Frier & Watson Brothers

Blood covered the leaves that lay upon the cold stone beneath Arthur’s aching knee. The wound beneath his linen shirt seemed to grow as crimson enveloped every thread, an expanding circle of red just below his heart. As the red, thick and dripping from his old barbed chest, made its way down to his trousers waistline, his ears rang. For a moment his eyes blurred. Instantaneously his vision returned to him and he saw clearing the country road upon which he had been ambushed, the tall oaks and stalwart bushes guarding its sides.

Then darkness fell over his eyes, a dull wet thud the last noise to come from his lifeless body.

With the scream of his .357 snubnose, Mike’s arm shot back to settle at his shoulder, the barrel resonating beside his chewed ear. The old man lay on his back among the green vines and fallen leaves, blood meandering over his hairy chest exposed by the low necked shirt, two bullet holes in his lower left side.

“Search him.”

Called Frier from the car, his cough carrying through every word, the phlegm in his throat mixing with the breath to make him sound guttural and wounded. The youngest of the three strode forward proudly, having shot the first and effectively, grabbing the 12 guage that lay beside the corpse. A grin spread over the young mans face, dispersed as his lips pursed and spat at the floor, at the old dead man.

“Mine!”

He bellowed with triumph, a quick nod inwards accompanying the enthusiastic tone. With his gloved hands he threw the shotguns strap over his shoulder and took the rucksack by his feet with both hands. Heaving loudly and in a frankly obnoxious manner, Keanan dragged the old and dirtied luggage to the back of the car, throwing it carelessly into an already heaped pile of scavenge.

“Hurry it up will ya?”

Frier struck the driver’s door with his knuckle duster in urgency, revving the engine slightly as Keanan neared the rear door. The second the door open the car started forward, by this time Mike had managed to rest himself into the passenger seat, and laughed as Keanan bared his teeth and growled lowly through them.

After a few attempts, and due to Frier’s impending boredom, Keanan was allowed in and they set off down the country road, passing destroyed road signs and overgrown car parks as they neared the city. None of them had a map and, even if they had, none of them had the smarts or know how to use one without getting lost.

All the same, cities meant people and people meant spoils, women and food! In all honesty, Mike was always more thirsty than hungry during the day, though he blamed that on his inherited ‘midget bladder’ - a curse among his family, apparently. Though he craved a woman every second of every day, his primal needs a much more potent urge than ever before.

“Stop!”

Keanan exclaimed, completely ignored by Friar through spite at first, though he soon slammed on the brakes as Keanan reached over awkwardly from behind him and grabbed the wheel, his body flying into the back of the chair as the car halted.

“The fuck are you trying, boy?”

Frier said coldly, keeping a calm tone but a murderous glare toward Keanan who rubbed his body all over in pain.

“Look...bastard.”

Keanan pointed ahead of them and mumbled his last word, settling back into his chair angrily. Through the windshield they saw the outskirts of the city surrounded by thin forest and shrub, some large homes and abandoned streets, but past all that was a steel pinned cement graveyard. Dead buildings filled their view, an old construction site draped with plastic sheets - unfinished city apartments, a collapsed factory building besides them.

“What?”

Frier’s expression was one wavering close to anger but closer to confusion, eye twitching and lips shivering pressed to his yellow teeth. His eyes swept from corner to viney corner, window to empty window, then to the shiny glint of metal that moved slowly through the factory grounds.

“Well, now that...is something.”

There eyes fell upon the rolling bulk of a tank, a silhouette at this distance, but a working tank none the less. Type and power was not to their knowledge, but Mike, Frier and Keanan all dropped their jaws an inch as blood sailed along their veins, the grip on their weapons tightening, the car's engine roaring like a lion as it bounded down the hill towards the industrial ground.

Its a normal Post-Apocalyptic day as Grayson looks out the window of his Power-Plant mansions top floor windows. He looks out only to see a city that is dying if not dead already. "Doesn't look like anything has gotten any better." He thinks to himself. He turns to check the other window which over looks Gas Works Park or "His Lawn" as he likes to call it. He takes a look around the room and grabs the water bladder out of his backpack. He looks at the water levels and decides to take a walk down to the river to get some water. The bladder has a built in filter that cleans any water you put in it. He thought it was silly that his dad made him buy it but he sure is more than thankful now-a-days. He walks slowly down to his storage and looks at whats for breakfast, even though he has no idea what time it is. He picked out his freshly pillaged eggs that he just got off a farming group that came to the city for supplies. He took some (kinda moldy) bread and decided to make french toast to treat himself for the victory yesterday. He took out all four of them. If there were more of those farmers they too will soon come looking for their friends and supplies as well. So Grayson does what he always does and sets up an over-watch in the area of his last victims to see if they had any friends that had any nice things that Grayson wanted. He hoped they had more eggs because he really liked the french toast.

Once he packed everything he would need up he headed for the river to do dishes and fill up his water bladder. Then he would set up his over-watch on the street he killed the travelers yesterday. Grayson stayed close to the foliage as much as possible and scanned the opposite bank for a while before stepping out to do his chores. Once he deemed it safe he stepped out and carried out what he needed to do. Once he was done he packed his bag and headed for his set up. He wouldn't be back till late so he gave his mansion a look that seemed to day "Don't you be going anywhere while I'm gone" and off he went. sticking close to the bushes until he got out to the roads, then he stayed low and under as much debris as possible. He got to his building and rounded up 7 flights of stairs like it was nothing. He could see down the whole street from here. About five blocks, he could only shoot (and hit) to about three considering his elevation range with his Air-Rifle. He took off his helmet and put it next to him, he grabbed his middy stick and laid it down so it was easily accessible if need be. He took out his Air-Rifle and Pulled out his foam stand. With a large piece of concrete he (eventually) broke the glass pane and laid down to wait.

He would only do this for three more days then he would go back to milling around his mansion and scavenging for food like he normally does. As Grayson sat there, he got to thinking. What day was it? What time? How much time has passed sense the world went to shit? How old was he now? He was starting to feel pretty old. He also wondered how many people he has killed, and how he wouldn't mind settling down with another person (or group of people) just to have some company once in a while. However he knew if he got attached to anyone he would only have to feel more pain when this world claims yet another of the dwindling human population. But this time, he really wanted a companion. Grayson felt it was time to get to know someone again. Now he just needed to find the right person.

The blood under his nails hadn't even had time to dry before Drei began tearing through the man's clothing, looking for anything that would be of use to him. As he searched the corpse, he recounted what had happened in his mind. The man had come out of one of the nearby buildings, screaming like a maniac in his rush toward Drei. He had a metal pipe in his hand, raised above his head. Drei turned to fully face the man, his arm shooting out to grab the wrist of the hand holding the pipe as it was being swung downward. The sudden stop caused it to slip from the man's grip, allowing it to hit Drei in the head, though only hard enough to barely hurt. Pissed, Drei pressed the fingers on his right hand together, claws pointing forward together. In a quick thrust his nails tore through the flesh of the throat, where Drei then clenched his hand into a fist and pulled back, tearing out a chunk of meat. A kick to the stomach sent the terrified man falling to the ground, where he lay bleeding and suffocating.

His mind returning to the present, Drei realized this poor soul had nothing of worth on his person. He stood from his crouching position, glaring down at the body. His stomach growled, and the smell of fresh blood in the air tempted him. Drei grabbed the body by the arm that had held the pipe, dragging it back to the building it came from. As Drei entered the large city structure he could smell faintly the scent of smoke, which he followed up one flight of stairs. There before him was this deceased man's humble abode, fire burning weakly with the smoke continuing up through a hole in the ceiling of the second floor. In the corner Drei found a pile of dried wood, which he used to feed the fire.

