Sunday was Distribution Day for Raleigh, North Carolina’s Safety Shelter. Lines would wrap around the building, spilling through the streets as mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, and many many more waited for their biweekly rationing for food and supplies. Water, soap, bread, and ham. Those were some of the things that were handed out today for those lucky enough to get to the distribution center before they ‘ran out,’ or so they claimed. Some believed they had plenty, more than enough really. They believed that the higher ups, those who ran the shelter were greedy, kept extras for themselves. There was no proof, of course, and without proof there could be no action. The vast majority were too timid, too complacent. They feared upsetting those in charge. They were struggling enough in the shelters as it was. They couldn't afford to seriously upset the power. It was certain death to do such things.

A thin woman with dirty, blonde hair opened the distribution center early that morning. Her eyes were sunken into her leathery skin. They were a dull and watery blue color, just as eerie as the crowded city in which she lived. Her ragged shirt had an old name tag pinned to it, a lasting vestige of her old life before the downfall of humanity. Amanda was her name. A plain name for a plain girl, or at least she used to be.

Amanda used to be pretty. She used be to a healthy size with healthy sky blue eyes. Amanda used to be a lot of things, but fuck, so did everyone else. Everyone had a past out here--ones they’d rather soon forget. It was no use clinging to the past, now. Those lives had long since been removed from them. They would never return, and Amanda would never be the woman she used to be. No. Never. She was just a fucking skeletal woman who did nothing more than hand out dried loaves of bread with shit ham, cheese, one bar of soap, and toothpaste. That's who she was, now. That's who she would be until her last day. She had come to accept that. So, just like every other Goddamned Sunday, here she was -- counting the inventory that never matched the number of citizens in the shelter. She quit taking note of that little side fact, though. There was no use. All she knew was, she was Amanda, and she’d be getting her share -- so long as her sundried hands continued distributing those poorly packaged goods every Sunday at dawn.

The line was long, as usual, and the early morning chill was clinging to the patrons’ bones. Some were tall, and others were young. Some still had a few extra pounds hanging around their stomach and thighs, begging the question as to how they were so well fed. No one cared to ask though. It was too much work and not enough payoff. They were content in this line, following along like blind sheep. Go to the window; show their ID badge; receive their supplies. It was a monotonous task that took little to no thinking. It was just a long Sunday line that shuffled on and on as hours passed.

There was no break as the sun rose higher and higher. The morning chill eventually gave way to the swell of the afternoon heat. Yet even then, as the sun beat on the weakened backs of the poor people crouched, sore feet in line -- dried out dehydrated skin -- these sheep did not waver. They continued their slow patronage forward. They took what the government, or what was left of it, allotted to them and moved on through their drowsy unassuming lives. It was an existence that most most were content to live. It was the only existence they could imagine. But for some, it was different.

They were known as the troublemakers. They were the ones who the ones in charge kept a keen eye on. The troublemakers were the first to go after the sickly. No one knew it, not really. One day a neighbor would glance his way in the morning; a silent nod in greeting; and the next they -- he was gone; vanished -- he had disappeared. No one really paid attention, though, because no one really cared. Their numbers were too high, and the food was too little. They didn't need criminals scavenging their food supply and giving it to unworthy beings. So, the government cleansed without any rebellion to follow. They processed these troublemakers -- criminals -- and sentenced them to banishment. And, just like that, no one batted an eye. They weren't good people. They lied. They cheated. They stole. So, who cared?



The sun was hot as it glared down onto what was left of the earth. It bleached the ground, burning whatever exposed flesh anyone dared to show, and dried many a river that once flowed through this land. The sun was high in the sky by now as brown eyes narrowed through the scope of a military grade rifle. A scavenged, aka stolen, gun from a Safety patrol cargo van a few years back. It was a lot better than the hunk of crap he had before that. Just a piece of junk he’d found when he was fleeing from the cities. The hordes there were massive, coming in packs now. The more in the area, it was like they could sniff each other out. The linked up, growing bigger and bigger until there were masses of them stalking the streets. Needless to say he got his ass the hell up out of there.
Antonio’s body was tense in the high heat of mid-afternoon, scoping out the miles of landscape ahead of them. Nothing was out there. Then again, nothing ever was. The asian man rolled his shoulders with a heavy sigh as he leaned back. The muscles were tense, aching with the position he sat in; squatted with hands wrapped around the rifle, ready to pull the trigger at any given moment. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes. He wiped it with the back of his hand, cursing the heat. God he hated this post on days like this. Out in the hot son, boiling in his black uniform, it was like they were trying to give him a heat stroke or something. Perhaps they were trying to quietly thin their numbers under the pretense of natural causes. It might just work.

