@Love Me Dead

Ved

---

He eyes trailed, gazing off a bit as he rested his sight on the young Korean man standing before him. He wasn't tall, or built impressively, but he clearly knew what he was doing, as his knife was drawn, and a hand at the ready and a crossbow within it's grip. The young man wasn't letting his gaurd down, and that was something that peeked Ved's interest. He had heard the crack in the mans voice, an the wet spots on his shirt betrayed him, he had been crying recently. That, added with the fresh blood on his shirt, indicated that he wasn't too experienced with killing walkers. Lucky Bastard.

You want to talk? Fine, take your hand off the bow, and step within swinging distance."

He commanded lowly, the guy had a look of innocence alright, but it was an "innocent" man that put the bullet in his knee. He took his bat, and in a quick motion, drove the nails of it in the ground a few feet in front of him. It was close enough that if something went down, he could grab it by stretching out, but far enough that he couldn't touch it standing straight up.

"Step one foot away from the bat, and put your knife in the ground next to it. Put us on a level playing field."

Conner sighed softly looked back at the walker on the ground for a moment before letting go of the strap on his bow and dropping his knife on the ground his feet shuffling forward just a bit before he spoke, "I'd rather we just stay away from each other for now." One of his hands reached back rubbing at his neck softly seeming tired, god he looked like he hadn't slept in awhile.

"Any idea where we are? I haven't been too focused on road signs lately." his voice held a slight accent, "My van ran out of gas and I haven't really spoken to anyone since this shit went down." A New York accent maybe? Conner was a bit nervous, sure he liked people but since this all he'd seen quite a few messed up things done by people themselves. In The Big Apple parents would just abandon their kids, pretty fucked up if you asked him.

---

The next series of events happened so fast that Ana failed to keep up with it all. From her own perspective, the man noticed her, one second, and the next he was bringing his gun up. Not knowing what was going to happen, Ana ducked under the dashboard of the police cruiser just as the man's first two shots whistled by. Whatever he was aiming at, he hit something squishy that eventually fell with a muffled Thud!.

While all this was happening, a second shambler managed to catch up to Ana's car and in an event of perhaps sheer unluckiness, the zombie managed to frail just right in its hungered lunge to catch its hand on the backseat's door handle, pop the door open, and as it pulled away, it yanked the door open with it. Greedily, it flung forward and tried crawling towards its tantalizing target. It was stopped dead by a second volley of shots. Ana screamed as her attention had just turned toward her uninvited guest, just in time to see the two bullets pound right into its rotten skull.

In all the excitement, Ana had dropped her sidearm, which was placed delicately on her lap throughout her drive, and lost it when it slide under the pedals of the car. Panicked, Ana remained hunched over as she scrambled to place her own safety net, and bargaining tool, back into her hands before anything or that man came back over. Ana had just managed to grab it and lifted herself back up, so she could peer just over the vehicle's dashboard, hoping to see that the man was still a distance out... But no. She saw him in her peripherals just as she raised her head.

Ana turned to face the man, feeling a bit relieved that he was showing concern for her well being, but she her relief faded as she was now becoming alarmed at the man's tone. "Wh-wha...?" He didn't even give Ana a chance to respond before he brought his weapon up followed by very aggressively asking the same question twice. Ana dropped her gun in the shock, probably for the better, and rose her hands up in a surrender. "N-no no no! I am fine! Healthy! Really!" Ana hastily stumbled over her words, her accent sounded heavy in her panic, rolling her 'r'. "Fucking hell don't shoot me, asshole!"

