The cold winter air bit through Abigail's protective clothing as if she were standing naked before it. The season hadn't quite turned over to spring yet, and though she was looking forward to a warm, sunny afternoon, she had resigned herself to the frosty bite in the air. Abby had always wanted to see Washington, a dream that had nestled itself inside her long ago. Though, in particular, she had hoped it would have been under different circumstances. Given the state of the world, she didn't see much holding her back. That particular thought brought up vivid memories that made her cringe as they struck a deep cord in her heart, one that resounded throughout her body in a sorrow so deep she felt she would break. As if on cue, the wind picked up at that moment rising from a quiet whisper into an eerie howl of longing. One she felt in her bones, a longing that threatened to destroy her. She was no stranger to this feeling, in fact, she and it were acquainted long ago. She set her mouth in a grim line of determination, shrugged her thick, fuzzy black jacket hemmed with man made fur around the collar and looked up across the shore before her.

A wave rolled in gently, crashing across the pale sand as she watched a team of people unload the S.S. Pierra, the yacht sized sailboat she had come in upon. She had caught a ride down in northern California two days ago and sailed up the coast with them, slowly taking in the world around them as it turned over new chapters of chaos and terror. Worst of all was the uncertainty. The uncertainty of not knowing if that woman pushing a stroller along a pier survived after throwing herself, and the stroller, into the frigid waves breaking upon a standing of rocks beneath the pier. Not knowing if the squadron of transport helicopters heading into a coastal town was there for aid, or to purge. Or even the fate of a ghostly cruise liner, soaring over them quietly and giving off an ominous feeling. Not a soul a stirred inside. Nobody had leaned over the railing to pass along news. No sounds of engines, no yelling. They stood, lined up along the highest deck of the boat in a line, watching the ghost ship slowly drift past them, so close Abigail felt she could reach out and touch it. They had watched it, for a time, until it slowly disappeared into a haze of fog rolling off the sea in the early morning hours. Nobody knew how bad it was, but since the ghost ship, Abby had no doubts in her mind. This was how humanity died, this was the final chapter in a book of mistakes.

One of the men let out an unnerving yell, shattering the thoughts Abby was lost in. She turned and saw him lying on the ground, a burly man with short and curly black hair. A long wooden box stamped with United States Navy was lying on his leg. She winced in sympathy as the ant hive of workers frenzied to help him. She pursued her lips, debating what to do. It wasn't like she exactly hated other people, and she had even managed to enjoy a few conversations with her impromptu companions. Before she could make up her mind, the box was set aside and the man was limping away, assisted by two other rather large fellows. Still, that didn't keep her from walking over.

"Ahoy babe," A man yelled out upon seeing her approach. Gregard Alstein, a wide shouldered lithe man of nothing but box hoisting muscle coupled with a thick German accent, though he considered himself "All-American". He ruffled his dirty blonde curls, hopping from the deck and landing in the sand with a dusty thud.

"You flirting with the men again?" She said sarcastically, quirking an only half amused eyebrow at him.

He let out a hearty chuckle and winkled at her, "Free love baby, free love."

"Everything has a price, and you couldn't afford mine," She retorted, feeling her mood loosen up just a bit. A tiny bit. Gregard was one of the more tolerable people, though he was a walking flirt with the body of an Olympian.

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, "C'mon babe, last chance to ruffle the sheets with a man of my stature." The last bit came out with a seductive drawl and a handful of eyebrow waggles. Though he was technically correct, he and the S.S Pierra would be sailing back down south to see if he could help anybody out of the red zones. California was especially bad, the military pressure there was trying to hold on and apparently had an Acme warehouse of explosives.

"I'm afraid I must decline, I am not worthy oh majestic Poseidon of the Seas," Her voice was thick with sarcasm, and only slightly masking how appalling she thought the idea was. For a man who sailed the oceans, he smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks. It had been a few days herself, but for humanity's sake a breath mint would definitely help him out. She laughed at the thought, as if a breath mint was the answer to humanity's current problems. His face changed immediately into a look of concern and he started walking towards her, one hand up as if to hold her steady and keep her sanity from escaping her. She turned away, taking a half step back and he stopped in his tracks.

He didn't miss a beat, "You sure know how to flatter a man m'lady," He beamed a sly smile at her and shot her another wink.

A woman from Latin decent snaked around from behind Gregard, holding a large black hiking pack, "This yours?"

Abby nodded, and a moment later her shoulders were laden with the weight of it. "Oi vey, did Greggie ever say thank you?" The woman asked, shooting him a look so venomous Gregard actually lost his composure.

"Hey hey hey! Man's got a pilot a ship, I forget things sometimes," He explained, his hands up this time in surrender, "But thank you love, however can I repay you?" He didn't miss a beat.

"Thought that was to pay my way up here, consider the debt settled Greggie," She chuckled at the pet name. The latin woman was Serena, one of his lovers who stuck around to sail with him.

"I mean,-" He started, but a solid thwack on his shoulder from Serena made him pause. She had a knack for getting under his skin and breaking his obnoxious flirtations.

"Give the woman a break, it's going to be a long day for her and you don't need to hold her up with your incessant dawdling."

Gregard smiled sheepishly, giving Abby a "What-can-you-do" shrug. "Thanks for everything, both of you," Abigail said. She wouldn't forget the hell they pulled her out of in California, and it wasn't a debt she felt she had properly repaid, but a few tune ups on the S.S Pierra had about all she could afford to give. She shook Gregard's hand, and gave Serena a hug: She was a hugger but Abby was more reserved, still, it was the least she could do to bite her own tongue and give the woman a simple comfort.

A handful a moments later, and a few more goodbyes to the people she didn't dislike so much, and she was headed off towards the sprawling city densely packed with buildings. She was on the Seattle side of the bay, for a practical reason that had pretty much been a general consensus among the passengers who were now heading off in every direction; There were more places to hide. A residential area like Port Orchard or Bremerton had more homes and parks, meaning the ghouls that actually wandered, or god forbid a pack of stalkers, would have a higher chance of finding the survivors. One of the main things done back on the boat as the sailed up the coastline was a lot of information swapping. Abigail had come across a handful of strange things; A building overrun with vines and odd flowers that turned and followed her as she walked past, A bird with an extra set of wings layered upon those already normally there, and a ghoul sporting the body twice the size of a professional football player watching her from the darkened window of a house.

She had heard at least a hundred stories, and all of them were filled with fear and loss. One man in particular had shared the story of Stalkers, as they sat huddled around a portable, electric stove and a fresh pot of coffee so dark it might have been made with swamp water. "They creep along all fours.." he had started, his hands weaving a picture in their heads as he spoke, "..along the walls and the ceiling, like spiders. But they're smart, way smarter than the others, they hunt you, they smell your fear and they find you. Sometimes in packs, sometimes alone, but even one is enough to kill you and all your friends. They waited, two of them, until we bedded down for t'eh night. I barely got out alive as they busied themselves feasting on my friends." The mood had become quite somber after that, causing Abigail to leave the conversation and stand against the railing, staring at the dark waters of the ocean in the night.

The beach quickly gave way to a set of concrete steps, leading up to a wooden walk partially suspended over the slope of the earth down to the shore. The throaty caw of a seagull sounded overhead as Abby crested the stairs up to the edge of the city. "Sup Steven," she murmured, looking around her. Before her was a small roundabout for cars, a bus shop, lots of piers connected to the walk, and a handful of small shops; restaurants, storefronts, and a library. She focused on the library for a second, feeling a wave of dread washing over her spine. Some part of her really wanted to loot it for a couple of good books to pass the time and take her mind away from the harsh realities of each and everyday that the past eleven days had been. The other part of her was quite suspicious about the smashed in, automatic sliding doors, and the large swathe of blood coating the entrance like a red carpet ushering her to her death. She felt she could almost see them moving inside, every dark patch of shadow could be one of them, every overturned chair or desk. She walked past slowly, even though she knew they never ventured out into sunlight, some part of her was fearful and that fear wove its icy tendrils tightly around her heart.

It wasn't until she was a block away that she started to relax, somewhat. Most of the storefronts and places here looked rather well off, some signs of human destruction and looting here and there but for the most part she didn't feel such unease about this area. Even better than that, the sun was just cresting the mountains and there was enough light cast down from the gloomy gray sky to light up the shops on one side of the street enough for her to look into. Most ghouls stuck to their herd, it wasn't very often you found fewer than a handful of them, at least as far as she was concerned. Then again, she had done her best to avoid them entirely. She walked slowly, losing herself to observing each and every window she walked past carefully, closely examining the area within. For a moment she felt the stirrings of a song rising up within her, and it wasn't until a moment later she caught herself humming a tune, but the moment passed as she found herself outside of a particularly eye-catching shop.

"St. Vincent De Paul"

It was a clothing store with one large, intact window, and a single door with a little bell on it. It was a wide, squat building white washed to perfection and lit enough inside that she felt rather good about going in. It would be good to get warmer clothes than a slightly furry jacket and a pair of ripped jeans. Still, she had watched enough "Walking Dead" to be smarter than that. She walked over to the door and opened it slightly, before giving it a serious of shakes that set the small bell off like a rambunctious Disney character. After amount a minute of or so of that, and nothing stirring inside, she felt it was time for a change in apparel.

The shop looked pretty similar from the outside, as it did inside. It was wide, and squat with no extra walls, and walls painted a fluorescent white. Rows of racks full of donated clothing ringed the center counter area, and a handful of dressing rooms lined one wall. She walked around cautiously, checking the corners and darker spaces with one hand resting on the sawed off slung over her shoulder. It seemed clear enough, though the pale gray light filtering in through the windows still gave the place a creepy air about it, she was worried about weather exposure. Not that she didn't enjoy browsing clothes as much as the next gal, she understood that in this new world, as cold could be as deadly as a bite.

It was about two hours later when she finally decided on an outfit. Something practical, but still cute, and she had even managed to have a little fun browsing the clothes. She gave a small twirl in front of a standing mirror, sending the cowl of her hoodie flopping backwards. The inside of this new covering was lined with a sheep mimicking cotton that was super warm and cozy. She angled herself to look at her side, and couldn't help but be a little girly and look at her butt; a pair of jeans faded blue jeans with only a few styled tears in the knees, and a small amount of black peeking through from the sweat pants she had layered underneath. Satisfied, she bent to finish buckling up her shoes, trading the ratty, worn sneakers with rubber bottoms that seemed partially melted for shin high combat boots with four aesthetic buckles on each that fit snugly over her white wool socks. They seemed like something straight from somebody's goth days in high school. As she turned to leave to looked over the area with scarves and hats once more, and decided to add a gray beanie and leather biker gloves.

She was feeling pretty toasty in the abandoned building as she turned to leave, before she eyed what seemed to be a door leading to another room in the clothing store, marked "Employees Only". Some parts of her hadn't died, and she wondered what never got put out onto the shelves. Better yet, there was the chance that somebody had left a lunch containing a non-perishable item, or some water. Finding even a single can of food had been a huge win in her book since this began.

It wasn't worth it.

She let out a slight pout as she turned to go back towards the street. She wasn't going to risk her life for the temptation of a can of Pork 'N Beans, or a prettier beanie, and chance running into a swarm of ghouls. They weren't noisy to begin with, unless chasing you, and she would never know if there was a pack of them back there or not. The bell chimed as she found herself back on the street, the sun was a little higher and the shrill cry of the wind heralded the approach of a coming storm. The thick, dark gray clouds rolled over themselves as they made way for the city at a steady pace. Abigail was no weather expert, but without a tent and bedroll, she would have to find somewhere by tonight, maybe earlier, or risk dying out in the cold. Wet, and alone: Yea, that was exactly how she wanted to go. As if reading her thoughts, somewhere off in the distance a gunshot cracked, followed by a chorus of screams and panicked shouts.

She turned the opposite direction, and continued on.