“Sneaky bastards,” Antonio huffed in sarcastic amusement. It would take a lot more than a hot uniform to off him. Fingers wrapped around his water bottle, more of a tin can really with a rubber stopper at the top. It was completely homemade and crude. He tugged the rubber plug out, chugging down big gulps of the precious liquid before capping it and setting it down again. Brown eyes squinted out over the landscape, watching as the wind blew across, scattering the ever thinning grass. There was no refuge in the wind either, just as hot as the air laying still around him now. “Fucking great,” he grunted, shifting his position and holding the sniper rifle steady as he scoped the land.

“Yo, asshole!” A voice called down from below him. Antonio promptly ignored it, less than happy with being spoken to. He wasn’t antisocial by any means, but unless it was a command to get out of this god awful son he wanted no parts of it.

“Hey! Dickwad, I’m talkin’ to ya!” The rough voice called again.

“The fuck do you want, Flannigan!” Antonio yelled back, jerking away from the gun and leaning over the metal railing that was a safeguard to keep him from tripping and splattering to an untimely death.

“Watch yer language! Fuck man!” Flannigan shot back, an old greaser with more than a few missing teeth and every present smudge marks littering leathery tanned cheeks. He was a tinker. He messed with all sorts of machines and guns, and when they could salvage them, even vans and cars. He got Safety shelter equipment to suit their unique greaser needs. How great amiright? “You gotta mission er sumthin’” his aged voice barked back. “They want yer ass in the meetin’ now,” he spoke up, one greased up hand covering his eyes from the harsh sun, or at least attempting to.

“Alright, Alright,” Antonio grunted, hopping over the guardrail, booted feet catching on the ladder. He climbed down from his post, dropping to the hard ground when he was just a few feet away. He nodded to the tinker and wandered off to where he was needed.

“This better be good,” he grumbled under his breath with a soft sight.



Feet stepped carefully through the forest; muscles tensed as she crept. Her breathing was slow and shallow, silent to remain undetected. Brown eyes scanned the ground before her. Deer tracked led her to the left, feet creeping her hunched form along. Her heart beat steadily in her chest. The adrenaline from hunting coursed through her veins, keeping her alert, tense. She spotted the buck not too far off, grazing with its family; a doe and two fawn. She knelt down beneath the brush, reaching back. Her fingers grazed her arrows, plucking one from the pack on her back. She strung it with ease, pulling the string back until it was taught. Her aim was impeccable, mastered through years of her father’s obsessive training. Where the man was now she didn’t know nor did she care.

The string snapped and the arrow flew across the clearing, sinking into the beast's heart with practiced ease. The buck crumpled to the ground, its family rushing off to find safety. She rose then, thin body athletically muscled as she stepped through the forest. She didn’t try and be so silent now as she yanked the arrow from the now dead carcass and slipped it back into her pack. Slinging the bow over her shoulder, she grabbed the deer by its horned and dragged its body back to her camp. This would last her a few days.

She dropped its lifeless body down, tossing her bow and pack of arrows to the side as she grabbed her switchblade from her pocket. It was time to get to work. She knelt down beside the beast, stabbing it right between the legs, cutting down its belly. Its innards spilled out, blood coating the ground. She yanked out its organs and skinned the deer. The pelt would make a nice blanket for next winter and the meat would be dried and salted to last her a while. The bones would be carved for spoons and forks. The innards she left for whatever animals were around to scavenge it. She didn’t stay in one place for long, packing away her things and moving camp. She walked miles, sure to cover her tracks. She didn’t like being found. She didn’t like people. They were troublesome, loud, and reckless. She was no one’s babysitter.

Finding new ground, she set up a new camp, just to the side of a large oak tree where it would be hard to be seen. The tent was pitched and the skin was pulled taught between sticks as a fire was made to keep her warm. The meat was stuck to a stick and held over open flame, the light flickering in her empty eyes. It was all about survival. There were no friends, no enemies, just those who got in the way. She had no loyalties, not ties to anyone and she liked it that way. It was easier. She hunted, she ate, she cleaned, and she moved. That was the way that she lived, that would be the way that she died. She had found peace with that the moment she left that mans prison. That man who let her mother and brother die. He hadn’t even tried to save them, tried to go out and look for them once things calmed down. He condemned them to death without a second thought and for that she could never, and would never, forgive him.