Once it had begun burning well again, Drei picked up a stick charred at one end. It was obviously what the man had used to cook his meals on, ironic that Drei would now be using it for the same reason. The irony was lost on Drei however as he pulled out his hunting knife and ripped a chunk of calf meat from the corpse. This meat he slid onto the cooking stick, which he then held over the fire. The meat cooked quickly in the fire's heat, and Drei watched as his food went from a soft, wet red to a charred brown. Pulling it from the flames, he brought the meat straight to his mouth, opening his jaws and sinking his sharpened incisors into it, holding it with both hands so he could rip off a bit to chew.

Drei had continued this until there was no more meat on the calf, and his stomach was sated. He knew all the smoke would likely have begun drawing other scavengers to his location, and he cleaned his knife on the trousers the man had been wearing. He tore a scrap of cloth from the man's shirt, using it to wipe his teeth down as he walked down the stairs. He poked his head out the doorway before walking back onto the street, and upon seeing his coast was clear he left the structure and began his stroll through the city once more.

Drei had no idea what exactly he was hoping to find this deep in the city. Most stores had been picked clean in the first few years, so that only left peoples' personal stashes and the people themselves , most of whom were hostile to anything that moved. Looking towards the sky Drei could see he was close to the building he had heard be referred to as the Space Needle. Thinking there could possibly be some friendly survivors, he began walking towards it.

Certainly, the thing that should have been on Raguel Reid's mind was the prospect of getting another settlement to form a trade deal with his. It was necessary to rebuild the community to its fullest potential, and you simply cannot do that without gasoline. Electricity, cars, you name it. It was the most coveted thing for his settlement, granted they had small gardens and access to a well. The thing was, Raguel just couldn't take his mind off the salisbury steak that laid before him. In his old life, he wouldn't have ever touched it, given his reputation. Now, however, the steak is a delicacy. Not many souls out there can say they've enjoyed one in the past ten years. He glanced over at the box one good time, taking his time to be grateful for the gift of such a well preserved meal, and then he dug in. The steak was gone in minutes, but savored every second of it.

As he was putting his plate away, an unreasonably tall caucasian male burst into the room, clearly excited about something. "Mr. Reid, we-"

"Kaid. Forgotten how to knock, have we?" Raguel asked rhetorically. The rhetoric, by some miracle, managed to find its way over the giant's head.

"No, I haven't. But they're here, now. Ca-"

"It seems that our guests are as eager as you are." Raguel remarked smoothly. He calmly slid his plate into the old, well-kept sink and turned to face Kaid. "So it's best to not keep them waiting. Wait for me outside, tell them I'll be out in a few."

"You got it," came Kaid's final statement. Raguel listened to his loud footsteps as he left the home. He would never understand the tendency of the post-apocalyptic generation to be so excited about violence whenever it even so much as presented the slightest opportunity. Hypocritical, he knew, given what was about to transpire in the next fifteen or so minutes.

As he approached the exit to his home, Raguel stuffed his M9 handgun in the back if his pants, so that it would appear to his guests that he was unarmed. All it really was was insurance, but he had a funny feeling that this was insurance he was going to need. He left his signature machete laying where it was and walked out the door, smiling that charming smile if his that had always done him well in the past. "Today's the day we get what we want," he muttered to himself, "It's showtime."

The night before...
The group of eight sat around the glowing campfire as it's light danced against the side of Ural their Czech built T-72, cold war era tank. The beast had seen better days, but was still functional thanks to the tender care of Andy O'Keefe and watchful eye of its current owner Gregory Bainbridge.

"I could go for an ice cold can of Coke," Joe Filion muttered.

Andy O'Keefe looked up at him, smiling. "Yea, with a shot of Seagram's Seven in it," the only true tanker in the group blurted out.

Joe had to laugh at that, "I preferred Jack Daniels. It had the right bite." Theresa's head leaned in against her father's left shoulder. A smile pierced her lips. She enjoyed it when her dad and Mr. O'Keefe talked about the old world. It brought back memories of her mom. She cherished those times, even though she was only six when the world went to hell.

"How about a big frickin' Cuban cigar!?" Andy O'keefe offered.

"You have one!?" Joe asked.

"No, sadly I do not. I wish I had more than a few. I'd share."

"We can always dream." Joe kicked a bit of dirt into the fire. "Those were the days. I recall my dad had a rebuilt '68 Chevy Camaro with a four-fifty-four big block V8 engine. Man, I still remember that car. She purred like a kitten and roared like a lion." Joe and his daughter both smiled thinking about the car. "That was one sweet ride. I remember him driving it to the local American Legion with me and my sister in the back seat as kids. Dad served in the Marines. He had been in Beirut in '83 when the barracks were bombed. After he came home, he went to work for the railroad, met my mom, got married and had me." Joe sat quietly for several seconds staring into the fire. "Man, how times have changed."

Today...
Joe found himself in an old factory somewhere in Seattle, Washington. Gregory Bainbridge and Theresa Filion stood near watching something in the distance. Joe squatted down poking a stick in the rubble. He found a rusted old wrench, size 9/16" and a pair of rusted old pliers with the slip joint. He tucked the tools in a cargo pocket and dug some more. He then uncovered a plastic case. This time, he retrieved his leatherman tool and brought out its screwdriver. He was able to disassemble the cover on the plastic case revealing several copper wires of various colors. He cut one end and began pulling on them until he had seven strands of copper wire measuring six feet in length. He coiled them up and shoved them into the same cargo pocket.

"Amie...Jane," Amie muttered, signing her latest journal entry in her flowing cursive signature. She sighed and forced a smile, though she wasn't all that excited. She hadn't been on scavenge duty in a while, so she'd probably go. Being out in the open made her nervous, but staying sheltered wasn't fair to the others, and she was a grown woman. She was going to do her part, fun or not, like it or not. She turned to face the door as it was opened by a tall, thin man wearing a well-worn three-piece suit. He was a gentleman, and he was going to dress the part to the very end. He nodded politely at her.

"The council meeting is in five minutes, miss."

"Thanks for the heads-up!" she responded cheerily, tossing the journal onto her bed and jogging downstairs. The ground floor had a wide lobby, which had been converted into a meeting room of sorts. A large wooden table was placed in the center, surrounded by mix-matched chairs. Most of the community, if you could call it that, was already present. All of them nodded and a few smiled as she appeared and took her seat. The remaining few appeared shortly after, and the unofficial head of the community, a short, stout, 60-something ex-accountant who somehow managed to keep his hair combed straight, took charge. He was precise, but kind, and he had dealt with very few major arguments over the years. He stood up and opened a notebook that contained the records of jobs/duties, when they were done, and who did them.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said in his trademark dry, rusty voice. "I know most of you have no interest in these meetings, so as usual I will keep them as brief as possible. Duties, as organized by previous activity, are as follows:"

He clicked through the names and, as she had expected, Amie was a scavenger this week. Scavengers leave at sunup and get back at sundown five days a week. A list of priorities was assigned, and the scavengers were expected to find at least half of them. Some, like food, water/beverages, and clothing, were not so hard to find. Others, like medicine, ammunition, and a generator (the generator had been a priority for years), not so much. She was with three others, who were in charge of working together on the scavenge. They had until morning to make a plan, pack kits, and rest. Amie forced yet another smile. No use in griping about it. Someone had to do it, and this week it was her. There were no objections, and the meeting was promptly adjourned.

Gregory "Grisha" Bainbridge

Seattle.

A few years ago, back when Grisha lived on Bainbridge Island, he could see the seaport city from his safe community of people who only fell sick every so often and not nearly all the time as he had seen in some settlements in his later years of pilgrimage, at least, not until the end, when he left, he had dreamed of coming here and seeing its glistening towers. When he was but a boy, those towers shined and shined and seemed to beckon to him. Some people called it the "jet city", due to its history in the old world as a place where one of the greatest plane manufacturers was headquartered and that only excited him more, as he imagined wandering in the concrete jungle, rather than the temperate rain forests typically seen around Washington and definitely on Bainbridge Island, his namesake. Other people called it the "emerald city", citing the green color of the fauna which dotted the city and the surroundings, which Grisha was more than used to.