_{9:17 a.m}

Complete and utter silence was what filled the woman's ears and she couldn't see anything but a blurred image. Something spun above her, hardly visible in the darkness of the room and through the fog of her vision. Even then, she couldn't even be sure if she was looking up, her body felt heavy, despite a rather horrifying feeling of every fluid in her body pumping like an electrical current, slowly waking her inside. Her mind a blank, she couldn't think of anything more than a few words at a time; words that sounded so different from one another in her mind's ear and she didn't even understand their meaning. Slowly, her vision cleared and she could make out the shape of a ceiling fan. She was surprised she knew what it was. She couldn't feel a thing on the outside, but for some reason, the spinning thing above her made her heart pump twice as fast and her eyes eventually closed again, drifting back into sleep.


Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk...
Through the sound dampening of the cockpit of the AH-64M Super Apache, even the sound of the powerful shots from the M230 chain gun mounted on the helicopter was reduced to nothing more than intense vibrations and sounds similar to that of punching a mattress. Over the last week, with thousands upon thousands of shells fired from the cannon, the sound had become routine, as had the action of tracking anyone marked with a red square. That's all the people had become to her, even if at first, some looked like regular people and others like savages. In order to keep herself from going insane, Zornitsa had days ago changed the default view through her HUD to infrared sighting with IFF marking. Friendlies were marked with green circles, non-targets with blue triangles (which were becoming increasingly rare as the days went by) and enemies with red squares, a shape that was rapidly becoming the most common. In the end, no matter what she was shooting at, it had all become shapes and colors to her, human forms were hardly distinquishable anymore, especially as the infrared view became increasingly blurred from new fires in the streets. As usual, her and her pilot's mission ended when either the streets she had been assigned to were empty of red squares, when the ground troops deemed their efforts good enough, or when they ran out of ammunition. The only pause to the constant fire erupting from the muzzle of the gun was when they had to pause to let the barrel cool. They had to fly low in order to minimize risk of hitting any friendlies with their gunfire and Zornitsa remarked that every time she let go of the trigger, more red squares flowed in as if the streets were the inside of a flooding ship and the red squares were water, in the few minutes she ceased fire.

Today, though, something seemed different. With about three hundred shells left, she received the warning from "Bitching Betty" to cease fire to allow the barrel to cool. Zornitsa pulled her hand off the stick and pulled her face away from the targeting view. Closing her eyes for a moment to relax and cracking her knuckles, she immediately a very bad feeling creep through her. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to find the streets empty. She felt her mouth go a bit agape and she leaned in to look through the HUD, finding not a single shape in the view except for a few remaining red squares. Even the handful of blue triangles were gone. The pilot of their helicopter looked as surprised as she was.

"Ground team, this is Venom One-Two, we've lost visual on most of the targets. Any of you see where they went, over?" She hailed the ground team for the first time since arriving for the day's work, with a worried voice. Looking through the camera, it seemed the troops on the ground had stopped firing as well and were instead looking around at the sides of the streets.

"'ffirmative, Venom, we saw the targets get outta the streets and haul ass into the alleys. Looks like they're runnin' scared!" A man with a southern accent that Zornitsa had become all too familiar with responded and she felt her gut tighten. "Why don't you head on home and we'll clean up the rest, over?" Even though she had a very firm gut feeling telling her not to, Zornitsa agreed shortly after her pilot insisted. Obviously, the guy was tired, after all, he was the one who had to look at the streets without anything to hide the scene. She flipped the safety on the gun on and felt the helicopter begin to turn around...

SMASH

Even through the armor of the cockpit, Zornitsa felt herself shaken slightly when a rock smashed against the side of the cockpit. The helicopter immediately stopped turning and the pilot yelled at his co-pilot to look for targets. Zornitsa shook off her surprise and leaned in to look through the HUD. Craning the camera around, she couldn't find any red squares- there, right to the side of the helicopter, on the roof of a building that had miraculously survived the shelling from the tanks and choppers, was a massive group of blue triangles. For the first time in days, she frantically turned off the infrared view and she was met with the angry faces of many dirtied, bloody men and women. While they all had a look of humanity left in them, their faces held furious expressions and their hands carried all sorts of makeshift projectiles; bricks, stones, rubble, bottles and molotov cocktails, passing around lighters and matches to ignite each one. "Fire, Laser, fire!" the pilot yelled. They couldn't escape, if they left now, the soldiers on the ground would be pelted with weapons that were, while primitive, lethal from such a height advantage. Flipping the safety off, Zornitsa pulled the trigger as soon as the M230 had spun around.

Nothing. She pulled the trigger again. And again. "Barrel in cooldown, remaining time: thirty seconds." the computer voice said calmly. The helicopter wasn't armed with anything but the chain gun, all the hardpoints were empty. Okay, just half a minute and we can take them out and get out of here... Zornitsa reasoned with herself, easing her shaking hand. The Apache had been known for over a hundred years as an extremely tough helicopter, right? She began to regain her calm... until she saw the first volley arrive from the "non-targets". The gun-camera was knocked out as it was hit by a brick and fuel bombs exploded on the side of the helicopter. "Remaining time: unknown." Betty told her coldly. And as the thumping continued, Zornitsa screamed in terror as a rock broke through the cockpit, knocking the wind out of the pilot. A large hole was now opened and even though the helicopter began to ascend, as if in slow motion, the disarmed gunner took in the view of flaming bottles flying in through the hole. Their Super Apache was out of control, Zornitsa was frozen and couldn't bring herself to do anything but grab the sides of her seat in terror, and terror she felt as she listened to the screams of agony from her comrade as he burned alive, wildly flailing, which brought the aircraft into a swerve towards the building, a split second became dozens while the charred bricks drew closer and closer, until the helicopter smashed into them.


This time, when she woke up, she could feel distinctly more. She seemed to be covered in a thin blanket, not much to keep her warm, but she felt a deep warmth from the inside. A drug, probably. The fact that she could guess this was already a sign of her mind becoming clearer. Between the first time she had gained consciousness and this time, there had to be a few times more she had awoken, but it was always blurry. Less and less with each time, but her mind was never in much state to make anything of it. Now, though, after a frighteningly real dream that she forgot most of upon its end, she felt more alive. The feeling of her insides working at overdrive was gone and now she felt significantly groggy, inside and out. Her right fingers itched, but she couldn't find the strength to touch them. Finally, she began to hear things, but there wasn't much to hear, other than the whirring of a machine. She did feel something quite disturbing in the form of some sorts of tubes entering her lower areas and combined with the tubes she eventually managed to see some thin tubes going towards her and some transparent liquid going into her. All this evidence would suggest she was in a hospital, but the room didn't seem right. It wasn't sterile enough, she could see dust in the air and when her sense of smell came back, she could definitely smell things that didn't at all have the right scent. The scent of perfume, for one thing, was not one someone would find in the typical hospital room.

To begin with, she was alone. No nurses came for her, no doctor came to look down on her and take notes, the only activity she could feel that wasn't hers came from the whirring of the machine that pumped nutrients into her and pumped her excrement out. Even this whirring sounded weak and over the hours that the patient spent regaining her senses, it seemed to gradually fade. It wouldn't go out for a while, but it was evident that whatever was powering it was running low. Within the silence of the room, the only late coming through some gaps in a window above her bed, blocked by blinds, the woman remarked something frightening; she didn't know how she had gotten there. She had some ideas of where she might be, a clouded knowledge of who she was, as far as her first name and how old she probably was, though even this took time to recall. She knew she understood two languages, but she couldn't summon the energy to do anything but breathe. She knew more about the room she was in and its contents than about herself and that was a rather terrifying thing to know. One thing she did know, was that the machine had some nutrients left in it, so she had time to rest. Sleep came over her once again and she welcomed it, knowing that it would give her rest from the buzz of all the uncertainties in her mind.


This time, Zornitsa was sure she was in a medical facility, though it seemed she had lost even more of her senses. She could see, but it was too blurry to make much of anything out, so most observations had to be made through interpretation. There were people around her, all in lab coats, as white as the rest of the room. Between the bright lights, the coats and whitewashed walls and ceiling, Zornitsa was blinded. Her entire body felt numb, except for occasional sharp pains on her arms and legs. The men and women around her were talking, but none of it was comprehensible to her, except for a few words she could read off their lips; "genome", "termination" and "observation" stood out. She didn't like this dream at all, she felt like a weak child within someone else's body as they were tortured. The ones in the lab coats didn't seem to care and at the end of it, they nonchalantly walked out and the person that Zornitsa either was or was inside of was left there. She stared at the ceiling for what felt like a day and still no one came, until she was finally able to fall asleep, as if something that had been keeping her from doing so had disappeared...


It had been days since Zornitsa had first woken up, at least, she thought so, and finally, with her vision relatively clear, her hearing as good as ever and the numbness beginning to fade away, she decided that today would be the day she'd try to sit up. It took some effort, but she was eventually able to move her legs. First, she started by moving them left and right, warming up the bed over time with the friction, and then she moved onto trying to move her knees up. At the same time, she began moving her arms to ready them to prop herself up and she remarked some things. First, while she had been able to feel the warmth throughout her legs, her left didn't really feel anything. No matter, it was probably just some remaining numbness, but it began to worry her when she felt the same in her right arm. Still, she felt that she could support herself and she put her arms in position and raised her knees. With a deep breath and a push, she began to raise and began grinning, weakly, but she was proud of herself. At last, she could move! She did it and it meant that she could survive, that she could leave this room and finally see the sunlight again, not die in this hole. This deserved celebration, it did, and once she was well seated, Zornitsa began to raise her right arm to pump her fist!

And then, her smile vanished. Her forearm was gone, in its place, there was nothing more than a mechanical analog resembling her true arm only in shape. Her mouth fell open and she tried to scream, but nothing more than a gasp came out, tears welled in her eyes but try as she might to make them fall by closing her eyes, nothing came. All she could do was collapse back into her initial positon, to look up at the arm, wanting it to be just a hallucination, but no matter how many times she blinked, it remained. Her revulsion became morbid curiosity after long and she turned the arm around. The fingers moved when she willed it, and when she compared it to her remaining left hand, it moved in the same way with no troubles, but nothing could shake the feeling of it not being hers. How did it get there? Where did her arm go? Why her?

The worst part was the itching. She could feel it in her fingertips, but the arm was unfeeling and cold when she tried to feel it with her left hand. Nothing but the phantom feeling of her old arm remained, though she couldn't remember much, she knew deep within her that this had not always been there. It wasn't natural, it wasn't supposed to be there. It was nothing more than an impostor that had usurped the place of her true arm. Painted grey and black, with a golden strip that she found she could lift to access a small hole, it was inscribed on the arm with the text "PROPERTY OF THE US ARMY", there was no way it could be any less natural. The inside of the hand was cushioned, probably made with foam, covered by a tough synthetic material, but Zornitsa couldn't touch it for more than a few moments before she felt a deep disgust, pulling her only remaining arm away. Suddenly, the idea rose within her that it was the same for her left leg. She wanted out, she couldn't take this. She had no idea how she had gotten there, but if given the chance, she'd have reset the game right there and then. It wasn't a game, though, it was painfully real and only becoming more so by the minute, as the numbness of the rest of her body faded. Sooner or later, she'd have to accept what it all and after calming down some, Zornitsa decided she'd do it sooner rather than later.

Sat up once again, she decided to look around. Her neck made a painful crack as she decided to do so and she looked around her captivity for a while. It was a clean room, if a little dusty, with a dresser, a closet and a coffee table in front of a small couch. A large screen adorned the wall, though not a single indication LED showed it as having any power. The coffee table was covered in various papers and there was a sizable box of food on it, which tempted the hungry Zornitsa, though she knew she didn't have the energy to get there. There was also an ajar door leading to what she guessed was the bathroom and beside it, there was another door, though this one was closed shut and the electronic lock panel next to it had been smashed. Instead, it looked like the only exit from the two rooms was a large vent that had the cover removed, plus, it was implied to be the way out since a paper had been taped above it with an arrow on it in permanent marker.