He watch her movement, her hands went up into the air in an attempt to surrender. 'Thank fucking God' He thought with a visable sigh, shoulders relaxing. It wasn't until he heard her speak did he cock his head to the side away from his sights with an inquisitive look facing her. He lowered his rifle so the sling would hold his gun in front of him. His look turned to a strain as he seemed to be thinking with his head down before looking back up at her. "Bespokoystvo net. Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta." It was broken Russian, she would be able to tell. But his hope was to at least get a ride out of the area. His eyes went wide as he heard the sound of multiple growls and other similar sounds approaching from behind him. He turned to see more than a dozen walkers approaching. Must've been from the horn. His head snapped back over to her. Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta? Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta!? Dver' narushen-Fucking unlock the passenger door!" He struggled and stumbled over the words until he said 'Fuck it' and just blurted out what he wanted as he moved around the other side of the car, rifle at the ready. Each shell from the chamber equaled another walker neutralized, mostly thanks to his training.

He would try to open the door. If it was already unlocked he would quickly throw his bag into the car and enter, quickly slamming the door closed behind him and following up quickly with pushing her back in her seat while he would lean forward rifle up, firing away through the driver side window as he would yell "Vpered vpered vpered!"

If the door was locked he would knock on the window rapidly as he would watch them move in, putting a round into them. "Hurry uuuuup." He would half yell in an attempt to have her move faster. However once the door was unlocked, he would throw the bag into the car, and then hop in, closing the door behind him. He would then smash the passenger window out, clearing the glass away from it before leaning out of it, his ass sitting where the window was, his rifle up and firing away at the walkers. He would slam his hand on the top of the roof several times yelling "Vpered vpered vpered!"

Desmond Williams

The door to the residence opened, the lady inside stepping back to allow entrance, and Desmond exhaled a sigh of relief. He realized then that he had been holding it the whole time, anxiously waiting to hear the instantaneous, deadly pop of a bullet going into his body. It hadn't come, yet at least. The woman seemed less-than-friendly to him, but in the world they lived in, that was to be expected. Anything less than utterly hostile left an opening for cooperation. With a gracious nod, Desmond entered through the open door, and turned to face his host.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk more along the lines of the lay of the land," he replied, his eyes occasionally making sweeps around the seemingly otherwise-deserted house. "I just rolled into town, and the place seems relatively safe from what I've seen. Do you know anything about the area that you'd be willing to share with me?"

It was a long shot -- most survivors he'd encountered on the road from New York weren't nearly gracious enough to even invite him into their homes, never mind helping to orient him with his new surroundings and give a breakdown of the area. But at the least, it showed her that he was just another survivor. Though the two looked quite dissimilar in attire, both faces wore the weary expression of one whose future was uncertain. Now closer, he could see her face more clearly: a sort of tough-pretty, with a short mess of blonde hair and a pair of aviators covering her eyes, though -- eerily -- he could still feel her stare.

"Is this your place?" He asked, already knowing the answer. The house looked untouched, unlived -- as if the family had gone away for a simple vacation, and would return shortly. The woman did not appear at home there, Desmond could tell from her body language. And anyone with a brain would have at least begun the process of fortifying by then, and this lady most certainly seemed to have a semblance of intelligence.

Mr Taggart was for quite some time contented to live-out what days he had left at a deserted country-club in Wilmington's suburbs with little more than an emergency-radio and a stray-cat for company. Nearby was Brandywine-creek, which was important for some event that happened over a hundred years ago on September 11th, marking the single largest battle of the American revolution. The Americans lost, but remained unbroken in defeat.

He knew this tyrannical rule of undead would not go away quietly, there was no "waiting this out until more qualified people arrived". All the self-proclaimed experts were dead now. That just left what made America so great, winter-soldiers with a resolve to keep moving forwards at whatever the cost.

Yet here he was, not doing that.

A small thing nibbled at his hand and meowed. It was a striped tabby he'd found when traveling through Cleveland, and made for probably the best motivational alarm-clocks a person could ask for as it nuzzled his hand. The feline was hungry, again.

After mentally checking his bag, it turned-up bereft of canned-goods or even dry cat-food. Although he could feed it a quarter-stick of butter or something, it was better to save that for yourself.

Aching as he stood, he loaded-up his gear and prepared to make the short walk into Wilmington. On second thought... best take a golf-cart...

