive) components inside. It could have only led to disaster. Her mother's Mazda was tipped over outside... and she was inside of the burning building. There had been many unfortunate events in the family, in Rose's life that she manage to stiffle the grief, get out of her own car and bust the window to the black Mazda. A tablet later, she had GPS. A dial later and she was on the phone, reaching her brother as she carefully watched the road. "Sam?"

"Y-yeah," her brother sounded as if he'd been crying for a long while. There was the tone of relief. He'd been worried about her. "Sam, I'm on my way. I'm not going to stop for anything but gas until I get there." An exchange of 'I love you's and 'I'll see you soon's was passed. She rested the phone between her legs and kept her eyes to the road, chewing her lip raw in a few places. There weren't zombies in Michigan. Not yet. But there would be soon. It used to be a good thing that they were surrounded by water. Now it seemed like the biggest curse.

She weaved through the streets of Chicago, passing rummaged cars, broken and burning homes. It was a half a mile past a zombie and her tire found the sharpest thing affordable on the road. The pop was loud, almost like a gunshot. "No. That is not what I wanted!," her voice trembled angrily. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing but knew that would not last. It was time to say goodbye to easy transportation. Backpack was snatched from the backseat, the dates of her Nana bumped hard against the lip of car door. "Ouch-" came a hiss through clenched teeth. Her messenger was taken from the passenger, phone tucked safely inside after a text of 'detour, be back on road soon, ly'.

By the time she arrived at the bar, there had been a few too many undead at the front for her comfort. She snaked through the alleyway to the back, wedged her bags through a window and made her way to the depths below. Wide eyes drew to the dark. It was the stock room. Liquor. Food. It was time to eat. Her entrance was a strange one, bags still with her. From the back, a few bundles of what-have-you in her arms. She bustled past Casper and Genesis with a thin glance up and down each of them, a tight smile, "Hi." Only stopping a second before she advanced behind the bar.

aaa

The zombie apocalypse was actually happening. Like, for real. No Florida hoax thing, not out of a video game or a movie. The real god damn deal. Austin always thought about it, just in theory. Talking to his dad about survival plans about the apocalypse. All in fun though, just making for interesting conversation. But now it was real.

Austin looked at his phone and read the alert notification that popped up. The united states was in a state of emergency. He opened the notification, and a list of cities popped up, saying that these were "danger zones" and for any and all people to lock yourselves in your home or seek shelter. Emergency forces were gone, for the most part, they went to help protect their own family and friends. It was total chaos. This was all while he sat at the local Dunkin' Donuts, sipping on his coffee. Everybody had panicked, screamed and ran out the door. To where, nobody knows. The place was empty besides Austin, as having nowhere to go at the moment. His car maybe, but that was back at the hotel, and he was NOT walking all the way back there at a time like this. It seemed like he was in no immediate danger, but with a completely glass entrance and big windows, it wasn't more than window shopping for zombies if they wanted to come in. He needed to move, he knew that much. All that zombie survival book reading was coming into use.

"They didn't even let me finish me coffee..." he groaned to himself, getting up from his seat and adjusting his leather jacket. He pulled out his pocket knife that he kept with him and flipped it open, clutching it in his hand and making a fist, with the blade sticking out the right side of his right hand, facing away from him. It was a few inches, substantial, but pretty close range. And he didn't know how close he wanted to get to these things. Probably not very close. Austin scanned his surroundings for anything useful, but besides donuts, nothing really caught his eye. He would have to fine some weaponry another time, maybe at an army depot or a gun store, army navy. Or Walmart. You never know what you'll find in Walmart. He pushed past the door of the Dunkin Donuts, walking out into the crisp Chicago air.

Well, it was pretty much a shit storm outside. Abandoned cars, debris, broken things lying around. A dead body or two. Things on fire. It looked pretty skippy outside. He could even see figures in the distance, although none seemed to be around his immediate area. Yet. So he thought. But hopefully that trend would continue. Austin walked directly on the street, walking at a fast pace but to be careful of his surroundings. Yes it might be bad to walk out in the open, but better than getting ambushed and bit by one of those things. He'll take his chances with trying to outrun one. He looked around at the wreckage, again, nothing really caught his eye. Just, destruction, abandoned items. Nothing of use, as anything of use was probably taken with the individual. But there could still be a few hidden gems.