Only now did Zornitsa notice a table next to the bed. She wanted to hit herself for not noticing, but she relented when she realized it would probably literally knock her out. Shaking her head weakly instead, sending long hair onto her face, which she used her left hand to bat away, she looked upon the table and found a few things, some useless, like miscellaneous syringes, gloves, hand sanitizers and other things she presumed had been used to take care of her while she was sleeping, but some things seemed much more important. She first attempted to grab a small blue booklet with her prosthetic, but then decided to lean over and use her left arm, fearing dropping the item. The writing on the booklet instantly gave away its nature; a passport for the United States of America, and by the looks of it, there were a few things enclosed in it. Zornitsa gingerly opened it, finding it awkward to do with the mechanical arm, so she switched hands to carry it in the right and flip through the pages with her left, and she began reading...



An hour or so later, she had finished reading through the passport and the enclosed notes. Most were illegible, but two were particularly important. Also of note, the passport seemed to belong to her and it gave her some valuable insight on who exactly she was; her name was Zornitsa Lavarov, she was American, was born the 7th of July, 2088, in Sofia, Bulgaria, making her twenty-two years old. As for the other notes, the first gave much more knowledge as to who she was, brief as it was, being a short report written by a doctor on an official looking paper with all the bits indicating its origin scribbled out in pen, and the second was a much less neat document on some printer paper, telling her that she had been in a coma after an accident that took her left leg and right arm. That much she managed to guess on her own, but the rest of the information was much more useful; what to do until the nutrient injection ran out, then what she should do afterwards, all without even a signature at the end and no telling for what reason she was alone. To start with, she had a small stack of newspaper clippings kept together by single staple, with the events of the last few months, since July, when her accident had taken place:


None of it failed to make her uneasy and as less sunlight began to come through the blinds, Zornitsa was suddenly quite worried about the kind of world she had awoken into. The only thing that eased her spirit was the last thing she found in the passport; a photo of a smiling girl. If she assumed correctly, that was herself. Something about it brought a good feeling to her and as she selfishly thought of how pretty she was, Zornitsa felt a bit of fatigue coming on. Not a surprise, practically the entire day so far had been spent exerting herself, mentally and physically. There wasn't much left to do now but sleep, not putting much thought towards the day's events, instead preferring to let her mind rest...


Another day began as the last few had since she started training herself. She hadn't yet left the bed, she didn't need to either, with at least a day or two left in the nutrient dispenser, though the real food on the coffee table practically beckoned her like a succubus, instead, she spent her time alternating between moving her body and stretching, slowly regaining general control of herself, trying to attempt regular things with her arm and training to speak again by repeating after the voices on an old cassette tape that was running off an equally ancient player, "Learning English Like a Pro (for Bulgarian Speakers): 1988 Edition". The technology, a hundred years her senior, was strange to use compared to the modern amenities that had appeared since, but she got used to it quickly and the ability to recharge it simply by replacing batteries without connecting it to the power grid (Zornitsa had eventually discovered that all power was gone) was quite convenient. She discovered she could easily speak both languages, but she kept with it due to it giving her something to do, as well as retraining her voice. It took her a day or two, but now she could actually make a noise. Thankfully, if there was anyone around, they couldn't hear her, the room was insulated against sound extremely well, but that meant she couldn't hear anything from outside either.

She had decided that she would get out of bed and attempt to walk once the nutrients ran out and today, it looked like she had about a day left, so she stepped up her exercises. She had long come to terms with the fact that her leg was in a similar situation to her right arm and hardly paid it much mind, except for it being very awkward to use. It was completely numb and moving it was strange. Still, she didn't look at it much and so long as it moved, she'd have to make use of it. Thus, she stretched it, flexed it, contracted it, and repeated, rinse and repeat for the next few hours as she repeated lines from the tape in Bulgarian and English. She didn't look for too long at her prosthetics, it still made her quite sick and she didn't want to have to deal with a mess, especially not in her room. Zornitsa had discovered that yesterday, when waking up, in a sudden return of memory. It wasn't much, but it was quite an important thing to know, she supposed. It certainly made her feel much more relaxed, which helped her recovery.

And with that, she continued, even in the general discomfort of still feeling extremely stiff, weak and, as she once put it when thinking aloud "these damn tubes coming out of my ass". Based on the newspaper clippings, the world outside of her shelter not being in the best condition wasn't too much of a radical idea, so she had to be ready.


"First foot..." a rough voice muttered as Zornitsa placed her right foot on the ground. This is the day she was waiting for, what she had trained for, to motivate herself, she thought of the simple act of walking as something much more epic than it really was. Still, for her, it was a feat. The ground was cold and hard, even though it was carpeted, a large contrast with the bed and Zornitsa couldn't say she liked it. Not that it would be a problem for her other foot, she remarked grimly, as she put the other foot on the ground. Gritting her teeth, she now had to rip out all the tubing. She already had a blanket ready to stuff in the "ass-tube" (she knew its purpose and she definitely knew it wouldn't be pleasant smelling), but the IV would be a pain to take out and she wasn't thrilled about the other tube that was firmly connected to her urethra. First, the IV. Wincing even before taking it out and wincing even more afterwards, she cautiously pulled the tape and the needle out, gritting her teeth as she did so. Next, ass-tube. This one was awkward to pull out and Zornitsa feared she'd vomit when the smell escaped. She assumed the nutrient injection had also included something make all her wastes liquid for easy disposable, but that only made the smell worse. Zornitsa wasted no time in stuffing the blanket in there and that was that. Finally, the greatest struggle. Let it be said that it probably was one of the worst experiences she had since waking up and she still found herself nauseous, between the pain, the smell and the cumbersomeness of it all.

Once and for all, though, she could finally stand. Wrapping her arm around the pole of the nutrient injection machine, she pulled herself up as she put all the strength she could into her legs. It felt like climbing a mountain and with no rehab, it felt as unfamiliar as learning to fly, but, with an extreme effort (by her current standards), she made it. Now, an even harder part; walking. With one leg feeling like it wasn't there (technically true), it would be an interesting experience, to say the least. The note inside her passport told her to immediately go the bathroom and "clean herself up" and though the door was barely a few feet away, it felt like miles. She considered crawling there, but she simply couldn't, she had to walk, she couldn't let herself do anything less. Give up now and it'd mean her death, she told herself, which was, unknown to her, painfully true. First, she stumbled. As it turns out, even with the strength of the prosthetic, it was quite hard to keep footing, but she managed to stand back up and she continued. It took all her effort and she was breathless at the end, but she made it. The gaps in the blinds gave enough light once she was in the bathroom to see herself and when she did, the woman nearly lost all spirit. To begin with, somehow, she hadn't taken note of the fact that she was naked except for a pair of metal tags around her neck, and now she could see the full extent of her condition in the long mirror of the bathroom. She was frightfully pale, not unlike some sort of ghost and her black hair had grown without impediment since she had first entered the coma, months ago, now reaching the middle of her back. Unlike the photo in her passport, she had no makeup and her face not being washed made her look even more ghastly. Ribs were easily visible, and though her muscles were in decent shape, thanks to state of the art muscle massaging that protected her against muscle atrophy, they wouldn't be able to display much strength.

Probably the most shocking, however, were her scars. Though she knew the appearance of her new arm and leg well by now, she hadn't ever really noticed the scarring around them; grotesque burn scars surrounded them and she cringed inwardly imagining the wounds that caused them. As well, her right thigh had a large cut across it, probably explaining the frailty she had felt over the last few days from that leg during exercises and now, walking. Finally, on her face, there were a few cuts on the right extremity, going towards her ear and pulling away the mess of hair, some stitches could be seen on the skin between the head and the ear.

This, is me. She thought to herself, looking sorrowfully at the photo she was gripping. That was her, only two years ago, but it felt like ages. Where was she back then? She looked so happy and, frankly, she thought her old self gorgeous. The best she could do now was give herself a wash and clean her hair up, based on what her unknown benefactor had left her; scissors, a hair and body soap bar and a small tank of pressurized water with a hose. She'd have to be efficient, considering her resources and she got to work. At the end, trying to model herself on the photo, she had roughly cut her hair to the old length along with washing it with the soap, rinsed off her face and gave herself some semblance of a shower with the rest of the water. It was lukewarm, but it was still a semi-relaxing experience, it helped her calm down and it proved that her prosthetics could probably endure a good bit of water. At the end, she found herself smiling a good bit, she was satisfied with what she had been able to do and in all honesty, she didn't look too different from the photo now. Only one thing bothered her, the stitches on her ear. All examination pointed to it being healed and reattached, so she wondered if she could take them out. Only way to know was to try, leaning in close to the mirror to carefully cut the string with her scissors, then pulling it out with her left hand. An unnerving sensation could be felt, but the string came out with no problems in the end, just leaving a scar around her ear. It was a marvel she could still feel from it and that her hearing wasn't too affected.

She had one more step to go, before she could leave. Zornitsa, feeling like a new woman, walked over to the couch and sat down, wrapped in a soft towel that felt very familiar to her and she took no time in perusing the contents of the food box perched on the coffee table. Inside was a rather wealthy stash of supplies, from some basic bandaging, to food upon food. Energy bars, Easy-Open canned soup, sandwiches and salad. A wild urge took ahold of Zornitsa and she savagely began to eat the food, filling her empty stomach with the food that, while simple, tasted each like a gourmet delight. She simply could not stop herself as she tore through each package, until she nearly puked from all the food and finally stopped. At this point, all that was left was a mess on the couch and the energy bars and Zornitsa cursed herself for wasting so much of the precious sustenance. After all, if it was left here for her, that would indicate potential rarity outside and now, in the span of a few minutes, most of it was gone. Grumbling, she continued going through the large box, discovering a decently sized knapsack, filled with some clothes, which she wasted no time in putting on; a long-sleeve t-shirt, a brown sweater that felt a bit loose, some simple underwear that fit her disturbingly well, a pair of jeans and some brand-less sneakers and socks finished the "outfit". She still felt a bit cold, the sweater seemed rather light and considering the season, she'd probably have to buy or find a new jacket. Could she still buy things? Zornitsa briefly wondered about the city outside and her answer practically came when she reached the bottom of the box; her final "gift", a SIG Sauer handgun chambered in .45 ACP awaited, along with a hatchet in its case.

Full-sized and with two magazines, the ex-airman felt she knew everything about it, just by looking at it, as if she had used it before. Two magazines gave her twenty shots, ten per magazine. The gun had no manual safety, to promote instant-readiness, just a firing pin safety that kept it from going off when dropped, and used a striker-fired system as opposed to being hammer-fired. She tried holding it in the prosthetic's hand and though aiming it felt natural, she feared that not feeling it would create problems if she ever needed to react quickly. For the time being, she would have to make do with firing from her left hand, which felt bizarre for her. The holster was thankfully made for ambidextrous use and she fastened it on her right side, now, she was ready, but at the same time, she felt unsure. Mentally, of course, she had already started preparing herself for any difficulties she might face going outside, but physically, she still was extremely unsure. She could still hardly walk and she felt stiff overall, but at the same time, she simply couldn't remain here, she had made sure of that by going through all the food. The energy bars could potentially last her a day, though what difference would going today and going later make? Just to be certain, she tapped on the main door after packing her knapsack. Interestingly, it didn't sound hollow, so she hypothesized the other side had been blocked, to either keep her in, or, more likely, keep something out. The vent was her only option. Uncharacteristically large, it was just enough for her to crawl through.

Pompompompompompom....

Zornitsa froze. The sound dampening of the room kept her from hearing the noise, but the vibrations made it to her ears, she knew this feeling well. A heavy, steady vibration, none other than the sound of the engine of a passing AH-64 type helicopter. She must have known it from her time as the co-pilot in one, but here, it was particularly ominous and she felt chills come down her spine. The situation outside couldn't be good.

After a crawl through the ventilation shaft to a loose opening outside, her suspicions were proven. The typically calm streets of Madrona were as still as ever, but this time, the stillness scared her. The helicopter had long passed and in the distance, she could hear screams, sounds of gunfire. Something all too known to her, she realized, not recalling the exact memory, but remembering what had been written down on the report. "Have the riots... reached here?" She mumbled, limping out of the yard of the house. The first thing she considered was knocking on the door of one of the neighboring houses, but she backed off when she saw the darkness in each house and the signs of violence at many of the doors. From here, she was left not knowing what to do. A stand with a map of the city at a street corner told her where the landmarks were, but the smoke rising into the sky made her hesitate. If there was military in the city as she suspected, would they be able to keep her safe from whatever was out here? Where were they? Her gut pointed her in the direction of the ferry docks and she decided to begin heading north, to East Madison Street, which would take her right through downtown, where she could hopefully find someone who could tell her the situation.