The Chevrolet Caprice sputtered and came to a halt on the side of the road, it's driver cursing his head off. "Fuckin' cocksucking piece of fuckin' shit, you fuckin' kidding me?" He slammed his fist off of the steering wheel and took a second to observe his surroundings. Michael picked the pistol up off of his lap and pulled the slide back, just enough to see the .45 caliber round nestled in the chamber. He grabbed his bag off of the passenger seat and clambered out of the vehicle, surveying his surroundings while slinging it over his shoulders.

He eyed a marked police cruiser that was victim of a recent crash and approached it with his pistol drawn. "Please, help me." The driver, clad in the uniform of a Wilmington Police Department officer. "Give me a second, alright? I'll get you outta here, pal." He leveled the barrel of the gun with the side of the police officer's head and pulled the trigger, ending his life. "Sorry pal." Michael spoke to the recently deceased as he reached inside and pulled his Glock 17 and extra magazines out of their respective holsters and pouches.

"What the fuck are you doing? I heard a fuckin' gun shot!" Michael turned to the voice of another man and found him to be also clad in a policeman's uniform. "Sorry dog, your boy turned. Put him out of his misery." The policeman's face dropped and he lowered his shotgun, approaching the driver side of the car. "Fuck. The kid was just out of the academy a few months ago." The policeman leaned in to the vehicle for one last look at his partner and felt the cold steel of the M1911's barrel against his temple. "Sorry chief." Another gun shot echoed in the night.

Jazileena Felix

Bang! Bang!

Jazileena's mind raced as she heard a couple of gunshots, at this point she didn't care whom she found as long as it was someone alive. Turning down a road towards where she thought the sound had come from her eyes scanned around looking for any sign of the living her brain clouded with thoughts before she hit a walker the thing flying out of the way. Her foot hit down on the brake hard giving off a screech as she tried to keep her calm so to speak. These things were heading towards the sound, hopefully she could get this person out of there in time.

Jazileena started moving once again one of her fingers pressed down on the button rolling down her window as she approached the scene, a bit careless she didn't care to take in account when had just happened only that those dead fuckers were coming. She huffed out the window at this man she saw, "Are you insane? Get in the car before you're a human happy meal!" Jazileena was overjoyed to see another living person and in her current state didn't care to take in account the two dead policemen on the ground. Her own car stated Boston Police and her outfit suggested she was an officer. She spoke again, "Get in the car before I leave you." Fucking white people, she thought to herself not out of racism more so just because she was in a panic.

He eyed the lady in the Boston PD cruiser and shuddered. "Alright, give me a second kid." Michael spoke with a thick Bostonian accent, typical of a white Irish kid from the projects. He scooped the Mossberg 590 off of the ground near the deceased WPD officer and clambered in to the passenger side of the Boston PD cruiser. "Two days after posting bail and I'm riding with Boston's finest. First time I've ever been in the front of a cruiser. What's ya name sweetheart? I'm Mike. Mike Coughlan." His eyes wandered from the police woman's facial features down to her body and eventually back up to her face.

A sly smirk was plastered on his face for the duration of the ride.

@Trooper

Jazileena Felix

She took a deep breath being silent for a moment just watching the road once she started driving. With one hand she moved the little backpack from her lap and threw it in back before sounding, happy? "Jazileena Felix," the woman had been on the news a few times for some of her work in domestics, "I'm not "kid" or "Sweetheart" It's been days since I've seen anyone who wasn't going to rip a chunk of flesh off my arm, boy am I glad to see someone alive."

The dark, deep mocha colored woman was pretty that was for sure although she didn't have barely anything for a chest she made up for it in her muscles, her arms showed off that she sure wasn't any donut cop, "Two questions: Are you insane shooting off a gun around these dead fuckers and Where are you headed?" She didn't care about keeping her langue in check anymore, she sure wasn't going to be going back to work anytime soon.