After a few minutes of walking, he noticed a few zombies standing in front of what looked to be a bar. Or, so the sign said. It was one of those that it's like a basement, heavy double doors, maybe a small window. Be perfect to hide out in. The only problem was the zombies out in front. It seemed as though there were people inside, and thus, the zombies wanted to go inside. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin noticed a figure slipping through a side window. It seemed a zombie noticed this, and slowly walked over to the window. Austin ducked behind the car, trying to think. What to do, what to do. Then he found a rock lying on the ground, and an idea formed. He had seen this in a videogame once, but he hoped it worked.

He took the rock in his hand and saw that there was a car several feet in the opposite direction of the bar. If he could just hit that windshield... He pulled his arm back like he was throwing a baseball, looked over at the zombies briefly, then looked back as he hurled the rock at the car. It was about the size of his hand, so it carried nicely through the air as it banked off the windshield, causing a loud "clank" sound. All the zombies turned to the car, and slowly started to shuffle towards the sound, apparently hoping that there was some juicy flesh to be had over there. Austin breathed out a sigh of relief. That actually worked. He waited a minute or two to watch the zombies congregate around the car. As soon as the coast was clear, he silently (but as fast as silent permitted) made his way across the street and into the alleyway. He slid into the open window, landing on his feet. He leaned out the window, looking around and finding a trash bag. He pulled the trashbag in front of the window, effectively hiding it as he closed and locked the window. Austin also found a somewhat heavy box and pressed it against the window, just in case. Could never be too careful.

The adrenaline was starting to subside slightly, but he was still anxious, nervous, and alert as he made his way into the bar area. It seemed to teens already were in the bar area, and some younger woman was going behind the bar. They seemed to be making some kind of small talk, and they didn't seem to be with each other. Like they all just got there. "I know, hell broke loose outside, we can get to formalities later. I'm sure we all want to live at this point..." he went up to the doors and tugged on them, making sure they were locked. He looked out the reinforced, grated windows, and saw no sign of zombies immediately outside. "Alright, we'll leave the door like that in case some more people come... Is there any other way in here? Any weapons? Talk to me here." a million things went through his mind as he rambled off things, going off to explore the rest of the bar. At this point he was scared and all, but didn't want to panic. he didn't let himself panic. His first priority was not dying. Get a safe place to stay. First priority. Then maybe take a breather and find out what the hell he was gonna do next. Chicago was a big city, and one he didn't know very well. And he sure as hell wasn't dying like this. He needed a plan.

Jessica was startled by the zombie outbreak. It wasn't supposed to happen so quickly! She had been in the middle of a college visit, when the apocalypse started. Naturally, in such a densely populated area the plauge would spread fast. The tour group broke up in terror from the gruesome once college students. Immediately, her and her parents headed to the car. It was safer than out in the open. Her mother was the least athletic person in the family, so it was only a matter of time before she died. However, upon hearing her mother's screams a sense of terror filled Jessica. Not because she enjoyed her presence, but because she realized that this wasn't a special effect or prank. When her and her father reached the car, they saw that another car had crashed into it, making it unusable.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jess mumbled to herself, requesting her father to pop the trunk. Inside was her bokken. She kept it there in case she needed it for taekwondo class. However, it was useful in this situation too. She grabbed her backpack from the backseat, and turned to her father, but he was already half eaten in an attempt to distract the zombies from her own carelessness. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but the Asian female physically and mentally slapped herself in the face. There was a reason he died and she didn't want to put it to waste. She had to think quick, where to go? Well, she needed better weapons and food. Weapons first. Chinatown in Chicago was interesting and one of the reasons for that is the neat Asian objects it sold. And in Jessica's opinion, Asia made the best melee weapons. Perfect for the zombie apocalypse. Quiet, effective, and never runs out of bullets.

Unfortunately, the Nebraskan didn't know her way around Chicago, so first she needed a map. She started running in the direction she vaguely remembered was the way they came from on the way to the college.

After a long time of sneaking, whacking, and stabbing, the teen found a touristy store. They were bound to have a map. She opened the door, but cringed as a bell rang from the action. All the zombies in the area looked at her. Jessica managed to grab a map located by the door before booking it out of there. The zombies grabbed at her jacket flying behind her.