And maybe find a coat as well. Zornitsa shivered before beginning to walk down the road, the strange feeling of being watched causing her to pause every now and again...

_{9:30 a.m}

It was nearly an hour later when Abigail found herself sitting beneath the shade of an enormous oak tree, enjoying the breeze and a can of peaches drowning in sweet, light syrup. The spoon clinked as she scraped it across the can, scooping the last peach into her mouth. She was still savoring its sweetness when a frigid breeze rolled across her face, making her shiver slightly despite the ample amounts of sunlight attempting to warm the area. She debated moving out into the sun itself, but gaze into her laziness and instead pulled her jacket a little closer as she leaned back against the tree. Above, the clouds had quickly formed into a dark gray mass as the coming storm made headway, likely still relatively close to the ocean shore, she wasn't quite concerned that it would arrive before nightfall. The thought of the coming night sent a chill up her spine. It had been nice while on the boat, sure it had been a bit colder out on the water but the sense of safety was comforting. Knowing that it was quite unlikely anything was going to get her out there had let her sleep in relative ease, as much as one could get with nightmares.

Every time she closed her eyes she was haunted. She saw the faces of her mother and father, from a time long ago when they had seemed happy and still in love. Before she drove them apart. Then there would be a flash of light, sometimes the red and blue strobes of a patrol car, sometimes from lightning, but their faces always changed, always distorted. It was hard to remember what they looked like sometimes, often time she could only recall their bloody mouths and haunting stares as they eyed her, sizing up her meal potential. Abigail shivered, feeling sadness well up inside her. She pitied herself, not that she deserved a family. She had gotten that chance once, and she had squandered it. It would have been fitting to have been torn to pieces right then and there by the people who tried their damnedest to love her. She should have just laid down and let them have her. Perhaps then, in undeath, they could have been reunited. A twisted resemblance of the family they should have been. A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye, making a pitiful trail down her cheek before she sniffled and wiped it away. She felt so tired, so exhausted.

The world had only ended a week and a half ago, but for her, this was only a new battle. A larger, more dangerous enemy in a long conflict of violence and hurt. She had done things she was not proud of, the kinds of things that constantly tore away shreds of a person's soul until there was nothing them but a hollow, empty shell devoid of emotion. She was still doing some of those things. The thought made her cringe, but she couldn't bring herself to throw her dependencies away. It had been awhile since she'd used, but that sense of longing was still there, buried deep within her heart. Lying beneath all the hurt and turmoil, waiting to rear its ugly head and demand she do what she did best–Relapse. To do the things that brought her such a sense of relief, and then turn around and try to kill her. The things that made her feel better about the life that had crumbled around her.

She stood, feeling a sense of sorrow and panic well up within her. Her hand trembling slightly, she reached into her pocket with a small amount of urgency. She pressed the cigarette between her lips and sparked the light three times before it finally gave off a flame. A calming feeling washed over her as she took a long drag, feeling the smoke fill up her lungs. She let it go in a deep breath, watching the smoke curl and dance as it got the early morning breeze and drifted off into nothingness. She returned the metal case and lighter to her pocket, snatched her spoon up, and head off towards the road. The park shrank away behind her as she easily hopped the small, child-sized fence and made her way up the road–The same coastal road she had been walking along since she got here.

This area consisted largely of eating establishments, with a few official looking business and offices mixed in; most of which were on the hill to her right with the buildings looking out towards the bay. Behind the scatters of work places, the hillside was mostly dotted with what seemed to be medium, to high class residential homes. They had probably all been really nice at once, with glittering wind chimes and pristine lawns. Now they all looked as they should, missing a week or so of maintenance. In fact, one such house looked much worse. She quirked an eyebrow as she stopped and observed the house. It was a two story, though the upper floor looked as if he only held a single room, or perhaps an attic. It was hard to tell as the light, sky blue walls were overrun with thick tangles of vines which rose up over the house entirely to swarm across the pointed roof.

Before she really grasped what she was doing, her feet had brought her to the property. Now she was only barred by the small chain link fence in front. She glanced up and down the street nervously, though it was devoid of life. There were no wrecks here, only a couple of cars that seemed to have stopped abruptly and sat askew on the edges of the road. Her founds themselves in the pockets of her jacket as she turned back towards the house. A handful of the vines seemed to be as thick as a thin tree, and even appeared to be growing some sort of protective bark. As she looked at one of the larger ones, it wiggled slightly, as if it were stretching from a long nap. The tendril curled around the smokestack to what would likely be a fireplace, and dipped inside the brick column. The chimney cracked as the vine forced its girth downwards, leaving Abigail standing in such utter fascination that the remaining stud of the cigarette fell from her mouth. The house groaned and creaked under the pressure, and just as quickly as it began it stopped. Abbie stood there for a full five minutes longer in utter awe, or shock.

It was the sound of engines that finally pulled her away from the extraordinary site. Somewhere off in the distance, the distance rumble of a diesel engine. She took off at a light jog, heading deeper into the outskirts of the city towards the sound. She wasn't sure what she was expecting; people at least. She also briefly wondered if there was power here and if there was, if the gas stations were running. Though it was more likely the vehicle was using left over, or siphoned gas. She crested the top of the hill and stopped, a bit short on breath. Several blocks beyond the bottom of the opposite slope a convey was weaving slowly through the vehicle packed streets. The appeared to be going up a main thoroughfare, and the road looked clogged with abandoned cars as people tried to flee the city. As she looked out, she guess that particular road intersected with a freeway somewhere, but that may have been beyond the skyline. Mostly, this area was a lot of low, squat houses and business, with a few larger stores and shopping areas mixed it. Definitely residential oriented.

The vehicles all had the same tint of dark green paint, with perhaps some smaller writing that she couldn't see from this distance. Still, it was easy enough to figure out that they were military. There were two humvees, one with a mounted gun, and a personal truck follow behind them. The forward most humvee had an angled plow attached to it, which it was using to not-so-gently clear a passage along the road. She had heard there was a strong military presence in Washington, this area specifically. Apparently there was some base somewhere they were operating out of. Not that she particularly wanted to deal with the military and their rules, but the thought of them actively defending the area was more comforting than being in one of the war zones, referred to as red zones by most regular people she talked to.

The convoy stopped as the humvee wit the plow began clearing out an intersection, pushing the cars together to form a sort of blockage across the three opening, leaving only the one they had come through open. Curious, Abigail watched them intently as she made her way down. Perhaps she was just being nosy, or maybe she some part of her wanted to be comforted, to be told there were no ghouls in this area, no monsters. A Semi with a flat bed trailer piled high with boxes pulled onto the road, though it was so far away it was barely a speck when she noticed it. By the time she had made it to the bottom of the hill the semi had arrived, and what were definitely soldiers began unpacking it. She watched as they unloaded crate after crate into the intersection. Before she could ponder the thought further, one of the soldiers spotted her, though she was still a few blocks away. The soldier gathered three from his unit, and the four of them climbed over the vehicular barricade and made their way towards her.

It was still a good five minutes before they reached each other, during which Abigail lit herself another cigarette. The four soldiers, three men and a woman, were all dressed alike in standard green digital camouflage fatigues and a thick padded helmet. Additionally all four of them wore goggles, and only the point man had his weapon at rest. The other three were more concerned, and had what looked to be very impressive assault rifles trained on her. Abigail started having second thoughts, but they were less than a hundred feet apart when the man in front held up his hand for her to stop. She did as she was signaled, and put her hands up part away, making sure not to make any movements towards the small shotgun slung across her back.

"State your business civilian," The point-man instructed her, his voice was deep and quite commanding, and she was sure beneath those goggles he was leveling a stern gaze at her.

"Surviving the end of the world, sir," She replied, a bit of sass and mockery in her voice. Point-man didn't find it amusing, but his buddies obviously did as they let out quiet snorts and chuckles.

"We don't have any handouts for you," He said without any trace of humor in his voice.

"I was actually looking for some information," She said steadily, she figured if they were going to shoot her they would have done so by now. Her response seemed to be unexpected, as the soldiers visibility relaxed. The tension left their shoulders and they stopped pointing their guns at her, though they remained at rest with a hand on them just in case.

"'Bout what?" He asked, hooking his thumbs inside his belt.

"State of the area I guess, just got here. I was told there was a bunch of army boys cleaning up the streets," She flicked her cigarette, to which she noticed Point-man watching quite intently. Without thinking about it she reached into her pocket, and nearly got shot for it as each of them reached for their weapons. "Woah woah shit, I don't have the world's tiniest bomb in my pocket, fuck," She stammered out quickly, her heart leaping into her throat as she pulled out her metal tin of Racer cigarettes.

Point-man laughed as she flipped it open and offered him one. This was taken as an invitation to the other three as well as they all moved forward to take one, though they still seemed very cautious around her. Something made them pause, looking at the small cancer stick suspiciously. She sighed heavily, taking a third cigarette of the morning and lighting it in a huff, as if to say 'See, no poison." Satisfied, they passed around a lighter and for a moment, you might have thought they were all old friends as they stood around talking and smoking.

"Basically," Sergeant Konlei started as he exhaled a plume of smoke, the last name of which she gathered from the small badge attached by velcro to his chest, "We're pretty much fucked here too. The only reason we're even staying in the god forsaken piss ass cold place is because we've got a strong point up here, assets the big wigs up top don't want to give up. As an added bonus we have no power, no water, and our supplies consist mostly of dried food from a hundred years ago."

Abigail sighed as she listened, her dreams of a hot shower slowly dying a painful death. "What's with all the gear?"

Konlei eyed her in the way that let her know he was suspicious of the question, but a large, dark skinned man by the last name of Smitt nudged him, "She's just curious Konlei, there aren't any activists up here. This isn't New York." Abigail noticed Konlei, and the other two wince. That made her curious, 'What was happening up in New York?'. Regardless, it didn't sound like anywhere she wanted to be.

"There's not a whole lot of activity out here, a handful of swarms that wander out at night really. We're gonna try to burn them out and secure this area. We're converting the Elementary School into a safe zone," Konlei looked down the road, nodding his head in the direction of a collection of flat, one story buildings. Sure enough, Abigail noticed some playground equipment in the distance, it definitely seemed like a school, or perhaps a large day care.

"What's that entail?" She questioned, watching the plethora of soldiers haul off equipment into the school.

"We won't be able to support civilians, barely enough food and medicine for ourselves. But there's talk of fortifying some of the out buildings for civvies to come and go as they please. Seems everybody is worried about having a safe place to sleep," Konlei answered, despite not looking entirely too happy about the construction detail he had to look forward to. Still, the news made Abigail smile, which he saw.

"Don't get too excited, we gotta secure the operations first. That means no fortified sleeping areas until tomorrow night," He gave her a questioning look as she smoke, one that hinted at a question he was too prideful to ask. She obliged the look by offering him another cigarette, which he happily took–a small smile even cracked the worry and stress that had set in his face.

"Still, it would be nice to sleep knowing there are big boys-" She shot a quick glance to the woman, she gave Abigail a queer look herself, "aaand women protecting us little innocent civvies" The last word was thick with her human, as most people she had met were far from defenseless, but perhaps that was just military mentality.

"Well then boss, looks like we are doing some good around here, eh?" Pvt. Lumen, the woman, chimed in.

"Yea, well, it's time to go do some bad then. We're on construction detail," Konlei's words were met with groans of mock protest, "By the way civvie, didn't catch your name."

The others snickered suggestively as Abigail answered, "Abigail."

"Right," Konlei started, motioning to his name badge, "I figure you've gathered ours, so perhaps we'll meet again tonight." This brought another round of snickers and suggestive nudges from the others, to which Konlei looked entirely unamused.