Today, as he had finally seen the city from a closer distance, entering into its limits for the first time in his life, he was sure of which nickname fitted it more, as the once glistening skyscrapers soared solemnly in the distance, surrounded by the growth of trees, plants, grass, moss and other wildlife, easily visible even from a distance. According to some of the people of the island, Seattle always had many more green areas as compared to many other American cities and to Grisha, it seemed that those green spaces had taken over the entire city. He almost felt a tinge of sorrow that he'd never see the city in its true glory, but had decided to put this romantic idea aside when his home and trusty steed, Ural, had stopped near an industrial zone of the city. Out of fuel, it seemed, as usual. With two of his companions, Joe Fillion and his daughter, Terry, they had set out to find any supplies, items of interest or fuel, leaving Joe Jr., Franklin, Raisa, and the regular crewmen Andy and John in charge of guarding the tank. They had some protection, especially with Joe Jr. there, a much better shooter than himself, Franklin, John, but of roughly equivalent skill to old Andy, but Grisha always felt a bit bad leaving them alone, he was always a bit scared he'd return to find them gutted by bandits or all sick from something no one could ever hope to cure. Old trauma, he supposed.

"Grisha". He said the nickname to himself as Joe looked through some of the rubble in the factory they were investigating. The nickname had been given to him by the tank's resident Russian, Raisa, a young girl who Grisha had become quite fond of, like a younger sister and it seemed to stuck. Sometimes, he forgot his original first name was actually Gregory. Getting a bit sentimental over it, he reached into his coat pocket and removed the Makarov pistol. Broken, it actually belonged to Raisa, it was mostly to scare anyone who caught him alone and off guard, the Fillions were the ones who were really packing. Something about a tiny part of some description missing from the pistol, nothing noticeable to view, so long as he made it look lethal, it might as well be, no one wanted to be shot in this new world. Anyone who wanted to be shot had already done it themselves, that's for sure. Wryly smiling at his silent black remark, he looked around.

"You look like you've had more luck than me, Joe." He remarked with a chuckle as he gestured to the wire. Grisha hadn't found much, to be brutally honest, he had spent most of the time looking at the scenery. After all, he was finally here, in Seattle. It was all quite thrilling, even if it was a lot more... bush-y than he first imagined it. Even Ural had had problems on one of the roads into the city and on the outskirts, it was a mess of trees, puddles, brush and grass as tall as a small car. Still, he dug around in the dust as he felt bumps with his feet, once in a while, he'd find something that looked promising, only for it to turn out to be a rusted old piece of machinery that looked interesting, but was mostly just junk, completely unusable and useless. Sighing, he decided the production line of this factory was a lost cause. There was so much dust and dirt piled up inside that the machinery was completely buried and Grisha had not even the slightest idea what the place had even produced before.

With a disappointed look on his face, he looked around the large room. Light shined through the broken glass of the large windows. Trees were, unsurprisingly, visible in many of them, with a blue, clear sky behind them. Birds chirped, insects buzzed and clicked, and the rustling of the flora by the breeze was a near constant sound. "Joe, gimme a sec, I'll go look across the street, Terry, watch my back, would you?" He gave them a look over before turning around and heading to the door, half of which was blocked, making him crouch down to get through. They were on the south of the city, about a two hours' walk from the downtown, with its towers and in this particular industrial zone, it felt like people had left the city, stopped here, grabbed what they could and kept moving. He couldn't blame them, he supposed, but it sure made things hard for him. Looking across the brush of the street, the asphalt nearly hidden underneath dirt, leaves and grass, after scanning some old buildings, a parking lot with some old vehicles caught his eye. None of them really looked to be in running condition, but he supposed one of them might have a bit of diesel fuel on it, the food of their machine. Grisha made an about face and called for Joe and Terry. "There's an parkin' lot on the other side of the street and one of the buildings! Wanna check it out?" He yelled, not having much regard for staying quiet in a place that seemed deserted of not only people, but things that could actually help them.

As he walked back towards them, toying with a part of his windbreaker, he heard something peculiar over the sound of the dominant nature. "Hey, Joe, do you hear a motor? That doesn't sound like it belongs to us."

---

A twenty-minute walk from Grisha and Joe, Raisa could hear the sound of the car much better, even in her hazy, hot, stuffy and generally sick state. Sniffing vainly from her stuffed nose, she looked over at Franklin, who was standing guard the top of the turret of the tank, his large hands lightly grazing the NSVT heavy machine gun. The tank had come to a stop a few minutes ago, but Grisha had rushed to scout as he didn't want to stay put long in one place for very long in such a big city. It was bad luck, he had said. His "superstition" had made her laugh and she had given her the pistol she had kept for many years, for good luck. Now, she was suddenly wishing the comforting feel of the small handgun, even broken it made her feel a bit more secure. Frankling looked worried as well and for a moment, she saw him dip into the tank at Grisha's normal spot to talk to John, who was tending to the more important supplies inside the turret, as well as their only shell, "Tsarevna", a name meaning the princess daughter of a Tsar, fitting for the large tank. Andy O'Keefe had been working on the bottom of the tank, making sure nothing on the bottom or the suspension was damaged and she was looking over the inventory of the food supplies she had, given to her by John, trying to figure out the best way of making meals out of it. Now, they all froze. Joe Jr., sat near her on the back of the tank with his carbine looked as alert as everyone else.

No one liked the situation. Franklin got out of the turret and looked with a serious expression at Raisa. "Someone might've noticed us. Nothin' new, just do me a lil' favor and tell Andy to get his ass in his seat and you get in Grisha's spot. I'll close the hatch and sit on top. Joe, you stay up 'ere with me wit that rifle of yours." She nodded and groaning a bit, she got up and climbed up the turret with a lot of effort into the turret. Not wanting to spread her sickness if it was too contagious (even if it hadn't spread to anyone else for the past few months), she clambered onto the commander's seat and the hatch was shut.

Franklin made sure the NSVT was loaded well and waited as the motor's sound grew louder and louder...

---

An unexpected hissing sound made Tyler jump several step backwards, tripping over the concrete blocks that made up the sidewalk in front of the door. The overgrown jungle that had most likely been a trimmed grass carpet back in the old days cushioned the fall, while his mouth went agape with incredulity. Bashing noises came from inside the building as he straightened up once again. He wasn't sure what could have been. As long as the world rolled, his time alive had taught him to expect the worse out of things so he hesitantly took a few steps forward, Gradually stretching his neck forward, he noticed light reflecting on some flickering yellow eyes.
Feline yellow eyes. He let out a sigh of relief. With all the space nature had reclaimed over the years, it wouldn't have been surprising to find a cougar or some other big, nasty animal in ghost towns like these. The sight of his hometown, of overgrown gardens and ashen remains was extremely desolating, and gave off an unprecised sense of menace.

At his arrival at Eatonville he had been greeted by lonely ruins of burned down buildings. Apparently, for one reason or another, an uncontrolled fire had blazed away the town from the face of earth. For each step he took forward the groves of charred supports had screaked menacingly as if daring him to enter the crumbling structures. Unfortunately for them, he hadn't survived that long to meet a miserable end in some hardly worthwhile scavenging. He had even stopped by the local High-School (it felt somewhat right to), only to quietly walk away a few minutes later as the solar rays heavily pierced through the dilapidated building. In practice, all the city was like that. It seemed that only the furthermost neighborhood had survived the great fire that had engulfed the little town years before. Unsettling as it was, he didn't feel any emotional attachment or empathy to that place. What irony, really. Nobody dared to remind him of what he had left, perhaps in fear of some kind of psychological trauma they were not able to handle. Eventually, he had even forgotten the name of that tiny town he was now walking through. It had taken him three hours of endless wanderings to finally find his former home, which, fortunately, was still in once piece and untouched by the fire. Other than that, Eatonville seemed completely deserted.