As the groaning sound was closer and closer. Slava bogu, eta devushka slushala menya., Andrey's stress emotions began to calm down as the Welsh girl listened to him. Andrey stared at the Welsh girl for a second, he was going to 'dis-aim' infront of the girl's face but suddenly...the girl pepper sprayed him in the eyes. Andrey made a mistake by aiming his Makarov pistol to the girl's face due to her overcoming fear.

Andrey shouted as his eyes were burned. "CYYYKKA BLYAAAT!" the ghouls heard and walking towards the destination of where the sound was heard. "Stupid...girl!", he coughed and he itched. He continuously shouting which attracted the ghouls, luckily he accidentally rolled down on the hill, he was almost blinded but a minutes later he can quickly see as the ghouls were almost near him, he quickly crawled backward, grab the pistol, and starts shooting at the ghouls.

Now, it was nighttime, Andrey went to hell in that situation, he got pepper sprayed by a Welsh girl and he got almost killed by a group of ghouls. Ya ne mogu poverit', chto devushka perets raspylyayetsya menya. Chert voz'mi!, he was really angry at that girl but Andrey did a mistake by aiming his gun at her face, apparently he saw the smoke which convinces him to go there, after that, he saw the girl who pepper sprayed him earlier which he was hiding in the bushes Eto ta devushka snova.., he observe him for a minute, minutes later; he saw a three weak ghouls walking towards to her and then he walks out to the bush walking towards the girl and shoots three ghouls in the head, as they fell down, he blows the smoke that comes out in the hole of his Makarov pistol, he looked at the girl; a bit angrily. "You pepper sprayed me earlier and I saved your damn life from those creatures, kid." he said; having a thick Russian accent. He again points his gun to the girl very seriously, "Now, are you infected; just a simple answer, is it yes or nyet?" he said; waiting for her response. @Caramelcorn

He eyed the policewoman and shrugged his shoulders. "I was gonna try to make my way back to Boston, but that ain't gonna happen. Not with my car fucked. As for the shooting? It had to be done." He looked out the window as he told the lie, knowing very well that what he did was something that was completely unnecessary. "You know, before all of this shit happened. I wouldn't of been caught dead in the front seat of Boston PD cruiser. If one of my colleagues saw me here? You'd find me in the trunk of a car on Em street, two in the chest, one in the head. That oughta give you the idea of where I'm headed. Back home, to Southie. See if my folks are still around. I doubt they are, but I ain't ready to give up on my ma and my brothers. Family's the only thing I've ever had in this world."

He closed his eyes and let a memory flood his vision. It's October 31st, 2014. Halloween. The order had gotten past down from the boss, Seamus Connelly. Jackie Fitzpatrick from Magnolia street had to go. They put the hit on Mike Coughlan, an opportunity to make his bones and get in with the upper echelon of the organization. Mike dressed up with one of those old Scream horror movie masks, a black hoody, black sweatpants and black sneakers, with plastic bags tied over them. He wore a pair of black leather gloves and carried a suppressed Glock 19 handgun. He knocked on Jackie's door three times and when he answered, Mike spoke three words. "Trick or treat." Before shooting Jackie execution style with the suppressed Glock. Coroners dug a total of thirteen slugs out of Jackie's face and chest and the Boston Police Department lost it's star criminal informant. Michael's clothes were burned, the pistol was dismantled, encased in cement and dropped in to the ocean, from a fishing boat three miles off the coast and Michael earned his name as a competent hitter and enforcer for the Connelly crime syndicate.

@Love Me Dead

@Trooper

Jazileena Felix

The woman rolled her eyes a bit, "None of it matters anymore, Boston is gone, the world is fucked." She seemed to shiver as the thought of her daughter crept into her mind before she spoke lowly, "My little girl is gone and my boyfriend better hope I never find him, well ex-boyfriend. Those dead things better find him before I do." She seemed quite serious swerving a bit so she didn't hit a walker in the road fingers tapping at the wheel in her own nervous habit.