"Perhaps," She said, waving as they turned to leave. No doubt he would be looking forward to another cigarette. Somehow Abigail doubted that was high priority on their rations list. She sighed, opening up her tin and counting how many she had left, eight. Perhaps she could loot a store for a few packs and trade for something, god knows she could use a few things. Maybe a decent shower, or a meal, or both. She sauntered off, humming lightly, at the implications of what a good trade with some military boys, and girls, could get her. Though a small niggling worry wormed itself into her thoughts, that meant she would have to raid a store, perhaps more than once. Her stomach clenched at the thought of having to face those monsters again. Albeit, she had awhile to steel herself for the coming task. The trade was more valuable than her fear of actually doing anything productive. One of the biggest driving factors was her low amount of food, and knowing what true hunger was.

Still, she hummed a tune softly as she turned up a side street at a brisk walk.

Heloise was curled up, asleep, in what she considered was a safe place. In an abandoned cellar, between a now non-functioning water heater, and a wall. It was uncomfortable, horribly so, but at least it enabled her to sleep without one of the infected getting to her. She didn't sleep long now-a-days, she didn't think anyone did anymore, at least any of the survivors. She worried about that, worried how long she could go on a few hours sleep here and there. She worried constantly about food and water, the cooling weather, her supply of ammo, her first aid supplies. Her mother. She curled in tight in her sleep, and let out a little whimper.

In her dreams, like always since she had been surviving, she dreamed about what she considered the worst times in her life. "Mama! mama!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, sobbing, as she tried to scramble away, to get away from Father, as he came at her with the knife, the biting, horrible, silver knife, slashing at her, trying to grab her, trying to hold her down so he could kill her. She fell over something, she never knew what, and he slashed down, eyes crazed, a manic expression on his face that terrified her to her very soul. In the corner, some dark corner, she heard her mother cry, her screams, and then all she knew was pain, as he slashed at her face. She flinched back, the knife biting at her forehead, her eye, leaving pain and a horrible sticky, watery sensation down her face. She screamed as a loud thud echoed, and that was all she remembered, before finding herself in her mothers lap, being rocked, her mothers tears falling down onto her face. Blood, red sticky and warm, was all over her mothers hands, and from her one good eye, Heloise saw the mutilated body of her father. it morphed into another dream, one all too recent. she was 17, and she was in love. She was excited, and for once, she felt like she was the most beautiful person in the world, thrilled with the knowledge something special was growing in her, her own little baby. She knew what her mother would say, but to Heloise, this felt good. It felt right. Some positivity in her life. So she'd have to take a year or two off, that didn't matter to her. She would have a child. And that's what mattered.

She had thought it would be the best thing in the world, for herself, and for her partner. It wasn't. Time fast forward to barely two weeks later, Heloise curled on the floor of her bathroom, pain, fear and misery her companions, as her precious little baby died, and her body ejected it from her body. Her one eye was blackened, her cheeks raw from backhanded slaps, her wrist was saw, her chest, her ribs but all that was secondary to the fear, the pain and the horror, all resting in her stomach.

Once more, her mother found her, held her and rocked her, crying along with Heloise, for what was, what should have been, and the future without it. She bundled Heloise up, and took her to the hospital, where she was given the news that she could be barren, from the trauma. Unwilling to believe it, Heloise fled.

And the last one, the one that she was living now, every day, played through her head, again and again. She just had to find her mother, had to find her, and help her, like she had helped Heloise so many times. To hold her, and rock her. That was all Heloise new she had to do, beyond survive. In dark times, Heloise became bitter, hoping that somewhere out there, the murderer of her unborn hold, because she wouldn't think of that monster as the father, dead, or a ghoul. She hoped he was suffering.

Mostly though, Heloise just hoped she would live, that her mother lived, and that she could find somewhere safe. Now, as faint gunshots woke her, Heloise jerked with a start, slamming her head into the hot water service, bashing ber feet against a wall, and various other body parts took a hit as well. Cursing lightly under her breath, she extracted herself from her hole, rubbing her head and grimace, wondering how long she had been asleep. Long enough to get stiff, she thought as she stretched out her body, doing some lunges, knee stretches, arm stretches, to loosen her body up. Almost fearfully, she took a tentative sniff at herself, decided she didn't smell half bad, and grabbed her backpack making sure they had all her gear, and climbed out of the cellar, listening for any sound of movement.

Nothing gave her any suspicion that anyone, anything was in here with her. Still, she moved as silently as she could, beginning to rummage through the house, the kitchen mainly to retrieve any more supplies, finding two more tins of food, and another granola bar that was worth keeping. She shoved them in her bag, and with a pleasant surprise, found some more batteries, taking them for her torch. More importantly, she found another roll of toilet paper when she took a quick look in the bathroom. More pleased then she should be about toilet paper, she grabbed it gleefully, continuing through the house. She didn't find much more that could be of use, but did snag a scarf which she wrapped around her neck. Satisfied she had looted what she could, she left the house.

The shouts and gun shots that she had faintly heard in the house were louder out here, and Heloise hesitated. She had survived this far by staying to herself, occasionally helping someone whether it was giving them some food or water, or simply directing them to a new location. She didn't know if she could get involved, but...the sound of her own voice was tiring her.!someone else's, even for a moment, would be amazing. It would tell her that she wasn't the only one alive. She blinked at the sun, pondering her options. Since this had began, she had, it seemed, been following riots among other things, but it seemed like the only option. If her mother was alive, she be there somewhere. Or so Heloise hoped.

So, taking out her gun, checking there was ammo in it and the safety was off, she also loosened her sword in its scabbard, and started towards the noise. As she walked, looking about her constantly, she couldn't help but think how quickly nature took over when humans weren't around to combat it. Already, lawns were overgrown, vines creeping in close were previously footsteps would have trampled them to dust before they could even form. Animals skittered about, as if they sensed the danger at any turn. Heloise watched them too. If they fled, she was fleeing too.

Looking about, she briefly considered trying to steal a car, but realized that would be risky and then she'd just have to find fuel for it all the time. Her own two feet were okay for now, unless she found a push bike. As she walked, she wondered what she was going to do. How the hell could she survive? She didn't know how to hunt. Didn't know how to build anything more complicated then a fire. Yes, she could shoot a gun. She could fight. But what if she got injuried? What if something terrible happened? She thought back to how long she could survive on a few hours sleep here and there, and she knew she would have to find people to pair up with. Who could she trust.

That was the question wasn't it? In this messed up, upside down, freaking world, who the bloody hell could she trust? Her mother, but her mother didn't know how to shoot, much less throw a punch. She'd be a liability, even if she could make a meal out of nothing. They would need someone else, maybe more then one person. As she walked, half paying attention to her surrounds, half paying attention to her thoughts, she didn't notice the girl doing the same thing she was, walking, until she heard the footsteps.

Was this an answer to unspoken prays? Heloise had long ago stopped believing in any sort of higher power. Right around the time her father seemed intent on carving her up. She just didn't believe that any God would let a child go through that. The first thing Heloise noticed was that the girl didn't have a coat on. Didn't the girl know anything? The most likely cause of death in survival was exposure. Watching the girl walk for a moment, it was also clear she had some sort of impairment. Heloise had nothing against that, but the girl seemed clueless about what was happening here. Again, Heloise hesitated. Did she want someone she had to make sure wasn't getting themselves killed every five minutes?

She closed her eyes, closing in the darkness she always lived with fully, and sighed. Heloise wasn't a cruel person, and this girl needed help, that was obvious. And Heloise had a weakness for those that had impairments. So, Heloise opened her eyes, and quickened her pace, not wanting to risk calling out, just in case. A quick look about showed, for now, that everything seemed alright, but a slight itch between her shoulder blades made her feel like things weren't alright. Turning her fast walk into a jog, she quickly shortened the gap between her and the girl. As she reached the girl, she said "Hey! You! Without the coat, stop!" as Heloise finally caught up, she darted in front, stopping and letting out a breath, drawing in a deeper one.

could she trust this girl?

Baby steps. Zornitsa had to remind herself every now and again to not be too ambitious in her walking, to take baby steps. Sure enough, here she was, walking awkwardly and weakly like a baby. She had gotten used to her right leg, even if it felt a bit weak in the thigh, but every single time she took a step with her left, it felt like a whole new struggle just to keep balance. She had to literally look at the ground to see when her foot touched the ground and feel in her knee the pressure that the prosthetic put on it when it was planted. She eventually started to find a rhythm, after all, city streets was definitely better than hiking on some forsaken path and she half-appreciated the fact that she had woken up at home in a populated area, but at the same time, as she neared the downtown, she felt more and more ill at ease. Every single house felt like to her like it had eyes, watching her every move and every once in a while, she'd freeze after hearing a particularly frightening noise, whether that be a gunshot in the distance, yelling, a growling sound or, amusingly enough in the aftermath, her prosthetic foot kicking a can without her noticing.

The main problem, however, was how tired she was getting. It had been nearly an hour since she started walking, by her reckoning and her condition was starting to become unfortunately apparent. Her muscles cramped often, her steps were weak, she had to stop every ten minutes to catch her breath, even at her slow rate of movement, and, the worst, she was cold. While she was glad for what clothes she had, she cursed herself for not having the bright idea earlier to turn around once she left the ventilation shaft and enter her house. Sure, the electronic lock may have been engaged, but at the same time, why would it be when her room had already been locked up? There couldn't be anything more than an animal or two inside, right? She hadn't even bothered to check the door, but if it was indeed her home, it'd be logical that she'd have some warmer clothes in there. Well, it doesn't matter now, Zornitsa thought to herself, keepng herself busy by devising her plan. If there was indeed a military presence within the city, they'd probably build up a presence at the main transport hotspots of Seattle. The first thing that came to mind when she saw the map, was the ferry terminal. Without much modification, they could probably dock all manner of military vessels there, and they had access to all of the Pacific Sound and it wouldn't take long with a modern military vessel to get out to the Pacific proper from there. Troops and supplies would be coming out of there and, with any luck, they'd have set up a headquarters with access to military data.

All she had to do was find the entry checkpoint, give them her name, rank and other necessary information and she'd be in, from there they'd be happy to give a job to her or at least give her a place to recover, they had to! It's not like her service was up and if they doubted her, all the proof she needed otherwise was on her arm and leg, "PROPERTY OF THE US ARMY" was enough evidence as to who she was by itself! She just... had... to get there... After so much walking, she was quickly starting to tire and even by distracting herself with her thoughts and scanning the buildings, which grew taller and taller the further she went into the city, nothing could keep her distracted from her own body. Zornitsa briefly considered eating one of the energy bars, but considering the obvious shortage of food, she didn't want to waste some of her valuable remaining nutrition for a brief boost. It'd still at least a two hour walk until she reached the port and that was at good pace, she simply couldn't waste anything, especially if she had to make a detour.

That thought in itself was to keep her walking. She had stopped looking back whenever she felt like she was being watched a while ago, it happened all too often and if she stopped anymore, she half expected her to find out for herself if she was being watched or not and not in a good way either...

"Hey! You! Without the coat, stop!"

Zornitsa froze, which her legs welcomed. Steps behind her that she hadn't heard before became louder and quicker, until a redheaded woman darted out in front of her. Completely by reflex, Zornitsa reached for her sidearm with her right arm on her left side, where it usually was, finding nothing, even if she couldn't feel a thing. Cursing herself, she grabbed at her right side, somehow managing to get the pistol out... a bit too out. A look of terror on her her face, she watched as the pistol made a high arc through the air and landed at her feet, clattering. She winced, expecting it to go off, but when she remembered the firing pin safety, she calmed down. Still, she ducked quickly, surprising herself with her agility and snapped at the handgun, eventually scooping it up into her left hand. Looking up, however, the woman didn't seem to mean too much harm...