She quickly looked around and saw a narrow alley with stairs that descended downwards, while it might trap her, it would be good for limiting the number of zombies she'd have to fight at once. She ran towards the stairs before jumping down them in two strides. She noticed doors at the bottom and tried to open them. They were locked. Jessica vigorously knocked on them, "Hey, assholes, let me in!" She yelled, her powerful alto voice booming through the stairwell. Her powerful lungs came from being the only alto who actually sang in choir, so she had to compensate for the others. Then, she presses her back against the wall and started swinging and stabbing at zombies. Their rotten flesh made it easier to rip though. The gore made Jessica's head spin. Oh god, not now. She never was good with real innards. It didn't consciously deter her, but she couldn't help the dizziness that overcame her.

When the door finally opened, the nauseous asian stumbled backwards into the bar. She fell on her butt, just as the door was closed behind her. Black spots spread in her vision before she laid down and promptly passed out for a brief moment before forcing her eye open to check around her for zombies. Even though her eyes were open, Jessica could only see a little bit, as if she were looking through a filter, and no, not the Instagram kind. Giving up, she closed her eyes and breathed for awhile. She felt almost sleepy, and the sounds around her were muffled. Hopefully whatever opened the door was human.

The hospital was probably the worst place to be in the event of a zombie outbreak. Hospitals and churches, that's what the book said, right? Hospitals would be filled with sick people, possibly already infected with the virus, or whatever it was that animated the recently deceased. Those who weren't infected would make an easy meal for the zombies. Shane reflected on this as he snuck through the underground parking garage, forearm crutch tightly clutched in his hands. He had imagined this very scenario in his head a million times: the scenario in which he would have to use a crutch for the opposite of its intended purpose. During the time he had been recovering from his amputation, he could regularly be seen examining every inch of his crutches, holding it this way and that, playing in his head the best ways in which he could use it as a bludgeoning instrument. His mind could go into some dark places if it had to. He told himself that it was a survival instinct; he couldn't run, so if he was ever confronted with a threat to his life, he would have no choice but to fight. And he was going to make damn sure that he would be the one walking away from that fight...

Very few zombies were in the parking garage. He supposed that those who had come here seeking refuge, but turned, would be locked in their vehicles. At least until they figured out how to open their doors. It was at this moment, that he heard a hand smack a nearby window, causing him to jump back. A zombie pressed its face against the inside of the car's window, futilely scraping its teeth against the glass.

However, jumping had caused him to lose his balance, and as he tried to recover, his prosthetic knee buckled, causing him to fall on his ass and drop his crutch with a loud clang. "FUCK!" His baritone voice echoed through the garage, more than likely alerting any nearby zombie to his presence, like some foul-mouthed dinner bell. Even so, he knew that if he simply tried to leap to his feet, his knee would probably buckle again and he'd be right back where he was; he would have to take his time. Keeping a wary eye out for trouble, he got himself to a kneeling position, then hoisted himself with his meat leg to his feet (foot?). He kicked his prosthetic leg forward for good measure, snapping it into place. Satisfied with his work, he continued to try to find his way from the garage to a place more open.

---

Getting out of the garage had been the hardest part, so far. A pair of SUVs had collided, effectively blocking the exit. Rather than climb over them, Shane used his crutch to shatter one of the side windows and quickly crawl his way through, getting grabbed by a zombie in the process. Luckily, the creature had grabbed his prosthetic leg, allowing Shane to simply shove the thing away with his crutch. He was rather surprised by the strength it had; for a moment, he was sure he would be done for right then and there. But he managed to push it away, cramming the end of the crutch into the zombie's maw for good measure, shattering its jaw.

Presently, he was sticking to the sidewalks and open places. He was in no way interested in any more close quarters combat with the undead. Give me enough room to get a good swing in, and I'll be a happy camper, he thought.

It wasn't long until he heard something rattling ahead of him. Someone was trying to get into...someplace. He heard a girl's voice. "Hey, assholes, let me in!" Hey! A living person! Alright!