"I'll drive you if you really want to go back it's not like I have anywhere to go anymore, but you're gonna end up dead." she looked over at him for a moment before reaching up moving hair out of her face.

Coughlan lit the end of a Lucky Strike cigarette and exhaled out through the window. "You driving me will get us both killed. I know my folks are gone. There's no use in going back." He looked across at the police officer. "What happened to your little girl?" It's not often that Michael Coughlan feels compassion for another human being, but this lady stopped to pick him up and he couldn't really help himself.

"I ain't gonna sit here and lie and say that I trust you. I don't, not yet. But I'm willing to help you out, since you were so kind as to help me out back on the road." Michael took another long drag and exhaled through his nostrils. "And to top it all off? You're looking past what I did before everything went to shit, same way I'm looking past your former occupation."

@Love Me Dead

There was a strange silence for a moment before she muttered out, "Her father abandoned her to get away from these, things. If I would've gotten home just a little earlier...." Her voice trailed off as she choked back some emotion gripping tightly onto the wheel looking out her window as the pretty view they had now since they had made it out of the city, "I don't know where I'm going anymore, not that it matters all too much. I don't think the world is going to go back to normal anytime soon, we need to get used to it."

Her expression turned into a frown as she pushed hair behind her ear once again just watchign the empty road every once in awhile passing a car or a truck. She slowed when she saw a person but kept going when it was apparent they were holding a bite on their arm, "Poor guy."

Gabel Wester

Gabel smiled at one of the walkers outside, she was naked and Gabel as most children found it funny giggling at the woman wondering how the monsters go to her as she watched the dumb thing wander down the street slowly it's foot bending in an unnatural way. Hands went to her ears as the noise downstairs grew a bit louder, oh what was she going to do about the thing on the porch?

Deciding it was best to get rid of the thing Gabel's barefeet padded softly down the steps pasting the entryway and kitchen to get to the living room. She sat by the empty fireplace for awhile just hands over her ears trying to ignore the goul outside. She thought about the gun her father had locked up for a moment but that would just bring more, she knew how this worked because of her father. He would scratch at the bathroom door when she was being too noisy, before long she got an idea.

Picking up the fire poker she made her way slowly into the entryway, the dead thing having trouble pushing up against the window it had chosen due to the big boxed up tv they had set outside before this all started. It seemed to really want to get inside though due to it's constant struggle. Lucky for her the windows there were too small for it to get in even if it broke the glass.

She unlatched the window putting a hand on the bottom ready to open it as she held up the heavy poker thinking to herself, the head right? Is that what dad said? She quickly opened the window and took both hands pushing the poker into it's eye socket. The little girl now felt like she was going to be sick having ripping through the screen in the window. She just kept pushing as hard as she could which honestly wasn't much but the thing kept struggling trying to get to her. Suddenly she heard a sickening sound like something in it's head snapped. It stopped moving and slouched over, unable to hold the thin she fell on her butt, the dead geek fell over the box no longer moving leaving Gabel with two feelings, pride and fear.

She unlocked the door and opened it stepping out onto her porch for the first time since her dad had gotten bitten. Clutching at her dress the young girl looked terrified squeaking out softly, "I'm sorry."

Desmond Williams

"So we're both from the city, then," he gave a faded smile, knowing that there was a world of difference between Brooklyn and his luxury suite in Manhattan. For starters, he didn't go to sleep every night to the sound of a gunshot or sirens. But, now it all didn't matter. Wall Street was a bastion for the dead and dying, Broadway had long been abandoned to its fate, and Times Square was hell incarnate. Wealth no longer mattered, and the hedge fund managers and the venture capitalists all rotted away with the retail workers and the petty thieves. Desmond would never go back.