Zornitsa gulped and chastised herself with a sigh, putting her SIG back in its holster. "Sorry, got a little jumpy, I honestly don't know what got into me..." She apologized to the woman, once she had made sure the pistol was snug in its holster, she observed the features of the person. Pretty, she remarked, noting that part of her face was hidden by some rather attractive red hair. "Eh... I hope it isn't too much to ask, but what's happening? I've been out for the last few months since... July. And who are you?" She inquired, with a voice still noticeably weak from lack of use, or perhaps overuse, with all the training she'd been doing along with the tape.

Ah, I haven't introduced myself. I really do need to learn how to talk to people again... she thought, putting her prosthetic out by instinct. She almost reeled it back, but realized it was too late when she began speaking already. "I'm, uh... Zornitsa, Lavrov... no Lazarov. Zornitsa Lazarov. Good to meet you..." She did her best to manage a smile, though it wasn't much.

Heliose tensed as the girl went for her weapon, first going to one side as if it was meant to be there, but no longer was, the body reacting to instinct and habit, before going for the weapon on the other side. Heloise held her own gun, but didn't expect this to be a gun fight. Why would it? The girl clearly needed some sort of help. As the pistol fell, Heloise dove to the side, away from the barrel just in case the safety was off. How careless could the girl be? But then, Heloise saw that the girl appeared to have some sort of disability with her arm, as well as her leg. What the hell was she doing out here, by herself? What the hell was Heloise doing, seeking the help her? She couldn't just walk away, she knew that. She clambered back up as the girl picked up the gun, agile for all her disabilities. Heloise watched her warily, unsure if she could trust anyone anymore. Sighing though, she saw that the girl would be cold, so she unwound the scarf, and shrugging off her pack, got out her spare jacket.

Silently, she held both out to the girl, figuring even if the jacket did fit well, it would still provide warmth. And she didn't think the girl was in any position to reject them right then. Heloise, seeing that the girl was studying her, studying the girl as well. She seemed to be of some sort of...Russian decent? Maybe, she thought. Brushing back her hair, Heloise revealed her scared and blind eye, deciding to simply let the girl see that she wasn't complete either. Even if it was a small thing, Heloise thought it might show the girl that you can live with an injury, and become stronger for it. The girl could need it. Anyone would. Plus, why suffer vanity at the end of the world? "It's fine, after everything, I think we can all be jumpy" she said in response to the girls statement, "take the clothes. Let's not stay out here long talking. There are bad things out here, and I don't like the feeling out here right now" Heloise spoke softly, not wanting her voice to carry.

She glanced about warily, her gun held comfortably in her hand, "keep your gun out. Anything that looks wrong coming at you, shoot. Don't hesitate. If you do, you're dead" she said, again speaking softly as she looked for a good place to talk, to discuss things. The girl seemed to have more injuries and problems then Heloise was aware of, as it seemed she was having difficulty speaking as well. No, Heloisd couldn't leave this girl lost and confused as she seemed to be, and so very vulnerable with her weaknesses right then. "I'm Heloise. Pleasure to meet you Zornitss. Pity it isn't in better circumstances. Come on. This house looks empty." She said, nodding towards a house that did seem abandoned, the door open, various items were spread across the lawn, a suit case split open. Heloise didn't want to think why that was. "the world has gone to hell" she approached the house carefully, banging on the door frame, and leaned against the wall, listening. When noticing reacted, not that that was any indication, Heloise stepped inside. "Stay outside while I clear. No offense, but right now, I think I'm more nimble then you. Remember, shoot anything that looks wrong. That includes humans"

Without waiting for an answer, Heloise headed inside the house, checking each room as she went, switching her gun for her sword. No sense pulling more of the ghouls on if there was only one or two. It didn't take Heloise long to clear the house, and as she glanced outside into the back garden, saw the freshly turned earth, and knew someone was buried there. Hopefully dead dead. Returning to Zornitsa, it couldn't have been more then five minutes since she had entered the house. "Come in. There's no one here. Let's go through the house first and see if we can find anything useful to us. I doubt the occupants are coming back" she realized how she sounded, and she sighed. Had it only been eleven days? Unable to explain why this was necessary, Heloise just turned back into the house, not expecting to find much, as it did seem to already be ransacked.

Still, she dutifully checked kitchen cupboards, not finding anything of use, and sighing, checked the fridge. Anything in there was long off, of course, but she saw what she desperately wanted and needed, water. Those small bottles of water, all unopened. There was, at a quick count, ten. She hesitated, figuring that was about 6 liters. Could she carry all that, and the three she had already? Still, she couldn't just leave them. Taking them out the fridge, she returned to the living room, kicking the fridge door shut on her way. She set them on the coffee table, and called out, "Zornitsa?"

She hoped that the girl was still here, hoped that she hadn't decided to flee, hadn't decided that Heloise was a manic, breaking into a persons home. If she had, Heloise knew she'd have to chase after her, or let her die out there. And Heloise didn't know if she could live with that knowledge "please say you are still here" there was a waver in her voice. She didn't want to be alone again. Already, Heloise craved the sound of Zornitsa's voice, simply because it was something other then silence, but also that human nature need to...be with someone, to not be alone. It had been 11 days, alone, maybe with the occasional contact. Although...four times, and she hadn't interacted with them long. Too much distrust, too much hurry to get anywhere, anywhere that wasn't were they were.

She should be use to being alone. But, even being homeschooled she got the interaction of her tutor, of people when she went to the store with her mother, and the bookstore. The bookstore, her little slice of heaven. She missed it. Then there had been college. She had been doing well there, had bad friends. So she wanted human companionship. She needed it, she realized, or she would just break. She would just relieve ever bad thing in her life, she would relive every time she had to kill to survive until she became a monster worse then the ghouls and other things out there.

She couldn't let that happen.

July 20th, 2108
Late Evening
Northwestern Memorial hospital, Chicago

All Charlotte remembered was the squeal of her tires as she turned the corner, then seeing headlights beside her, then it all went black. She had images of red and blue lights, the inside of an ambulance, the wreckage of her car. It had happened so fast.

She woke up to the rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor beside her bed. When she first opened her eyes, everything was blurry and Charlotte feared she had lost her vision before realising they were her own tears. She had been crying in her semi-conscious state. It was when she tried to reach over to wipe her eyes with her left arm that she felt something seriously wrong. There was no arm, just a bandaged stub, sliced across just above where her elbow should have been. Panic overtook her and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest. The cardiac monitor sped up in response, beeping rapidly. Her vision went dark as the nurse ran in and set up an oxygen mask on her.

The next few days were all a blur. Most of the doctors had made an effort to come see their injured friend and a feeling of helplessness fell over her. Most left her get well cards, a few left balloons and one had left flowers by her bed. She had never really agreed with getting someone presents while in the hospital, what the hell were they gonna do with them? The whole idea seemed kind of silly to her.

Two doctors she had worked with before came in to discuss prosthetic options, and in return left her a mountain of paperwork to do. Then, as if a saviour in shining armor, one of her best friends and trusted partners Dr. Jeremy Carter walked in and, without even missing beat, slid the paperwork off of her side table and began to complete it while Charlotte slept. When she awoke, he stood there smiling and she couldn’t help but do the same. He held two coffees in a tray in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other which smelled of pastries, probably from the cafe across the street. She spent the afternoon talking, laughing and enjoying pastries and coffee with her best friend, one of the better days she’d had since the accident.

July 27th 2109
Early Afternoon
Same Location

Charlotte sat in her office looking over various patient reports. She had been bored out of her mind since she lost her arm in the accident, and paperwork certainly wasn’t thrilling like surgery used to be. It was funny how life could change so drastically in such a short period of time. She flicked the translucent screen in front of her, swiping to a complete 3-D model of the spine. It highlighted an area in red where the injury had happened and between the accident report and the model, Charlotte was able to work out exactly what had caused the injury and began to figure out how to fix it. One thing was for sure, it was going to be surgical. She ran her prosthetic fingers through her hair with a sigh as she sat there like a kid trying to piece together a puzzle.

The rising rate of riots and murders in the country had filled the hospital to it’s brim and the number of neurological consults she had received was insane. Stacks of paper describing blows to the head, people that had been trampled and concussions from fist fights covered her desk. Charlotte was slightly old fashioned, keeping all of the patient reports on hard copy. She found them much easier to read like this and she was also able to take them home to work on them further, something she couldn’t do electronically as they were tightly locked up on the hospital servers. She quickly mumbled something to the AI in her office and a metal splint appeared next to the spinal model. After fiddling around with different splints for a few hours, she finally found a model and orientation that would work and quickly jotted down some notes, takings measurements for the splint and then sending in the order to the supply desk to be delivered to the doctor in charge of the case.

A few hours later Charlotte had gathered her things for a few other patients and left the hospital, greeted by the crimson sun that sat on the horizon. She hopped on a train downtown and stopped in at a coffee shop upon arrival, looking over her notes and patient portfolios as she enjoyed her usual coffee and pastry. She held the cup in her left arm which still felt foreign and uncomfortable, but it was better than nothing. Besides, it was useful for taking things out of the oven at home when she didn’t feel like getting the oven mitts out.

By the time she had gotten home it was raining, the pitch black sky unleashing a torrent of lukewarm water onto the streets of downtown Chicago. She fell asleep very quickly, exhausted from yet another day of consults. Sometimes she actually wanted to work in the ER, at least that was a little more exciting.

Day Eleven
February 10th, 2110
10:30am

The FN Herstal FNX-45 made a reassuring click as she chambered a round in it. Charlotte’s breath fogged lightly in front of her, but otherwise she felt fairly warm despite the conditions. The cargo truck bounced gently on the slightly decayed roads as they approached Washington. From what the other travellers had said, they were now about ten miles north of their destination. A few minutes passed and the truck began to sputter and cough, before the engine died outright. Charlotte holstered her pistol on her hip and hopped out of the truck, approaching the driver’s window. “What gives?” she said, tapping on the window lightly. The driver descended from the truck and looked to her, before tapping the hood “All out o’ gas I’m afraid, I thought we’d have enough to make it here.” His heavy southern accent caught her slightly off guard but she nodded and put it out of her mind.

She waved to the others as she walked on down the road, the frigid winds biting at her face. Charlotte rolled her shoulders and stretched out her false arm. It never seemed to work very well in the cold and frequent movement with it was required to keep it from completely locking up. Her large black backpack felt heavy on her shoulders after being relaxed on the truck for so long, and her trauma kit hung from her good hand, not quite dragging on the ground.

Zornitsa was extremely surprised to find the woman giving her a coat and scarf. While it was certainly welcome, she hardly wanted her to sacrifice so much for her. She almost wanted to tell her that it was fine, that she'd survive, but something felt wrong about refusing the offer, especially from the first person she had met since waking up. Actually, she hadn't yet put much thought to it, probably from her initial shock, but now, it was starting to sink in. Maybe she should consider herself lucky she hadn't run into some thug, had that been the case, she probably wouldn't be thinking about it now. Or be able to. So, she accepted the coat, briefly putting her knapsack on the ground in silence to put it on, then fumbling with her left arm to put the scarf on, only using her right arm for the final tie. She was quite frustrated with it and until she figured out how to use it properly, she wanted to keep use of it to a bare minimum.

Once she finally managed to put it all on, she picked her pack up again, and then looked up to find the woman showing her the hidden side of her face, where a scar could be found, across her clouded eye, indicating blindness. This brought a strange sort of comfort to Zornitsa, perhaps one of solidarity. "We both have our scars, huh..." she remarked quietly as the redhead spoke.

"It's fine, after everything, I think we can all be jumpy. Take the clothes. Let's not stay out here long talking. There are bad things out here, and I don't like the feeling out here right now."