Shane lowered his crutch as he approached the stairway where the girl was just starting to slip/stumble through the doorway. He followed the girl into what he now knew was a bar, judging by the aesthetic of the room. His countenance fell, though, when he discovered that he seemed to be the oldest person inside; the other oldest one was a young woman who couldn't have been older than twenty or so. He watched the girl that came in before him for a short while, just in case he'd have to brain her for being a zombie. When no one else seemed to alarmed at her presence, he closed the door behind him and exhaled.

"Hey," he said, exhaling once more. "What's going on?"

aaa

Vincent took a glance at his cellphone's clock.

2:32 PM

The flight was supposed to leave two hours ago. Long layover times was something the frequent flyer was used to, but that didn't make them any less unpleasant. Pocketing the phone, he stretched out his legs and looked at the television screen which was running on about a recent incident. There were quite a few people staring at the screen as the disclaimer for gruesome images came up.

"This just coming in. There are reports of attacks happening all over the city. They are aggressive and very violent. So far there has been no communication from the people starting these attacks. The following images are a series of pictures captured by our own camera man, Daniel Lebowski during his time off. Be warned, these pictures are extremely graphic, viewer discretion advised."

The photos produced were indeed gruesome. A mob of people attacking and biting other people, but something didn't look right. Vincent let out a breath. "Oh, man." Zombies. He always dismissed the idea as fantasy, something to toy with in his head for amusement, but to actually see it happen was a bit shocking. He looked around cautiously among the crowd. Sticking around here would be way to dangerous. Airports and other crowded places were terrible places to be for outbreaks of any kind.

Vincent casually left his carry on and made his way at a fast pace through an emergency exit tripping the fire alarm. He didn't exactly care as there was no way in hell he'd be caught dead at an airport with something as huge and deadly as this going down. Cities were a terrible place to be too, but at least there would be decent escape routes provided the crowding issue wasn't too bad. He had confidence that his close friends back home would be smart enough to deal with the situation as needed, after all in casual conversation the topic of zombie apocalypse survival plans had come up on occasion.

Vincent rushed down the stairs of the fire escape and made his way towards the city proper itself. O'Hare wouldn't be operating for long. He spent some time wandering town, steering clear of crowds of people and buildings when he saw from a short distance a few people go into a bar at varying times. He smirked and chuckled. "Guess I could do with a drink before actually getting out of the city."

He walked up to the building and spotted a group of zombies attacking someone in an alley. He cringed and kept walking. No helping that poor soul. He came up to the door and there was someone already waiting there. A kid. Probably mid-late teens. Vincent decided to ask the obvious question. "Door locked?" Already, he was having second thoughts about the decision to make a pit stop at a bar for a rest. He glanced over his shoulder nervously. One zombie would be OK to deal with, but a group like the one not far away would be an issue.

@BubbleGumKing

Altay

The times he spent in Turkey, was for nothing. He knew it. They told him that, in Western countries, people live a lot more better lives. Finally, he wanted to see it with his own eyes. And he chose... Chicago. Al Capone's City. Not the best desicion in his life.

He left his suitcase in the hotel room, and get out quickly to walk around city. At night... It was a great idea. He light a cigarette, and started walking while watching around. The street was empty, but not silent. He heard screams, and than some gunfire. Robbery? Rape? Murder? he was trying to figure out the situation. He kept walking, to the end of street. He saw three abondoned cars, and two bodies lying on ground. And some blood... Natural selection. Good. finally... Something happening for the sake of mankind. While smoking, he turned right to go to bar. He left the cars behind him.

Then he heard moaning behind him. Altay turned back to see what's going on. Two bodies on ground, was getting on their feet. They started walking to Altay. I was waiting for a nuclear war, not for zombies... They kept walking, and Altay put a distance between himself and zombies. They were slow. Easy targets. Wish I had a gun right now. Altay just sprinted, for few seconds. He reached the street of the bar. No need to waste time with walking corpses. I hope I can take shower during zombie situation.

Altay made his way out of the street. He threw end of the cigarette to road, than looked to the bar. He saw a man with beard, and a zombie walking to him. One person could handle two of these brainless zombies, but a horde of them... You need assault rifles, and machine guns... And some bombs.

Altay took his pocket knife in his hand. He yelled at the bearded guy:

"Hey, need some help?"

@drewccapp

"Hey, need some help?"