The woman mentioned pairing up, which caught Desmond off guard. The thought hadn't even entered his mind, and he had been traveling alone since his safehouse had been attacked and everyone inside killed. Everyone except him, he figured. He had always been a loner, the apocalypse didn't change that. But he was in an unfamiliar and hostile environment, and he could use someone who had his back. Desmond still didn't know if he could trust her -- still didn't even know her name, but for whatever strange gut rationalization, he was okay with that. The former lawyer nodded, slowly and decisively.
"I've got your back if you've got mine," he offered, before giving a sharp glance upward toward the origin of the groan. Desmond checked the box magazine that was still in his right hand, before sliding it back into his gun.
"Speaking of, it sounds like something requires our attention upstairs."

Douglas Knowles

Two men, clad in the uniforms of Wilmington's finest, stood atop a roof in downtown, as one lit the other's cigarette, and the other put the pack of Parliaments delicately into his back pocket. It could have been a normal afternoon. Except that their uniforms were ragged, and for the fatigue in their eyes, and for the occasional groan of a corpse shuffling aimlessly down the streets which they once called home. Blowing the first puff of smoke out past the edge of the roof, Ron Bulinski took the cigarette out of his mouth and tore his gaze away from the clouds and back to his friend.
"Thanks, Doug."
"Don't worry about it, Ron," Officer Douglas Knowles put his lighter away and rested his hands in his pockets. Ron had been Doug's partner on the force for years, and he knew that smoking always de-stressed him. Doug, on the other hand, had quit when the dead started walking. He figured that enough things were trying to kill him, he didn't need to add to the list. But with the stress of the past day, he wished he had an outlet like Ron did.

"It could be that they found some survivors out there, and had to help them out before bringing them back or reporting in?" Ron suggested, but he had no faith in his theory. Neither did Doug.
"Why wouldn't they radio that in, then? I mean, goddamn Ron, they've been gone almost a whole day. They knew the rules: patrol for up to three hours, check in, go back out. Plus, Bill would never take the rookie out for a prolonged scavenging run, he knows better. Where the hell could they have gone?"
Ron sighed. "I don't know. I'm worried, too."

The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, before a shorter, unassuming lady in her late forties came up to the roof with excitement in her eyes.
"Ron, Doug!" She called from across the rooftop.
"What's up, Patty? Did you figure it out?" Doug called back. The lady, Patty, wasn't a cop -- just a survivor they had found holed out in the office building they now called their safehouse. She had been with them ever since they'd arrived. The two officers followed the lady dowm the stairs and into the third floor of their safehouse, where another man, Omar, was turning dials on an older piece of machinery connected by numerous wires and cords to their generator. It was a radio transmitter: they'd had it, broken, from the beginning, but couldn't figure out how to fix it. But Patty had done it. Ron and Doug looked at each other, and then back at the transmitter, before Doug walked over, picked up the mic, and had Omar press 'Record'. Doug cleared his throat.
"To anyone out there who may be lost, or hopeless, or broken, there is a safe place in Wilmington. We have barricades, and food, and weapons, and space for anyone willing to come. Together, we can overcome this. We're located downtown, on 8th Street. You'll see the signs. Stay safe." A few glances went around the room. That was either their saving grace, or their last mistake.

---

Ana hoped to say that she felt relieved when the man lowered his gun, but with one crisis averted, they had an entirely new one to deal with. It took only one worried glance around the proximity to realize that every zombie, within their auditory abilities, were all tracking down the irregular sound of a car horn. Panic was slowly creeping in but Ana did her best to remain collected.

Right... Don't panic. Unlock the door. Drive away. We will be fine.

Ana preached this internally, over and over again. It was something she always did right before opening night. This was no different, it was just a dance. It took every bit of reaching possible for the short ballet dancer but she managed to flick the interior door lock for the passenger door. It wasn't until now that she realized that the man was calling out in Ana's native tongue, absolutely butchering the pronunciation and vocabulary.

Fuck! Just speak to me in English! Ana yelled at the man as he swung open the passenger door and slipped into the seat.