Understanding she should probably be quiet based on her tone, Zornitsa simply nodded, wondering what she meant by "bad things". Perhaps they were the reason for her often feeling like she was being watched? In any case, Zornitsa readied to follow and on the order that she keep her gun out, she drew the pistol, this time with her left hand, supporting it with her prosthetic. It could do that, at least, though the cold sensation of it on her left hand was a bit unnerving. She took a moment to check the pistol, switching it to her right hand, releasing the magazine, pulling back the slide and finding no bullet in the chamber. Great, that could have gotten her killed had she attempted to fire it quickly, it was better she caught it now rather than too late. The magazine looked to be in good condition, so she loaded it and pulled back the slide and it smoothly slid back forward, looks like it was either new or well-maintained. Now she was ready, whether she liked it or not due to the lack of manual safety. Let's see, it's chambered in .45 ACP, as is standard for the US Army after the Beretta M9 went out of service, so ten rounds per magazine... Still better than the seven of the Marines' M45 MEUSOC M1911's, but I have to wonder if it would have been better for this to be chambered in .40 S&W like some of the police models, just to get a few more rounds in the magazine... Wait, how do I know this? Zornitsa paused for a moment and wondered just how much she was recalling thanks to the simple pistol. Shaking off the thought for later, she finished up her brief checks by looking down the sights; an ever so slight green tint came from a few dots on the sight, looks like it had tritium, to let her aim in the dark. With the apparent lack of power, that would definitely be a boon.

"I'm Heloise. Pleasure to meet you Zornitsa. Pity it isn't in better circumstances. Come on. This house looks empty."

Zornitsa gave her best nod in response to the quietly spoken introduction, smiling amicably in reply. The house looked like it had been subject to a very quick exit by its inhabitants. Hopefully one that wasn't too violent, she thought as she saw the abandoned suit case on the lawn, empty either from its owner gathering what was inside, or looters doing it for them, maybe.

"The world has gone to hell."

The solemn words spoken by her companion confirmed her suspicions and Zornitsa's expression became grim. She dearly hoped she wouldn't have to use the gun to hurt someone, but it was looking more and more like that kind of situation was at present likely. Heloise knocked on the door frame, making enough noise to get any possible inhabitants' attention. No response, then again, Zornitsa had a not so small feeling there wouldn't be.

"Stay outside while I clear. No offense, but right now, I think I'm more nimble then you. Remember, shoot anything that looks wrong. That includes humans."

She definitely had no qualms with that. If there was something or someone in there, she was dead, she simply didn't have the reaction time or the strength to protect herself if something happened. Here, there was a rather sizable yard, so she'd see anyone coming and have time to react. Sitting herself down on a lawn chair and putting the pistol in her lap, she took a moment to relax, closing her eyes and taking in the air. She could smell some smoke, gunpowder, gasoline and, disturbingly, a slight smell of rotting meat and gore, along with her own scent from the soap she had used. Includes humans, huh?She repeated to herself in silence, being reminded of the stories of death and destruction she had read in the newspaper articles. Heloise probably knew what was going on, talking to her wouldn't be a bad idea and even if here she was, trespassing in another person's house, it probably was for the best.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a sound of steps. Zornitsa quickly opened her eyes and stood up, holding her pistol in her left hand. The sound wasn't coming from behind, it probably had to be in front, in the streets. Sure enough, there was a man. Including humans. Zornitsa thought as she lifted the pistol up and aimed in his direction. He was dressed rather well, in a good looking trench coat, with a well-packed messenger bag, but he was holding a mean looking shotgun. Still, Zornitsa had already gotten the initiative and as soon as the man noticed her, he put his shotgun on the ground. Hm, he didn't seem to be too much of a danger, he looked to be in the same sort of predicament as herself and Heloise. She decided that it would be best to let him go, mostly because she wasn't ready to kill a man, lowering her gun a bit and gesturing with her right arm to go. He wasted no time in silently picking up his gun and dashing away. Better for him, better for her.

"Come in. There's no one here. Let's go through the house first and see if we can find anything useful to us. I doubt the occupants are coming back.

Zornitsa made a wry smile at her acquaintance's sigh, it was definitely a grim thing to say. She took no time in holstering her pistol and heading into the house, making sure to close the door behind her, sliding a chair near it in front of it from the inside, so they could hear if anyone tried to follow them in. She still felt a bit paranoid about being watched, after all, the day so far had shown her that it was definitely a feeling she was getting often. Once she was in, she headed off to another corner of the house than Heloise, deciding to search through the living room. Nothing much there, just a typical living room, just now empty of anything important or valuable. The study nearby was in much the same shape, with most everything taken and an ornamental mount for a rifle empty. The only thing of note was a safe that she couldn't get into, but shaking it did indicate something inside. It frustrated her slightly that she couldn't get into it, trying numerous combinations before giving up. There were a few magazines though, and Zornitsa spent a moment flicking through them until she realized the most recent ones were from weeks ago.

"Zornitsa? Please say you are still here."

Heloise called for her and Zornitsa dropped the article on the riots of July 2109 right onto the floor, leaving it open on a page with a picture of a burning attack helicopter. Strange, she sounded a lot less firm than before. Was she... worried about her? About losing her? Zornitsa felt warmed by the notion and after making sure she hadn't forgotten anything in the room, she called her back, the best she could with her voice in its current condition. "I'm here, don't worry! Just got lost reading, I'm coming." Zornitsa closed the door behind her on her second try (the first consisted of accidentally grabbing at nothing with her right arm) and then carefully walked through the darkened hallways of the house into the living room, which was close to the kitchen. Considering they would probably be there for a while, she made sure to get comfortable on the couch as she began to speak to Heloise. "So, ah... what's been happening over the last few months? What day is it currently? Sorry, I haven't exactly been conscious until just lately, you're the first human I think I've seen since... months, really."

As Zornitsa replied, Heloise let out a slow breath in relief, and she carefully closed the curtains, pulling down the blind as well. She darted to the laundry, and found some clothes pegs, returning as Zornitsa did. As she spoke, Heloise used the pegs to close any caps between the curtains, attaching curtain to curtain and curtain to blind, so that any light they might use would not escape easily through the window. As Zornitsa asked, once more, about what had been happening the last few months, Heloise looked to her, a saddened expression showing, as sat down as well. "I don't even know where to begin" She said, looking at the coffee table. "don't drink that water unless it's been unopened. I suppose I'll start with...the carnivorous deer" She pulled her feet up, so she was sitting with them curled under her, her gun within easy reach, her sword, sheathed for now, laying nearby.

"You see, it first started with these weird reports. I was at college, and of course, it was gossip for us, something to distract us from our classes, our upcoming assignments and exams, something that just wasn't college. So we all tried to find out as much as we could about it. I'm not sure which came first, the military involvement when Lenox burned over night, the man attacking people with hands and teeth, or the deer in Montana, eating livestock. That last one was when...I guess we figured things were going strange. Deer, eating other livestock? It just seemed preposterous" Heloise shuddered, still not quite able to believe that. Still not quite able to get the image of a deer tearing into a sheep. "They found mutated genes in the deer, and that's probably what caused them to go rabid" Heloise didn't claim to be any sort of bio-scientist, but that seemed to be a cause for craziness, gene mutation. "There was a lot of speculation, that maybe the government has been experimenting on animals, to create super animals or something. Mostly that, I think, is paranoid mumbo jumbo, but...things kept on happening"

Heloise paused for a moment, closing her eyes, once more succumbing herself to complete darkness. "The military started burning down parts of Lenox, and all can agree they were trying to contain something there, something that had already spread. The riots, the arguements, the stupidness just seemed to come on. A man cannibalised his wife, his chld. The child didn't live. I don't know what happened to the man. But the mother, she attacked a urse, just like the man did her son. And then people went missing from the same hospital, and I don't think they were ever found. I guess thats standard now too. More fights began, more riots, more attacks. The military executed a man, no one knows why and that's when the riots began to occur more frequently, ass the military began to use force, to destroy people, places, things, and it just got worse and worse. There were more and more murders, more and more events I guess you could call them." Heloise stopped here, and swallowed, remembering the reports, the images, the things. "One things clear though. You get infected, infected with what they are calling blackwater...you become a monster. Just like that man, or any number of people. You don't care about killing anymore, you don't care about being a cannibal. You don't care about being alive or dead. You just are. The simplest form, survival really. All you care about is your next meal, even if you just ate two minutes ago. You don't love. You don't hate. You just are a walking shell. And then there are the mutated..." Heloise trailed off, and fell silent for a long time.

When she next spoke, she said "There's no electricity, no fuel, no distribution of supplies. There's no plumpling, no authroity, no cellphones, vehicles are functioning, but without fuel not for long. Most food is okay, but fauna could be contaminated. Tinned food is generally good. Flora is okay. All water, lakes and such, are contaiminated. I think the bottled water here would be fine, as long as it was bottled long before it started. Rinwater is okay, so learn to collect as much as you can. So far, Air seems to be good. I think as long as the animal isn't acting crazy, it should be okay to eat, but if you suspect it isn't, then don't eat it. it isn't worth your life" again, Heloise fell silent, and she wrapped her arms around herself. It didn't seem possible that all this could have happened, and yet it had. This was the world now, and they had no idea when they would become infected. That was the worst part, the not knowing.

You just had to keep on surviving, if you could. Maybe, one day, they'd figure out how to bring the world back into some semblance of normal. That day wasn't today. Oddly enough, talking about it, made Heloise feel better, just slightly so, as if sharing it all meant she was't carrying it all alone anymore. That had to mean something, didn't it? "I don't know what's been going on, since I made my way home, to find my mother. I've just been...traveling. Trying to survive. Trying not to run into too many people. I don't know if there's any sort of help on the way, or if all that's out there is just a handful of survivors and then the dead and the creepy. I don't know if we're the only country affected, or if the whole world is. I just know that I've been surviving, eating tinned food, catching whatever water I can, rummaging houses for toilet paper, of all things!" At this she gave a small laugh, finding once more that it lightening her somewhat. You couldn't forget to laugh. She sobered quickly though, "I've been following riots, or fights, hoping to find my mother. There was no cell service when I got home, so I just left the phone behind when the power was cut off. No point carrying it around, just useless weight now. There's no radio signal either, just that static. Just think of all those teenagers, glued to their phones, tablets and whatnot, coming out of it when they know longer worked, blinking bleary at the sun!" Again, a small laugh, this one almost truly genuine, "But this is not what you want to here"

Heloise reached for one of the water bottles, checking the date of packaging, roughly a year ago and decided it was okay to drink. she cracked open the seal, and took a small sip, "Basically, we're on our own. We can't just sit around waiting for help. We are the Calvary. There is no other help out there. If someone stumbles along, and decides they can help, fantastic! We'll be in a better position then we were, but right now, we're it." She looked about the house, uneasy. "I think we should be okay in this place for the rest of the day. I assume you know how to use that gun, but we'll find a butcher knife or something as well. Sometimes silence is best. You'll learn to run again pretty quickly. You have to, or you'll die" Heloise was blunt there, and she winced as she realised it, giving a sigh, "And I'd rather not be alone again." She set the water aside, deciding if it was contaminated, she'd blow her own head off. She didn't think it was, but at least she knew what to do. She looked to Zornitsa, perhaps for te first time since she started talking.

"We can survive. We just have to want to" She said, very softly, rising to move back the blind slightly, and look out, satisfied for now, she looked back to Zornitsa. "It's not going to be fun, or pretty. But we can do it" Heloise was sure of that, was sure it was possible. They wouldn't die now. "Where did you wake up? How did you wake up? What was around you? Any signs of trouble?" The more knowledge Heloise had, the better prepared she could be. "What happened to you?"

Already, the atmosphere was tense. Heloise closed up the windows as much as possible to not let any light out and only a bit in, making Zornitsa strongly remember the darkness of her room, and the subsequent warnings about water didn't help to calm her now tense spirit. Then, carnivorous deer, an idea which made Zornitsa feel quite uneasy indeed, and it only got worse from there. Heloise's expression darkened and Zornitsa found herself anxiously flexing the prosthetic's fingers as she listened, making an ever so slight sound of whirring motors. The mention of mutated genes had her freeze for a moment, but she kept quiet as she continued. Why, she did not know, but she mentally bookmarked it for later. That was only the beginning, however, and Zornitsa got a very disheartening feeling over the idea of the military burning down Lenox. Something about it felt familiar. She found herself horrified, however, by the mention of cannibalism. All the matters mentioned by Heloise were almost like a crescendo of terror...

"...as the military began to use force, to destroy people, places, things, and it just got worse and worse.

