[center]Wilhelm Taggart
[h3]Rite Aid Pharmacy[/h3]
[@Exit][@CandiBarr]
Chase | Sarah Rivera[/center]

Taggart looked at the map, and although everybody figured 60 seconds of brisk walking was all it took, he mentally calculated any delays, such as bounding from cover, waiting-out any odd noises ahead, and detours which could more than triple their travel time. Still, it was barely more than 100 yards, a kid with a .22 long-rifle could cover them from the safety of their shelter if need arose.

Due to being so nearby, knowing a clear path was fairly straightforward as Chase did whatever people in his profession learned to do when busting into a place. Still, Wilhelm decided to look for himself through the safety of the window before going-in with the others. The mention of no shooting elicited the young wiry man to open the bolt, pull out the 5th cartridge, press the 4-stack beneath the interrupter, and close the bolt on an empty chamber, decocking the firing-pin as he did-so; he'd still have four in the mag, just in case things got hairy.

Inside, along the right-aisle was the checkout-lane and the pharmacy-counter behind-which he knew sat a locked refrigerator full of perishable drugs, most likely spoiled by now due to lack of power, but one never knew. He also scanned the aisles, mostly greeting-cards and instructional-booklets for losing weight, a few tabloids and other magazines. He grabbed a slight assortment of outdoor-magazines, figuring they'd keep the idlers entertained when they returned.

That's when he heard a moan.

Looking down, he saw half a body pinned under a book-rack reaching for his feet, wearing what was left of the company uniform. Poor sod. Time to put it out of their misery...

He pile-drove the steel-buttplate of his nine and a half pound rifle square on the top of the rotter's head, causing it to bounce off the tile floor, leaving a series of messy splatter where blood and snot and whatever else was ejected out their nose... and yet still it moved towards his feet... He kicked it, the rotter's neck snapped with a sick wet noise, and as it hung at a 270 degree angle off their shoulders, he flipped his rifle around and drove a twelve inch bayonet through its skill, finally pinning it until everything went still and lifeless, almost calm. Taggart meanwhile, was anything but calm; the ordeal frazzled his nerves and from then-on he'd always second-guess how much force was ever enough when trying to kill the dead.

However there wasn't time to contemplate a new philosophy, as no sooner had his heartrate began to settle when he heard a shot ring-out.