Okay... Just drive. Drive and we wi-!!!!

Ana was in the process of leaning forward and shifting her vehicle into park when the man flung her back into her seat. For a moment, Ana worried that this was the end. That somehow, letting this man into Ana's really only home left had been a huge mistake.

"`tchyo za ga`lima?! What the fuck?!" Ana screamed after her ears began ringing from the man's suppressed rifle. It was nothing like the movies and confined in such a small place, the sound really reverberated inside. Plus, the muzzle was right in front of her. What the fuck was this guy? After a few shots, Ana heard her window shatter and now the barrier in which Ana had felt so securely about before, was gone. Cold air rushed in and Ana felt the breeze tickle her neck as it dried the thick sweat from her panic.

Enough was enough. "Po'shyol 'na hui! Ana really strained her throat as she yelled yet another curse, this time directed at the man. That wasn't the only thing she directed at him, her fist flew out and collided with the bridge of the man's nose. She pushed the man's weapon up sprung into a fury to start her car. The car revved into life and Ana slammed her foot on the pedal. The car roared to life, squealing the vehicle's tires, before accelerating. Several encroaching bodies of the recently deceased were smashed by the front bumper and treated as speed bumps as the car rolled over each of the Undead, all the while Ana had never ceased her Russian cursing fervor. Most were very nasty comments about a particular individual but some things were best left unwritten.

--

Some odd number of minutes would pass before Ana would cool down, relishing the silence after such a taxing event. There wasn't much to say and while it was nice to have company again, she certainly wasn't sure about this Piz'da after all that had transpired. Thankfully, she wasn't going to be alone with this lunatic for much longer. The police radio buzzed to life, something that hadn't happen since the very early days of the outbreak, and a voice on the other end made a promise for everything that Ana wanted to hear. After its conclusion, Ana remained silent for a moment, pondering what to do."What do you think?" She finally spoke to her comrade, but not really waiting for a response she quickly picked up the car's mic and responded. "Aay, I hear you Wilmington." Then a thought occurred to her. "Where the fuck is Wilmington?" She said aloud.

@Love Me Dead



After successfully getting out of Miami together with his precious black 1970 Chevelle SS, Patrick has been on the road ever since. Sleeping in his car, scavenging from dead people or gas stations and ocassionally finding comfort in drawing. That's how his life could be resumed ever since this whole catastrophe started. He met a couple of alive people that begged for his help or for a ride with him but he preffered not to take that chance and stay alone. He thought it was better that way. It was just he with himself and without anyone to slow him down or get in his way. He was now in the state of Delaware somewhere in the North, in a small town called Bear, with a population of only 17 000 and a half people.

Patrick decided to leave his car somewhere safe outside of town, as he went in for some scavenging. That was three hours ago. He was now in a nice little neibourghood with houses lined on each side of the street. Unfortunately for him there were walkers on the main street and in some of the houses too. He didn't find nothing of use yet as he tried to enter four houses already but all had walkers in them so he decided not to take the chance. With his right hand having a firm grip on his kukri, Patrick was walking around as stealthily as he could from the back of a house to another trying to find some place with no walkers in it.

He finally found a house that seemed promising as he looked inside from window to window. There were some walkers out in the front but all in all the place was okay. As he checked the windows, they all seemed locked, with the exception of the one from the kitchen. Patrick slowly and carefully opened it as he climbed inside without making a sound. Closing the window behind him, Patrick heads straight to the fridge as he opens it with a look of pleasure on his face. Food, finally some food. After days of eating mushrooms and hunting wild animals, Patrick finally found some food as he grabs an orange and sinks his teeth in it without even bothering to peel the skin off. As he sit on a stool, eating the orange, Patrick heard the sound of a child coming from outside, it seemed like a little girl. After hearing the phrase "I'm sorry!", Patrick pulled out his revolver aiming it forward and with slow steps getting out of the kitchen, heading to where the voice came.