Vincent glanced over his shoulder again to see a guy with a deadpan look on his face. He already had a bad feeling about the stranger. One of the zombies he had seen must have spotted him as it was lumbering towards him. Before life this zombie couldn't have been much older than a freshman in college, but now it was just an undead thing hungry for flesh. He frowned at the situation. Maybe trying to stop at a bar other people were going to was a bad idea. Where the living congregated, the undead would definitely seek out.

Vincent stepped away from the door and faced the zombie. The way it moved, meant it could be easily outmaneuvered. He trusted himself to be agile enough to get past it. His heart pounded with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He dashed between it and the wall and the zombie clumsily stumbled towards him reaching at him, but it couldn't keep up with his speed and tripped. Vincent got behind the zombie before it could collect itself, grabbed it by the hair, and slammed it head first into the corner of the bar using his and its body weight to take it out.

Vincent let go and watched the zombie slide down the wall and crumble to the ground. He took in a deep breath and let it out. He faced the knife-wielding stranger and smiled. Taking out the zombie was somewhat satisfying. "I'm good, thanks. Better get to safety before more come." At this point he heard moaning and shuffling not too far off and glanced over a few cars to see a small horde of zombies headed for the bar. "Well..." He trailed off as if he were to say something else, but held back.

Vincent got onto the opposite side of a van and got low enough that he could see through the windows to get a decent view of the horde. He needed an escape route. The bar wasn't a good option. There were a few alleys, but the street was wide open. There was no telling how far the zombies would chase him if he was spotted. He looked around for options and found about a hundred feet away a turned over truck. At the moment, the stranger - while a risk - was not first and foremost in his mind.

The truck was not perfect cover, but it would hide him from the horde and allow him time to find other options. Hopefully there were no surprises behind that truck. He kept crouched and sneaked away from the horde keeping near the parked vehicles and a cautious eye over his shoulder. Whoever was in that bar would have to find their own way out of the trouble coming their way, because even if he wanted to there was no way Vincent would be able to help.

As much as Shane wanted to arm himself with the shotgun, he knew that two rounds wasn't going to get him...them very far. He ignored most of the other "weapons", except for the golf clubs. They'd probably break after a few good whacks, but they could come in handy. "This can't be all we have," he muttered to anyone who was listening.

He was about to suggest having everyone take an inventory of what they had and possibly pooling their resources when he heard shouting and moaning coming from outside. As he stepped toward the door, he asked, "Hey, what was that?!"

He approached the door's window and saw a veritable horde of zombies outside. "Fuck me." He stepped away from the door as quickly as he could, taking care not to let his knee buckle. He turned toward the group and stated, trying to control the shakiness in his voice,"We got company. Uh, a bunch of walkers, and...I think people. I heard yelling right outside." He held his crutch out in front of him, with the top of the crutch pointed outward, like a spear. he doubted that he would be able to get enough leverage to get a good swing at any of the zombies, but maybe he could simply shove them out of the way while someone else mopped up.

Hopefully, everyone could think on their feet.

Wwack, Thwack, Thawck was the constant sound of militry black boots beating on the ground. The sound of one man slowly jogging through the city streets with a radio in his hand. Why had it all gone down the plug hole so fast, the armys were not epecting such a fight on their hands and the civilians... well Charles could still hear their screams as they were cut down in machine gun fire... dumb yanks forever using mass ammounts of men to fill the lines and killing any civies that stand in their way. I guess it was lucky really that Charles was wearing his dress uniform, else they may have shot him too.

As he rounded the corner of the street he could see only a van and some silouets in a windown moving around. "Either people or too many KIA's" Charles moved slowly along the wall keeping low to the wall and moving slow enough not to be heard. He had his gun out and ready at his side for if something happened like aggressive survivors. Spotting a van he walked over to it, not seeing @BubbleGumKing or @drewccapp due to how he was on the other side. Peering into the window he sighed and slammed his pistole into the window setting the car alarm off.

Reaching into the shattered glass to grab the door handle and swing it open. Sitting in the drivers seat, the constant wailing of the alarm doing nothing to help the approaching horde that he could now see in the mirrors

There was a moment while she heated the pan on the stove top that Rose debated whether she was better in a group or off on her own. It grew quickly, undoubtedly and brought a common anxiety to an always cautious heart. Lips drew thin, thumbing the pink case of her phone. It wasn't as if she ever stopped thinking.