However saddening that place could be, returning to his roots seemed like an obligated course. He finally stepped through the frame of the door, hoping to scavenge what little other people hadn't already taken. Which, to his surprise, was more than he had expected. In the pantry there were left a pair of tins containing sardines in oil, hidden in a dark corner, along with two big plastic containers of water. In the bathroom laid three dusted toothbrushes and some toothpaste. No usable medicines, unfortunately, just another pair of patches. In the garage he found several charged batteries, while the kitchen offered no supplies worth carrying where he was going. He stopped. Where was he actually going? He seriously had no idea. The bike ride to Eatonville had kept him from thinking about it, and neither remaining there or returning to the facility were viable options.

With those thoughts in mind he opened his parents' bedroom. The checked blankets were still there, the invernal quilt folded on the left corner of the bed, ready to be stored away for the good season. The shutters prevented most light from entering in an otherwise very bright room, so he opened them and examined the surroundings. Two faded faces smiled at him from inside the frames of a photo. He crouched to get closer to the picture, only to notice the presence of an unexpected white bundle carried by his mother. His eyebrows connected together, his mouth quietly humming. He decided to take the photo with him, so he closed the bedroom's door behind him and proceeded to examine the dining room. He couldn't help but notice that by then the cat had grown bold on him. He seemed to quite enjoy the scene with gleeful detachment from his sitting position on the edge of the dining table.

"Shoo, I don't have anything to share". The remark didn't have the desired result. The cat continued to stare intently at him, tail gently waving back and forth under the table. Tyler asked himself if that was a good sign.
"Stupid animal" he uttered, shaking his head. He slouched past him around the room, searching in every closet, under every piece of furniture for anything. One thing in particular catched his attention. Resting on a giant bookshelf there were hundreds of CDs covers. Most interesting of all, though, was a little CD player abandoned under a pile of fallen rubbish (a bundle of blonde haired cartoon action figures with several qualities written on them). He took it from the ground and, being no batteries inside, tried fix it by putting a pair in the empty space. "C'mon buddy, aren't you going to work? I know, 15 years aren't that good on your circuits, but you ought to know I'm a very demanding employer."
The CD player joyfully uttered its answer with a clicking noise. Its only eye, overlying an inscription saying "on/off", flared up to signal its readiness. Tyler raised his forehead at the unexpected surprise, curling his lips in a single-sided smile.

"Fing sweet, isn't it, mr kitty? Today's my lucky day, it seems."

He grasped one of the dusty CD covers and drew it closer to his face to discover its contents. "The best of Mozart" there was written in a serpentine cursive. He had never imagined his father would listed to that. Fine taste and all, he appreciated classical music as well, but... actually, he had never given much thought to his father over the past years. The memory of that man he had barely known brought him an unpleasant feeling of loss and melancholy, so he decided to shove it all aside by listening to other kinds of music. After few seconds he settled for an inspiring title. "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" he read out aloud. Tyler took the disk outside the cover and waved it in the general direction of the cat "I heard it once in a film. Whaddya think, catchy enough for your new human friend?" asked, trying to appear playfully threatening by squinting his eyes. Without waiting for an answer he put the disk inside the player and pulled on a pair of earphones, hitting the play button.

The drums began to play and the music immediately flew inside him. He started snapping his fingers at the rhythm. "Nice choice, mr kitty cat". It took him very little to start moving around in what could be considered a dance. As long as the cat was the only one watching, there was no limit to how ridiculous he could behave. It was just too much fun.

For now, it was time to catch breath. Not literally, of course.

"Six tee aitch, a vee e..." Drei sounded out the number and letters on the sign as he walked past, his deep voice nearly rumbling from his throat. He might not have been able to read, though he was able to remember what he saw on the sign. This wasn't too helpful in figuring out what things meant, although Drei had used this many times before to navigate through the city. Matching street signs to eachother at least gave him a general sense of where he was, which helped him not get lost in the overgrown mess surrounding him.

As Drei traveled up 6th Ave he took the time to look around him, observing the wildlife that had taken over. A street which at one time was only decorated with trees along the sidewalk, now up heaved pavement littered with exposed roots and grass, tree branches poking through windows. On the tops of some buildings where gardens were planted long ago now rested long grass and other weeds, roots clearly wrapping around the structures for support. Parks allowed even more opportunity for nature to reclaim the area, having turned into miniature jungles. It had been over ten years since the Last time Drei had visited this area of the city, and the parts he remembered looked nothing like they did now.

Drei checked the sun, using it to determine where he was headed. Thirteen years of learning how to survive had taught him well how to use the position of the sun to judge his direction and the time of day. "Northwest. Can't remember the last time I came through here," Drei thought aloud. When he was younger and still with the raiders that killed his family, Drei had only really explored the outskirts of the city. This was the first time in years he had ventured so far in.

The buildings which lined the street began decreasing in size as Drei left the Downtown area and entered Queen Anne. A slight sigh of relief escaped his lips as Drei put distance between himself and the skyscrapers. One of his few worries was someone with a rifle opening fire on him from a window high enough that he wouldn't have a chance to fight back with his bow, and Drei was glad every time this did not happen. As he continued walking toward his destination, Drei's ears picked up on a rustle coming from a large patch of green protruding from a nearby window. Turning slowly to face the noise, he readied himself.

Another rustle was all the warning Drei had before a flash of light brown leapt from the tree. Drei wasn't able to dodge in time, and was sent tumbling back as something pushed hard against him. As he fell Drei lifted his legs toward his chest, landing hard on his back though managing to kick his attacker off and away. He stood, rubbing the back of his head where the pavement made contact, looking around for where his enemy had landed. A few feet away, the cougar righted itself, charging at Drei as he spotted it. With another pounce it swept at him, claws outstretched. Drei moved back only slightly, the claws managing to scratch his neck. Without a flinch Drei threw a punch at the creature's side, the impact causing one of the cat's ribs to cracking as well as driving Drei's own claws into his palm slightly. The cougar tumbled to the ground, running off after standing once again. "Serves you right, motherf*cker. Oh well, at least I didn't get my head blown off." With those words he continued to the Space Needle, which now towered over him no more than a hundred meters away.

Frier & Watson Brothers

Frier’s grizzled beard rested upon his aged chest, nuzzled against the mild green grass, legs stretched behind him, parted with his feet flat against a fence. A sharp twang came over his shoulder as a trapped nerve began to pain him, though he ignored it, brushing it aside with the adjustment of his arm. In quick succession his elbow warmed then fell into an icy cold as water dragged its way up his jacket, penetrating his many layers, licking at the wrinkled skin below. Cursing under his sparse breath, Frier heaved his body awkwardly up as if to do a push up, instead shifting himself a foot to the right.

Settling into his new stance eventually, the moist air around him smelled of freshly peeled bark, the sun looked down on his resting place from high in the sky. However, Frier didn’t have time to take in the surroundings, beautiful as they were to him. He heard the engine of the car from where he lay, racing along the road, heading for their shiny new prize.

Pressing his ear to his shoulder steadily, Frier brought the dirtied scope up to his amber eye, the other closing obediently and immediately. If the military had taught him anything it was how to stay on the right side of patient. If his father had taught him anything it was to think before you act, so that’s what he did.

Inhale.

Exhale.

If his mother had taught him anything it was how to cook a twice over lasagne, succulent pork and fatty minced beef, thick tomato sauce with blooming mushrooms. Layer upon layer, twice as many as normal, twice as filling and twice the helping of cheese.

Frier’s stomach rumbled.

Inhale.