Zornitsa froze. That, was something she knew. Though she couldn't exactly recall it, if the report in her passport was to be believed, she had a role in that. It felt like her heart had stopped, the rest of Heloise's recollection becoming nothing but white noise as Zornitsa attempted to remember anything in more detail. Nothing came, but it all was very worrying to her. Heloise paused for a moment and Zornitsa regained herself, taking a deep breath and looking at her companion, waiting for her to go on. It didn't get much better from there, so far, not a single bright side was in sight, especially at the mention of "monsters". Finally, Zornitsa knew why she felt like she was being watched, why Heloise had her wait outside while she cleared the house. And perhaps, the reason for the military presence in Seattle. Maybe even the riots of months earlier, anything was possible. In any case, even with a pistol and a hatchet, formidable weapons against an animal and probably humans too, Zornitsa felt very unsafe indeed. Twenty rounds would be nothing against a crowd of ruthless, unfeeling cannibals, who could probably take a bullet and keep on walking, just to have their next meal.

No electricity, fuel, distribution of supplies, running water, no cellular networks and complete anarchy. The human world had collapsed and it seems the natural one wasn't doing much better, if animals and water were contaminated. Food could sometimes be a danger and Zornitsa now sincerely hoped her earlier shower had been clean. How long had her room been sealed? The food had all been well packaged and the water bottle she had drunk from hadn't once been opened as of yet, but she wasn't sure about the water in the bathroom. Seeing as the tank had no signs of mineral residue, it had to either be recent or be distilled. Fingers crossed it was the latter. Zornitsa had to wonder just how this "blackwater" thing spread. Liquid was a likely idea, based on the name, but she couldn't be sure. No one could, probably. There were at least a few people who weren't infected, so it was at least probable that it wasn't airborne. The two were now both in silence as they thought over the things just told by Heloise. It wasn't anything for anyone to be happy about, that's for sure.

Now she was curious, though. Was the military really in control of the area? Could they do anything? She had planned on going to them, but was that really the best idea? Now, she didn't really know where to go, so she kept quiet and instead listened to Heloise, hoping for her to perhaps give an indication of what her plans were. Her expression did seem to be brightening up a tiny bit though, maybe talking had helped her slightly. This, at least, brought some warmth to Zornitsa and she relaxed into the couch, now less anxiously flexing her fingers.

"I don't know what's been going on, since I made my way home, to find my mother. I've just been...traveling. Trying to survive. Trying not to run into too many people. I don't know if there's any sort of help on the way, or if all that's out there is just a handful of survivors and then the dead and the creepy. I don't know if we're the only country affected, or if the whole world is. I just know that I've been surviving, eating tinned food, catching whatever water I can, rummaging houses for toilet paper, of all things!"

She laughed and Zornitsa giggled a bit herself. Amazingly, that had been the first time she had laughed in months, if she wasn't mistaken. It felt good, for sure, and she appreciated Heloise ever more for making her do it. She smiled for a moment, until the redhead told her of what she had been doing until then. It was a story that didn't make Zornitsa too optimistic, but she did sympathize with her, in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on, she already began thinking of ways she could help her in whatever way possible. It's not like she had anywhere better to go, as more and more doubts surfaced about her chances with the Army. The conviction to help her was strengthened even more when she laughed once again. Someone she could laugh with, who managed to make her laugh in such times, was definitely someone she could get along with. Then, she moved on, after warily checking the wrapping on a water bottle, before taking a sip from it.

"Basically, we're on our own. We can't just sit around waiting for help. We are the Calvary. There is no other help out there. If someone stumbles along, and decides they can help, fantastic! We'll be in a better position then we were, but right now, we're it."

That settled it. Beyond asking if the Army had any records, there was no chance with them. If Heloise was to be believed, they weren't in a better condition than anyone else and they couldn't do anything. They simply had to survive on their own, even if Zornitsa had a hard time coming to terms with that idea. Still, it was better than giving up outright and if anything, it seemed the two had determination in common. Heloise then looked around the house and Zornitsa did the same, making a mental note to block the door so no one could come in, but so they could also make an easy exit. Thankfully, the drapes and curtains were of a darker color, so if they could find some candles or a lantern, they'd have some light, using the lighter Zornitsa had found in her pants earlier.

"I think we should be okay in this place for the rest of the day. I assume you know how to use that gun, but we'll find a butcher knife or something as well. Sometimes silence is best. You'll learn to run again pretty quickly. You have to, or you'll die"

Oh boy. Zornitsa thought somberly. It might be a while before she got used to the leg and even then, she needed to build up some muscle mass. Had food been in better quantity, she could probably exercise in the free time she had, but with the energy bars she had, she'd tire fast. Along with that, slashing with any sharp weapon would be a challenge, her arms weren't in much better condition than her legs. They'd have to figure something out, fast. Heloise's next remark, after sighing, was definitely something Zornitsa could agree on, though. Considering how the world was, she was lucky the first person she had literally stumbled upon had been so kind to her. Had it been someone or something else, she would probably be dead. And with how she had been so far, it'd be hard to lose her. Still, together, they could probably survive for at least a good while. Zornitsa felt she could rely on her.

"We can survive. We just have to want to. It's not going to be fun, or pretty. But we can do it."

That gave a lot of hope to Zornitsa, she smiled and nodded as vigorously as she could manage when Heloise said it, looking at her directly. And maybe, they could smile while doing it, if they were lucky. Though now, it was her turn to answer some questions, so she cleared her throat and thought for a moment before beginning. "I woke up in my room, I think, it seemed very familiar to me and I had a feeling of knowing where everything was. Not that it helped much, the place was empty except for some furniture. I must have recently moved, there was just the bed I was in, a dresser, the coffee table and couch and a TV. There wasn't anyone there, just some notes, some supplies left for me, and some documents giving me the news and telling me who I am. A passport, a doctor's report, stuff like that. The report said I've been in a coma since July, when I was... in a helicopter accident during the riots in Tucson." She paused, rolling up her sleeve to show her mechanical arm, her pant leg to show her prosthetic there and brushing aside her hair to show the scars. "I can't remember much of anything, so I'm going on what the report says. I spent the first few days after I first woke getting used to my body again and training my voice with a tape. Believe it or not, before you, the only voice I had heard besides my own was from someone speaking over a hundred years ago!" She laughed a bit to make her point, before continuing. "There weren't any signs of trouble, everything looked alright except for the lack of electricity and running water and the door being locked shut and barricaded on the other side, with a vent open so I could get outside. I lived in Madrona, east of here, near Lake Washington, so it was pretty quiet. I figured since... I was in the Army, apparently, I'd head deeper into town and make contact with the presence here, but since talking to you, I've had my doubts." She gulped when she mentioned being in the Army, she was afraid for a moment that Heloise would hold it against her, due to the events over the last few months.

"Sorry, I don't know much, I just remember things not looking great in Madrona. Doors smashed down, signs of violence, but it was quiet. I guess the infected you mentioned were hiding?" She finished and took a sip of water herself, from a bottle well-sealed and marked for being over a year old. "What are your plans from here? What should we do?"

The fact that Zornitsa laughed as well just made things seem...not as bad. Like even for a few moments, they could be somewhere else. Maybe on a tropical island sipping those funny drinks in the coconuts. And Heloise knew she'd do anything for those simple moments, of laughter and light. There had been precious little of it. Heloise rejoiced in the sound. She settled herself again, letting her thoughts flow as she thought on ways to make this house safe for a day, or two. She focused on Zornitsa when she began to talk, processing what she was saying. It seemed quite possible that zornitsa had been moved, but not to her own home, to what was probably a safe house. Heloise's guess that zornitsa's prosthesis's were new was confirmed, even if it had been since July, it seemed she hadn't had that much practice with them. It would be tough, Heloise knew, but they could manage it. it might mean hi-jacking a vehicle, hi-jacking several, in low risk areas, or just jumping from house to house for a while, but they could do it.

They could do it, while Zornitsa became accustomed to her new limbs. Heloise thought that, while she had been out for most of it, Zornitsa had had perhaps a worst time of it then herself. At least Heloise had known what was going on, the last few months. Waking up alone...she couldn't image what that would have been like. it showed a strong will, strong mental state, really. And to not freak out, as Heloise told her what happened was just even more impressive. Heloise had lived it, and sometimes it was still hard to believe it. Heloise figured if Zornitsa could be okay right now, then she'd be fine in the next...would it be months, years, decades? Heloise tried to imagine living this life for years, and that was just depressing, so she didn't think on it for long. Instead she continued to listen to what Zornitsa was saying.

Army? She was with the Army? Heloise winced, wondering if Zornitsa had taken offensive to what she had said, but was sure she hadn't said anything that bad about the army. She knew they had done their best, in what was difficult very situations. She wasn't too sure what she would have done, if it had been her. Heloise should have figured that she was army-the way she'd gone for her weapon, instinct and familiarity. And who else would be given such high tech limbs? Heloise shifted uneasily, uncertainly. She had no right to say to Zornitsa that she should or shouldn't go to the army, but...

"You can go to the base here, if you want. I just feel that if they were going to do something, if they would be able to do something...they already would have done it. Yes, they may have food, a constant supply of water, but how long will that last? How many people have survive, who will go to the army? A lot, probably. What happens if they get over run? Is it better to be in a large group, or a small group? I don't know. Right now, I have food. I have water. I have a gun, and a sword. I have company, and that's all I need right now" was days of not talking, or talking to herself causing her to speak more then she had, probably, in a week? She didn't know, but it was good to be able to talk. "What if we go to them...only to be...taken somewhere, or kept, unable to do anything?"

She sighed softly, rubbing her hands over her face wearily, thinking. What were her plans? It was probably then that she realised the only plan she had had was to find her mother. Simple as that. Could she admit to herself, even now, that she had just been chasing a dream? Was her mother even alive? If she was, she would have been at the house, right? Left a note, something, anything? Heloise cast her mind back to the house. Had there been pictures, photos left behind? It was an important question, because if they were gone...her mother was alive. If they hadn't been, she wasn't. She wouldn't have left the photos behind. She looked up, to Zornitsa. She had to do what was right, not just for herself, but for Zornitsa now. And chasing after a potential goose chase wasn't good for Zornitsa. No.

Heloise was silent for a few moments, as she composed her thoughts. As she tried to come up with a new plan. 'Some one must know something. Somebody, somewhere must have an idea how to stop this. For all we know it could be some geek, some nerd buried in a cave somewhere, waiting for the chance to do what needs to be done. Or it could be a kid, somewhere thinking this through and in several years, might come up with the way to fix this. Either way, we need to survive. Whether it's just becoming nomads, or finding somewhere to belong I guess. Right now? Right now I guess my plans are to get you up to a good fitness level. Maybe we could stay here, for a few days. Scavenging some food, some supplies, maybe a tent or something. Making ship en of some fuel from cars, get a pick up truck, load it up with as much fuel as we can find." Heloise laid out some options, talking through her thoughts out loud, trying to make sense of her own thoughts. "or we can go to the army, find some answers. Find more options, but I think we should still find all the supplies we can, either way. Give you, and hell, me, a day of rest, or at least a few hours" She finished lamely, "This house should be okay, for the day" she said again.

She rose restlessly, checking outside again, "If we're going to stay here, then we find a way to keep the door shut, rig up some sort of alarm system, keep our gear together, packed. Jeez, I don't know. I normally find a hole to crawl into for a few hours at a time" She said, almost embarrassed at admitting that. "By myself, being out in the open seemed foolish" She said, as if defending herself. 'What do you want to do? Cause I'll do it" She said softly, looking to Zornitsa, deciding they could risk a candle, if only to be able to have some light. She rummaged in her pack until she found the candle she had. "I don't want to simply control you, and...I don't really have any goals right now beyond surviving"

That was true. apart from knowing, truly, that he mother was alive or not, she had no goals. So she would be happy to do what zornitsa wanted to do. If she wanted to go to the army, she would. And she'd come up with a plan in case it wasn't what it should be. She wearily sat back down, got herself as comfortable as she was going to, she said softly "I just don't want to be alone anymore"