The Michigander was always pulsing with ideas, able to conduct a compendium of experiments in her mind all at once. They were at an advantage, in a sense. A multitude of different cultures, body types, age ranges. Not that the zombies would take pity on a teenager or any young adult. She'd passed by an elementary not long ago and saw the most disturbing things...

There hadn't been any names given - she wasn't going to be the first. Countless days in the world of customer service had burnt that initial friendliness out of her. Deciding that a meal which took time wasn't the wisest, she shrugged her backpack off slender shoulders, pulled out a less favored pair of jeans and tucked the unopened bags of food retrieved from the pantry inside, "If you have room, grab food from the pantry."

Said jeans were then tied around the backpack tightly, zippers and the few external pockets of the denim bag concealed. Tongue darted over her lips, glossing them with the intent to speak... but the young woman couldn't conjure a wise thing to say. The zombie had made sure of that. Tucked behind the bar, she realized that the 'l'-shape could pin her. The thin gal moved grabbing the still hot pan from its safe handle and a few bottles of liquor.

It wouldn't do much against the zombies, but it helped her feel better than the three inch blade in her pocket. Hearing that there was a mess outside she sighed, knowing that the window in the pantry wasn't big enough for everyone to squeeze through. So out the front Rose went with a bitten, "Ridiculous."

"I don't suppose anyone has a plan?" She ventured admirably, seeing the undead mass heading to them, to the bar. Her voice was soft and elf-like, something you'd hear off of a Broadway musical or a radio show. She flipped the pan in one hand, the liquor wedged tightly between each finger. Three bottles, three shots! Two bottles were set at her feet just as the car alarm went off. The third dropped and shattered, surprised by the car alarm.

Still, she pressed on, setting pan down for a moment. She was clearly testing the waters which brewed and bubbled in that pretty little head of hers. She unzipped her pants for a moment and pulled them down, knife pulled from one of the pockets. She cut her underwear off, unscrewed the cap of the liquor and stuffed it inside. Pants were hauled up again, buttoned. Any comments from the peanut gallery were left to rest. The pan was flipped to face the approaching crowd, a bottle with a thick glass base set before it. In all her years of badminton, tennis, service was an undoubted strongpoint.

"Anyone have a light?" Let's ignite those zombies!

Shane glanced downward at the Glock that the young woman beside him revealed. "Nice," he whispered, flashing a slight smile himself. He'd never fired a handgun in his life, but he was confident that this woman knew what she was doing as he noticed her deftly click off the safety.

"After all...what's the number one rule in Zombieland?" With that display of bravado, the woman was out the door, jogging ahead of him. And before he could move through the door, the waif woman he saw earlier rushed past him as well. Shane grimaced slightly and muttered, “Son of a bitch…” He had hoped to take the lead, using his crutch to push zombies from their path. But he knew that he would only slow them down, anyway, so he settled with covering the rear. He had the feeling he’d be doing this kind of thing a lot…

Upon exiting, he spied someone getting into the van, a military man, by the looks of it. He knew that ‘Zombieland’ and whoever she found were behind the van. If ‘The Colonel’ over there decided to leave, (if he even could) they’d all be wide open. The blaring car alarm certainly wasn’t helping things. His first instinct was to run to the van to get ‘The Colonel’s’ attention, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to make it; he’d only tried running once before, and he not only looked ridiculous doing it, but he didn’t move very quickly. Running was out of the question. Throwing something could be seen as an act of aggression, so that was out, too. He would have to call out to him, drawing attention to both himself and ‘Waif-girl’. He sighed and was about to call out before Waif-girl spoke: ”I don't suppose anyone has a plan?”

He glanced in her direction and saw her removing her pants. He quickly averted his eyes. When you gotta go, you gotta go, he supposed. Holding his free hand in front of his eyes, he replied, ”I’m going to try to get The Colonel’s attention. You can…I dunno…” Before he could think of anything, the girl ask if anyone had a light. Shane ventured a glance back and saw that she was now holding a Molotov cocktail. He shrugged hopelessly, knowing he didn’t have one… ”No, but keep it around. We could use it later.”

He then turned his attention to The Colonel, and tried to shout over the alarm, ”HEY! THERE’RE PEOPLE BEHIND YOU!” He then quickly added, ”LIVING PEOPLE!”