---

Mike’s chins rumbled below his jaw as his ass was thrown side to side, the windows of the car rattling against their loose restraints, a cool breeze washing over his sweaty brow. Beside him sat his shorter and younger brother, carefully pushing a shining CD into the player.

“Not yet! Not yet! Fucking give me a chance Kee,” Shouted Mike angrily to his brother over the bellow of the car's roar, swatting at his eager hand. Keanan nearly bit at him as his sweaty palms touched the CD, his precious shining circle being snapped back to his chest in defense. Mike never knew why he coveted them so strongly, he had hundreds of them back home and plenty copies of each.

“Get your hands off it!” He retorted instinctively, rubbing it against his checkered shirt unconsciously and slowly, cleaning its surface rhythmically. The trees whipped by as Mike drove, the occasionally aggressive root sending Mike's chin into a particularly large wobble, his thick arms grappling with the wheel to keep balance. The turning neared and Mike threw the cracked wheel to the side, skidding into position.

“Right. Go on then,” Mike muttered halfheartedly.

Keanan rubbed and rubbed until the CD was spotless once more, cursing quietly enough so that the car muffled the words, scowling across at the fat lump with its foot hard on the gas. Vehicles passed almost like he remembered they used to, a flash of colour over and over, only most of them were brown or green, all of them abandoned.

A beam shined across his face as his brother motioned to the CD player, a plump finger swaying in the rock of the car. A giggle began to rise in his chest and his teeth were bared in a grin, his eyes stuttering as the branches overhead made the sun skip and jump. The road ahead led to where they had saw the tank, but they had been along it more than once since the beginning. They never really strayed too far from the old house, never too far from ‘HQ’ - as he, to his brothers annoyance, liked calling it.

The soft purr of the CD player buzzed through the panels and into his hand that rested on the play button. As the brim of the dazzling disk was enveloped, his nail-bitten finger extended and the click of the needle was just audible as it dipped down to meet the inscribed melody.

As the notes began to resonate around the compact space, the brothers rolled down the windows in unison, and cackled to themselves joyfully, Keanan leaning back to peer into the rear seats. A small pack of explosives sat there in his place, strapped down with tape and a seat belt for good measures. A greasy slick mark ran from its base into the front of the car, a string following its path, intertwined with the various wrappers and old cans.

“You do the honours, brother,” Said Mike, but it was too late for instructions or kindness, Keanan had already taken out his lighter and lit the string that had been by his leg the whole ride. The flames skipped backwards and Keanan gripped the volume knob, twisting violently up to max. He screamed and laughed at the same time, a horrendous sound coming from his lips.

“Right. Off we pop!”

Both brothers waited a beat, until the car broke the trees and began to roll swiftly towards the bulking tank, heading for the strong exterior and the fleshly targets around it. Mike struck the road with a bounce then roll, Keanan striking the grass less elegantly and equally less painfully.

Each of them gripped their weapons, taking cover behind the cars and trees, foliage and thick grass. Keanan looked across to his brother then up to the hill above, a glimmer of light beside a fallen fence above made his smile widen. Mike however grimaced as his shirt ran up his back and his trousers got caught under his heels, a gun in his hand was distraction enough for him to ignore it.

---

Frier’s aim adjusted as the car came into view, the music screaming through the silent midday air, and now he smiled too. A grim smile, his dry tongue hiding behind his dying teeth, an eye opening suddenly to appreciate the view. He hummed along now, and as he saw the flames in the rear seat roaring, his eyes widened in anticipation - the whole city would hear this.

“Ka-BOOM!” He mouthed.

"Amie Jane," Amie muttered, signing her latest entry hastily and throwing the journal into her backpack. She checked her watch. 10:00 AM. The sun would be up in a few minutes She shoved her trusty baton into the belt scabbard, tossed her multi-tool into the nearest pocket and shouldered her medic bag, which had been lightened considerably. She never traveled with all of her supplies. Medicine was too valuable to keep all in one place. Her backpack contained the usual kit: bedroll, fire starter, improvised compass, flare, wind-up flashlight, and enough rations for six days, just in case they couldn't return on time. Scavengers traveled light because, after all, they were expected to come back full. After a few push-ups and jumping jacks to wake up, Amie hustled downstairs. The others were already at the table, mumbling quietly to each other over a large overhead road map of the entirety of Seattle. Well, most of Seattle; a good third of it was missing. It showed everything up to Queen Anne, which was more than enough for the group in Greater Duwamish.

Gauge, a tall, broad-shouldered man, was showing the least interest. Leaning as far back as he could in his salvaged desk chair, he was yet again wiping his gun down with a rag. The heavy, long-barreled Winchester 97 was a monster of a gun. It was found with a full stock and buckshot barrel that brought the length up to a little over 3 feet long. With an effective range of a little over 60 feet, it was almost a rifle, and Gauge was always carrying a few slugs in a zippered belt pouch. Hopper, on the other hand, was charged up and ready to go. He was a track star in high school, and he'd retained his speed despite a constant loss of food and sleep. He was a powerful climber as well, making him an incredibly useful asset when it came to debris or obstacles. Beagle, an Irishman, was neither tall nor short, broad nor thin. He showed very little interest in the world around him and spent a lot of time staring off into the distance. Whether he was haunted by some distance memory, or just bored in general, Amie had never figured out. All that was known for sure is that he invariably found the best supplies, and his intuition had never yet failed him.

Hopper spotted Amie first and motioned for her to join them at the table. He patted her on the back.

"Good to see you pack on the haul, Crosses."

"Thanks, Hopper. Just hope I can help."

Beagle stabbed the map with his index finger. "We're going up to A5-A6 this run," he commented in his rustic accent. "Nice stretch of apartments up there that we haven't cleaned out. Hack was on our previous run. He used his flare to scorch a mark on a door and he left the used flare under the doormat, so we'll start with that. All goes well, we'll finish with the whole thing in three days. That'll leave the last two for us to drag the generator back."

Amie's eyes lit up. "You found a generator?!"

Beagle shook his head slowly. "No. But we'll find one this time."

"You say that every time," Gauge grumbled, dropping the chair back to the upright position. Beagle merely shrugged in response, rising slowly from his chair and making his way to the front door with Gauge in tow. Hopper was already there, holding the door open and tapping a foot impatiently. Shaking her head, Amie tightened the straps on her backpack and followed the other three outside.

Grayson flinched a bit. Not because something grazed him or because of an attempted assault rather because of what he heard. It was quiet but so unfamiliar to his ears as it echoed off the buildings. "That is NOT a good sign," he thought as he started packing up. He grabbed all the ammo he laid out and shoved it all in his pocket. His swift turn as he picked up his short stick spear left his momentum headed for the door. He took a quick look over his shoulder nothing but the same old over grown campus that he was looking at the day before.

Once he was on the street he had already strapped the rifle to his bag and put his helmet back on. He was hurrying back to his mansion very stealthily hoping that no one would notice him if the noise had come from close to his mansion, even though it didn't sound like it. On his way back he saw lots of wildlife scattering in front of him, he picked out a still, big, juicy rabbit. Grayson stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly brought his arm up and forced it forward with immense force and precision. His homemade spear pierced the rabbit right through the neck. Just after, he ran over to his stick and took the rabbit off. He put the rabbit in the netted side of the stick and carried it with him back to his mansion.

Once Grayson got home he felt relief in the fact that it wasn't his home that was destroyed. He threw the Rabbit onto his cutting board and skinned it. The meat was then slow roasted over his small fire and eaten all within an hour. Grayson would need to go scavenging soon, for wood mostly, not that that was hard to find. It was also time to do his "laundry" and take a bath in the river. It was never easy to bath, constantly afraid of being shot or seen by a scouting party. So a few years back he found a hollow piece of sheet metal that was curled. Grayson fit rather perfectly inside with space to move around. He threw it in the river as a "shower" and he stands inside that for cover. It isn't fool proof but it was better than nothing. Night was coming closer as he hung up his clothes to dry and replaced them with spares that he put on. He took a moment to straighten his bed and laid down for another night in this hellish world.

Gregory Bainbridge stood near the door, glanced back at Joe as he put the wires away, "you look like you've had more luck than me, Joe."

"Yea, a wrench, a pair of pliers and some copper wire." Joe rose to his feet to stand with Gregory and Theresa. "I'll give these to Andy when we get back to Ural. He may be able to use these."

"Joe, gimme a sec, I'll go look across the street, Terry, watch my back, would you?" Grisha was out the door and across the street before Terry or Joe could respond. They hastily took positions near the door or a window peering left and right, as well as across the street in order to detect any possible threats to Grisha's run.

Greg Bainbridge didn't get very far before he decided there wasn't much more to see on the other side of the road. He turned about and called back to the father and daughter, "There's a parkin' lot on the other side of the street and one of the buildings! Wanna check it out?" Obviously Grisha didn't feel the need to remain quiet amongst the ruins that had once been an industrial park.

"I guess Grish wants us to come up with him. Keep an eye out and stay low," Joe muttered loud enough for Terry to hear him, but not loud enough for anyone else.

Joe and Terry began slowly trotting, with their backs hunched over. Their weapons were hung low, loosely gripped in their hands. Grisha began walking back towards them. As he continued his movement, Joe heard a peculiar sound. He could hear the engine roaring towards them. It immediately sent a red flag up in his head.

"Hey, Joe, do you hear a motor? That doesn't sound like it belongs to us."

"Get down!" Joe exclaimed sending the three ducking behind rocks or wrecks, hiding amongst the weeds. Joe recognized the music blaring from the car as it raced past them, hidden in the debris and overgrown weeds. Images of American helicopters advancing on a quiet Vietnamese village filled his head. He recalled watching an old war movie with his dad when he was a kid. It was one of those father-son bonding moments and the song had always given him a good feeling. One of the actors in the movie asked for the song to be played because it motivated his men and scared the hell out of the gooks. He didn't quite know what a gook was when he was a kid and didn't understand the reference much. But today, with the Wagner's Ride of the Valkyrie blasting from the speeding car, he wasn't feeling good about the current situation and hoped he would be able to have more father son bonding moments in the future.

---

The crew of Ular could now see the rapidly approaching motor vehicle. Everyone had taken up positions inside the tank except Franklin and Joe Jr. Franklin stood behind the 12.7mm heavy machine gun. Joe Jr. lay prone behind the turret with his head and carbine poking around the right side. Both Joe and Franklin immediately recognized the threat approaching them. They knew there was nothing they could do to stop the car. They watched two people, one from the driver's side and one from the passenger's side roll out past their respective doors into the grass and roadway. The car continued to hurtle towards them. The hint of a fire from inside the car could be seen.

"Shiiiiiiiit!" Joe yelled as he attempted to make himself as small as possible immediately behind the turret. Joe hugged his legs in the fetal position as Franklin dropped down on top hugging the younger man as the car impacted with the front slop of the T-72 Main Battle Tank.

The explosion was very loud. It sent a dark black and red mushroom cloud skyward. The noise was deafening and would leave those in the impact area with an annoying ringing sensation in their ears. The concussive blast caused a wave of heat to immediately expand over and around Joe and Franklin at the rear of the tank. It was as though someone turned a large hair dryer on with setting boiling and a quarter of a second later, the hair dryer was off. The concussive blast rolled past them, moving on.

As soon as the explosion passed them, Joe opened his eyes and put his hands to his ears. He could hear the ringing noise and his head hurt. A slight trickle of blood dripped from his left ear; he'd apparently punctured an ear drum. He looked at Franklin as he slowly got off him. Both young men had the widest eyes anyone had seen. Joe then slowly brought himself back to the moment. His hearing slowly made its way back. He grabbed his carbine and tried to get back to where he was; in the prone position looking down the right side of the turret, but he just couldn't get himself back there, yet.

---

"What the fuck!" Joe Sr. yelled. He tried very hard not to swear around his daughter, but he couldn't hold it. It was one of those involuntary reactions. He immediately looked at his daughter, "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean for you to hear that." Joe felt genuinely bad for cussing in front of her.

She smiled and said, "it's OK, dad." She looked back in the direction of the tank and the black cloud of smoke drifting away. "I just hope Joe is OK." Her smile faded as quickly.

Terry attempted to get to a standing position to head toward the tank, just as her father grabbed her. "Get down!" Joe exclaimed once again in hushed tones. "There could be others around here. Stay down and stay hidden. Keep your ears open and your head on a swivel. Stay frosty. If you see anything or hear anything let me know."

Joe and Terry laid in the tall grass with Grisha behind a boulder looking at the tank, looking at the area in front of the tank where the car had just come from and back behind them where the car had originally come from to see if there were more people around. This could be simply the initiation of a large ambush and the three, no, the eight of them were stuck in the middle of the kill zone.

A fit man, probably in his mid twenties. Lean build, fair skin, relatively strong, and, judging by the way he glanced around so calmly and intently, a perceptive eye. That was what Raguel gathered about the man who assumed the position in the front. The likely leader, given his appearance and where he was standing. To his left, a smaller man of a stockier build. This one stared directly into Raguel, almost like he was trying to pull off the stare-into-your-soul look. It didn't suit the man. He looked like a fool... And yet, there has to have been a reason he was on the negotiations expedition.

On the right side of the pack leader, another small man stood. He kept a keen eye on Kaid, who was watching the nervous group from a short distance away, leaning against the wall. Rightie looked tough, like Kaid's younger brother, and something about his posture didn't portray intelligence. If a conflict needs to be incited, it would be easiest to light the fire through him.

The real kicker, however, was the man who remained in the bed of the pickup they arrived in. Certainly, one would believe that he was simply there for extra manpower in case things went awry. The thing is, the man looked more confident than any of the others, even the one deemed to be the likely leader. He held a commanding demeanor, and observed the scene with a face that betrayed expectancy. Certainly, there was a plan in the minds of these people, and that plan had run through him. Leaders are the ones followers look to during the heat of things for confidence; as such, leaders have to portray confidence. People cannot take in what they can't see.

The mock leader extended his hand to Raguel as he approached him. "Hello there. It's great to mee-" he stopped talking once Raguel had passed him without even so much as a glance. He kept his gaze firmly on the back of the truck, who, for a brief moment, let a look of surprise and worry slip. He regained his composure before Raguel reached him, however, and watched Raguel as he came to a stop just beside the parked truck.

"You need a hand getting out of there, my friend?" Raguel asked with a smile. The man remained in his spot, eyes kept keenly on Raguel, and gave no answer. He was thinking. Thinking really hard about something. Why would he be thinking so hard at this time? Raguel found himself asking. Of course, it did not take him long to figure it out. He's trying to figure out how to stall. Reid grinned a wider grin now, and wasted no time letting the stranger know what he had deduced. "How many do you have out there?"

The man's face suddenly grew pale. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

The most common reaction of surprise. Checkmate, friend. "Sweep the area." Raguel announced to his people. Without hesitation, seven men and women, all armed with high-grade military rifles and shotguns, split into two groups and headed out to patrol the perimeters and sweep the unused buildings of their settlement. "From what I hear, you people don't have much in the way of firearms. In fact, all of the ones you have are within fifteen feet of my very presence." The pack leader slowly reached for something in the back of his oants as he said this. "And I wouldn't recommend raising them. Because , you see, we were going to make a deal."

"We can still-"

"And you all might have just ruined that. So, now we have weapons trained on all of you. If my people are to come back and say they found anyone snooping about, well..." Raguel chuckled lightly, "Let's not let it come to that. You're all trustworthy people, right?" Walking away from the truck, Raguel glanced at each of the three men who had originally tried to greet him. Once he had passed, he heard the sounds of fumbling about, as though theybwere trying to grab something. He noticed flashes from rifles in nearby buildings, and heard the sound of .308 rounds being propelled through the air. He shook his head and turned around, only to see the sight of three dead men on the ground and blood resting on the side of the truck. "It's always got to go down hard."

Raguel turned and observed the far end of the street he was standing on. Not to his surprise, a group of his men were herding three unarmed men with their hands straight up in the air towards them. He pulled his M9 from where he had it concealed and started to approach the group, dead set on finalizing the fate their friends had sealed for them just moments ago.

The blonde girl hoped the concrete beneath the her feet wouldn’t collapse. Yellow and white lines, faint, but still vivid enough to notice, marked the highway. Some going through the middle, others going to the sides for the breakdown lanes. She didn’t get the point of the lines, nor remembered much about them. All she knew was that they were from twenty years ago,before chaos had broken out. The only evidence of what the lines could of been for was the cars that showed up every now and then, but even that didn’t give much information. She would use one of these cars, if she knew how to, but she never actually got to learn how to drive them. Sure she has seen it before, but the memories of cars were so long ago it slipped away. All the memories seemed to slip away so easily over time, and the ones she wish would slip away, stayed open, like a wound that would never heal.

‘Does this thing have an end?’ She wondered. The highway seemed like an endless maze. She’d been walking for....Who knows how long? She had never kept track of time. It never seemed necessary to her. Time was not a matter of the essence, or even close to one of the most important things she had on her mind. Even though her sense of time was slightly off she still knew that if she didn’t find somewhere to go for a bit she would be dead. She couldn’t die, it wasn’t an option for her.And even if it was, dieing right there and then would be a waste of her life. Her mom died for her, she couldn’t just die for nothing, not after that.

She shook her head as the thought came up. The thought was out there, very out there. That was one of the many problems of being alone; she thought way too much. She always had something on her mind, no matter what it was. It had been almost forever since she had actually had physical contact with another human being. She would say there were all dead, but she knew this was far from the truth. Very far. She knew that there were gangs and some survivors out there, but it wasn’t like she could trust any of them. They would only rob her blind, doing her no good. They could also do a lot more than that too. There was no mercy, so who knows what they would do.

Eyeing up, the girl saw one of the signs that dangled above the road. She would read it, and it would probably give her a clue where she was, but there was one problem. She couldn’t manage to figure out the white word that was written on the green sign. The letters were clear, she could easily tell you that,but when it came to things like pronunciation and understanding it, she didn’t have the slightest clue. Even though this, she assumed that it meant that she was close to a town of some sorts. Besides it, and also slightly behind the sign, Angel realized something she didn’t realize till then. A few feet away layed an exit. She knew from past experiences that this usually lead to a ruined city or town of some sorts. It was just what she needed.A small smile suppressed onto the girl's face. It was slight and hard to recognize. ‘Finally, I have some luck!’ She thought to herself as she continued towards the pathway.

The girl had made her way down the roadway. Her stomach growled. She shook her head as she thought, ‘Not now.’ to herself. Sure it hurt, and she knew she needed food soon, but she didn’t look to it even close to big deal. Even if she did take it as a big deal, she didn’t have any food to give herself. ‘Its nothing.’ The girl told herself continued walking.

‘Crack’ She heard while she was walking. She was about half way there when she heard this noise that had come from the forest besides her. Instinctively she stopped and flipped out her pocket knife, and took a slow step forward. It was questionable whether or not it actually was the right move but she needed to something other than stand there like a lazy bag of potatoes. With that there was another crack and a small squirrel emerged from a bush and crawled up the tree. She threw the pocket knife at the squirrel in hopes to kill it. Instead, her hope was shattered by half an inch.

“ God damn it!” She mumbled to herself quietly. She shook her head as she stepped forward again. She reached upward,standing on her tippie toes. With a backwards thrust of her arm she pulled the knife out of the tree. A flick of her wrist, and the knife was closed and back in her pocket. She eyed upwards at the tree, where a small injury from where the knife hit. She sighed as she shook her head, and continued on the road.

A few minutes after this she made it to the town. There were a few buildings that were still intact, and there were others that have already collapsed on itself. There were also a couple that have been touched by flames. ‘Finally.’ She thought to herself.

‘Boom!’ A sound rumbled its way through the streets. Angel jumped as she heard the noise. She looked around her quickly, though it was obvious that the noise had come from a distance away. ‘Other survivors, of course, what did she expect?’ She thought to herself. She knew what she expected, the same thing she expected every time. No one, a ghost town. ‘Just stay away from them.’ She thought to herself. With this she was decided. She walked too far and too long to leave with nothing.

She eyed around. ‘Where to start?’ She wondered to herself. She looked around quickly before spotting a small convenience store. There had to be something there, something very useful, unless it was already raided, then she would be screwed. She shook the thought out of her head. ‘Positive.’ She thought half scoldingly.

Palms are sweaty. Knees weak arms are heavy’

Is one way to describe how Angel felt. Warm weather, hungriness and exhaustion, are three things that don’t go together. Before angels eyes, the buildings had turned into blurs of colors, mixing into one. She blinked to try and make it better, but instead it seemed to only get worse and worse. Her throut was dry and her stomach felt like a gaping hole of nothingness. Her bones felt like they couldn’t support her whatsoever.

‘Bam!’ She collapsed onto the ground with a small thud. Her legs had given out on her completely. She tried to push herself up but her arms also gave way. ‘No not now!’ She thought. She fell face first on the ground. She half rolled over, moaning slightly, before her eyes gave out on her.
She was out cold.

Tristan got up in desperate need for supplies. He cooked his last breakfast and sat down to think. He had stored supplies at the supermarket down the road just a few months ago for safe keeping in the freezer that manages to keep itself cold during the summer. He also thought about hunting for his food and keeping what he had stored. He thought better of it and went for storage. He had plenty there and they would go bad soon. He could always restock "The Fridge" as he called it.

So he geared up for a trip. Not a big one of course. The market was only a tad over a mile away and he wouldn't be staying long. short stick, for defense, and backpack, for temporary ice and the meat. He grabbed his clothes out of the bushes they were laying on and packed them inside. He grabbed his broom and swept the entry way after he walked inside with his shoes on. Then he headed out. He paced a slow jog at first until he got to the overgrowth on the other side and slowed to a walk. It was a nice sunny day. Grayson's mind kept wandering back to the explosion he heard a day or two ago. It scared him that there were people capable of explosions. but then again maybe they weren't and that was their goodbye. Either way Grayson was on full alert. He crept closer to the supermarket ever so slowly making sure every movement was subtle and non-noticeable.

All of a sudden he froze. There was something near the doors to the supermarket. It was a dark clump of something, an unusual clump of~ What was it? An animal? New weird plants? Or- Or could it- A HUMAN? "Dead or Unconscious?" He asked himself. He sat there and watched the body. It only took a second to see the steady rise and fall of the chest cavity. She was so thin. It must be from dehydration or starvation. "She's still alive. I can save her. I need to save her." He thought. In an instant he charged out towards the body. He flipped her so he could see her face, She was striking, even in this state. He examined the rest of her to check for wounds. There were scrapes on her face hands knees and elbows but that was probably from her fall out of consciousness. He didn't see anything detrimental. He picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the supermarket. He set her down to open the door.

Once they were inside Grayson loaded all the meat, Returned to the girl with some ice and let it melt in his hand and drip towards he mouth. It was only a little, he needed to boil some from the river to get her enough. (He realized he needed water too) He did this several more times until his hands were almost numb. He laid his stick across her body and picked her up. He didn't bother concealing himself this time, he walked anywhere he wouldn't bump the girl with a stick or trip and send the girl flying. Very carefully he made his way home. When they arrived he carried her to his living area. He padded the bed with anything he could find and propped her head up with his spare clothes. He rushed to the river filling his bladder completely, then filled his pan and collected some sticks to build a real fire. (He had been doing this recently sense he got down to two propane tanks.) Once inside he built the fire and put the full pot over it. He waited for it to boil and put his homemade topper on it that would collect the condensation and make little droplets then drip into his cup that he put under the spout. He drank and nursed the girl for the rest of the day. Not deviating from the girls side once. The sun went down a while ago and his eyes started to droop and he laid his head on her thigh. Not long after he was fast asleep. His water would finish purifying overnight. He would give the girl most of it he decided, and give her half my breakfast he concluded and then he fell into a deep sleep.

Amie scowled, flipping her notebook shut with a quiet "whap" and glancing through the filthy back window at her driver. She wanted to bang on the roof and yell at him, but it wasn't his fault, sort of. You wouldn't think there would be so many bumps on a paved road, but then again you wouldn't expect to see a lot of the wreckage cluttering every corner of what used to be a thriving city. She glanced at Hopper, who was attempting to solve a Rubik's Cube. His hands were nearly a blur as he twisted and rotated every side of it as fast as possible, eyes glazed over as he worked out patterns. He was trying to boost his thinking and reflexes by getting skilled with a proper brainteaser, but so far his "record" was a little under 15 minutes, and honestly it looked mostly like guesswork and luck. At least it kept him occupied. It was certainly a better use of time in a truck ride than writing a journal entry.

The truck was a green 2001 Chevy Silverado that looked like it had been put in a blender for a few minutes. Paint had been scraped off the front and sides, revealing bare metal. One end of the front bumper was taped to the truck. The only functioning electrical equipment were the radio, tail lights, and one headlight. Even the chassis and suspension were in poor shape, slowly succumbing to rust, though it hadn't kept Beagle from cruising at 25 mph. Still, the Silverado featured a V6 engine and AWD, so it was nothing to complain about. It had enough cab space for a driver and passenger, along with room between them for all of their packs (though Amie kept her medic bag and journal on her person at all times), along with a fold-out canopy, a fire starter on a lanyard, and a handful of other gear.

It had a few stocked weapons as well; a .45 Colt 1911 (two magazines included), a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver (plus a 50-count box of ammunition from a gun safe), and a 30-cal M1 Carbine, used primarily for guard duty and hunting if the opportunity arose. Including Gauge's shotgun, they had just enough ammunition for four, unless Amie was along for the ride; she absolutely refused to carry a firearm. Gauge already had a weapon of choice, and Hopper had the Carbine, so Beagle got to carry both handguns. He glanced at his passenger, who nodded and rolled the window down. He half-climbed out of the truck and turned to face the rest of his team.

"We're coming up on A5," he yelled over the howling wind. "Seen anything so far?"

The duo shook their heads in unison.

"Nothing yet, Gauge, but we're keeping an eye out," Amie called back, brushing the hair out of her face and squinting. She cracked a smile.

"You do that, Crosses" Gauge responded, sliding back into the cab and rolling the window back up. Amie sighed and tried to find a comfortable sitting position (not an easy task with Beagle's proficiency in finding potholes). She thought for a minute about getting the journal out and trying again, but she almost snapped her pencil point the first time around, and she didn't want to sharpen it with a scalpel.

Blood. It was everywhere. Her clothes, her boots, her hands. The medic bag was a mess. Everything was a mess. Her hand trembled as she stared at the body in front of her. There was no other way. She was the only one who could do it. But there was no time to sterilize the wound or stop the bleeding. There would be more blood. With teeth gritted and tear streaming down her face, she reached for the scalpel.

"Crosses?"

Amie jumped as Hopper tapped her shoulder.

"You okay? You went pale and just started staring off into nowhere."

She nodded slowly. He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. Amie shook her head and stepped off the stuck, now parked against a crumbling sidewalk. They had arrived at A5.

@iHxzardx

Night had passed and the early sun was rising far among the wastelands. Fluttering open, were the blue eyes of the young girl. Her head pounded still, and her stomach ached. Her throats throbbing for water, and her sight still a bit blurry. After as few more blinks, the shapes around her became clearer and clearer till they were distinct, which seemed to only confuse her more.

She stared up at the ceiling for a few more seconds not daring to move. She stayed there for a few seconds trying to figure out a couple of key things, one of the main ones being where the hell was she. The last thing she could remember was running towards a convenient store. It suddenly hit her, she had passed out. This signaled one thing that chances are she was in danger.

When this thought processed through her brain, she immediately sat up. Doing this she moved a bit too fast and moaned slightly because of it. She ignored the pain of it at the moment as she eyed her hands, which weren't tied up like she was half expecting and at her feet, which were also not tied. She had to be somewhat thankful for that. As she looked at her leg she saw the man laying his head on her thigh.

She quickly moved her leg away from him and let his head fall onto the bed. Watching, shocked she stared at his bald head. ' A survivor?' For that moment the fact she had no clue where she was didn't matter. She hadn't seen another human in forever, she couldn't believe there was one right in front of her.

The shock of it didn't last long till she reminded herself that he would be just as bad as every other man on earth currently. She knew what she had to do, she had to run. She had to figure out where she was, so she could figure out how to get away. She looked around when she realized that she could use some of his supplies. It would use up more time, but at the same time it would be twice as dangerous. She had to take the risk though, it was inevitably.

She reached towards her boot and grabbed her pocket knife. 'Just kill him.' She flipped it open and reached over to him. Hesitantly she began to move it towards him, but stopped midway. She shook her head as she quickly flicked the knife closed. She placed it into her pocket as she came to the decision that she wouldn't do it until she had to. It wasn't very smart, but she couldn't bring herself up to just to kill him.

Ignoring the presence of the man at the moment she slid herself off of the bed and looked around the room, but didn't spot what she wanted. She tip-toed away from the man and away to one of the desk-thingy with items, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As the morning came around he woke up like he did every other day in a weird position all alone and very hungry. Forgetting all of yesterday like he usually does he headed towards the kitchen. After the first step he froze. "Boots? Not my boo- OH SHIT THE GIRL!". He remembered now. He rushed into the kitchen and searched around. He found his long pole spear and held it close. He wandered aimlessly around his mansion as he noticed things out of place, missing, and thrown about. He took a quick mental inventory of everything he noticed missing and continued on. He searched the rest of his mansion without finding her. He was devastated. "Just what you get when you help people these days I guess" he thought. He gets onto the roof after that hopping that she was still nearby and looking on to see that he was only trying to help. To help get his point across he even adds as he is standing on the roof, "IM ONLY TRYING TO HELP YOU KNOW." With that he climbed down, at the bottom he was forced to stop and rub his throat because it felt so weird when he used it, speaking was now so foreign he forgot what it felt like. He shrugged and went back inside with only the hope that she was still close by. He walked over to his agenda board and wrote, SCAVENGING AGAIN in big bold letters. After that he grabbed the broom and the girls boots, he laid the boots next to his by the front door and swept where he had carried her in last night. finally he headed to the kitchen and made himself some breakfast.

When breakfast was done he reattached his lacrosse head to his stick with a screw driver, grabbed his ball, and went outside to play. The only thing he could do was throw it against the wall but he made a game out of it. He started at 0 and started counting how many catches he could make. He was going for a solid 100. He dropped the ball at 77 and had to do 23 push-ups, pull-ups, and a 23 second plank which he just counted in his head and restarted throwing the ball again. It only took him 3 more tries to get to 100 which made him happy but now he was all sweaty. So as the sooth all remedy he stripped and hoped into the river. It was COLD, but he dident mind because it cooled him right off. He took one of his pans (still butt naked) and filled it with river water, he started a fire and put the pan over it. Then Grayson put a homemade cover on it that would catch all the condensation then drip it into his second pan. With that being set up he turned and went back to swimming.