Inside the confined space was a small table barely large enough for four people to sit at, so for one man and his dog, it was plenty big. The middle aged man sat playing solitaire while eating what he assumed was a potato, or a deformed carrot. Nothing was labeled correctly or organized but it was decent either way. Especially when it is cooked like a baked potato over an electrical generator. He stopped playing only for a moment to see his dog with his shiny plastic eyes staring him down from across the table. He stopped chewing his food for a moment to speak. "You want some?" They seemed to lock eyes for what could have seemed like minutes. "Then help find some food next time you leech." They locked eyes, the man looked almost heart broken. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that... Just... we'll have something nice tonight. Alright?" He was quiet for a moment, then he seemed content as he finished his food. He lost the card game again, this deck is missing cards as well. That is now deck 8 of 8 that now has missing cards. Playing with mixed decks is annoying as well as they all have different backs. That didn't matter now though, today was water day, meaning that the man had to leave yet again to see if he had been found.

The man started talking out loud again to the toy dog. "We're low on ammo, we haven't see any infected recently so we should be fine, but we need to be ready for the day we run out." He eyed the dog, who was now strapped to the back of a backpack. "Eight, pay attention. We may die and all you can do is wonder off into your own head?" He turns away from the dog to open a tall cabinet just inside the tightly spaced room revealing a collection of firearms. Most of which have either broken, ran out of ammo, or are just flat out guns that should never have been made. He grabs the pistol first, an older model 1911 pistol, and the box holding the remaining ammo for it. Then followed by the rifle, which is strapped to the backpack next to the dog. Then the sawed off pump action. He was never a great shot, but the stopping power alone was enough to drop something in it's tracks if struck. But for it to be used, Two had to go outside. "Good morning populace of the Bunker. This is your current leader Two. Eight and I will be heading out today to gather water from the water collectors. We may be gone a day or so, bu we will be back. I know it's been a hard few years recently, but we'll figure it out. Just keep holding on." He pulled the strap over his body and looked around the empty one room bunker. "We've made it this far..." He then turns to Eight and grabs the bag, then leaves the safety of his enclosed space.

Outside is barren, the forest that was once full and filled the area is gone. All that remains are the few trees that have struggled to stay standing, and the material that has fallen to the ground. Everything was dead, except those who wondered into the woods. Which as far as Two knows, there hasn't been anyone in the woods other then him for over a year. The houses that border it maybe, but no where near the bunker. So he starts walking, shotgun resting by his side, and the rifle strapped to the backpack and his closest friend watching his blind spot, he feels ready to take on the day.

It took him roughly three hours to walk to the first water collector, and each one is at least forty minutes from each other, some as far as two hours from each other. "Water collectors A, though E were empty or had so little water it may not even make up the trip. We have a lot of water left at the Bunker still, we could just trust that will hold out?" It didn't take long before talking to the toy dog convinced him it was a bad idea. "I see your point... we'll check F and G then head back. The others are too far to make it today." Water collector F had some water, enough to make up for the trip at least. Anything he got at Collector G would have to be enough.

The road to the last water collector was an actual road this time. Another fifty miles or so down the road was an old town, not the one he was raised in, but a town. One he went to when there was enough fuel for the truck to drive about every day. Now, it was slowly falling apart due to lack of maintenance. Every once and a while someone or something would come through on the road, Two was able to tell because something would either have been moved, a light trail may be able to be found, or he would actually see them. On this road, he was out of his safe bubble of a world. But generally the area outside of it was safe, today though, he could see two infected. It looked like at some point they were trying to get into one of the wrecked cars on the side of the road. That was a safe bet to say they had been there a while and that they had no real intentions on leaving. The woods around the road were still dead here, but they were a lot more dense then the area around the Bunker. If he were to start walking around in the woods here he could easily get ambushed. He was armed though, but his gear was large and bulky.

The Thirty Odd six had more cartridges left then the shotgun had shells. In theory he could try to pick them off with the rifle and hope none are around. But seeing those two was a surprise. If any got too close, he still had the shotgun ready in case. The smart thing to do would be to go back and try again another day. But these collectors were far from the Bunker as it was, and trying to make up for it by going to the other collectors was even more time. If it wasn't for the fact the last few collections yielded little water he would have turned back, if he had a few less rounds he would have turned back. Two got down next to one of the cars and took off his pack, making it much easier to grab the rifle. The scope was cracked but it was still sighted properly last Two had taken the chance to figure that out. *CRACK* The rifle rung out, echoing for what could have been miles. The shot did hit it's target though, not in the head. The infected landed on it's back screaming and squirming as the high caliber rifle cut through it's body. The other one soon found him down the road as Two reloaded the rifle. Every time he was in a situation reloading the rifle he wondered why One decided to get a rifle that held only one shot at a time? But at one point had a semi automatic rifle? Why was that not in the bunker?!

That didn't matter now, what mattered was the fact that by the time the second bullet was loaded the infected was less then twenty yards. Two pulled the trigger before really aiming and the shot missed entirely. By this point infected asshole one was on his feet again. Despite the rifle missing, the twelve gauge was still ready to fire. Two dropped back so he could reach the shotgun. With a simple pump of the gun, the hopes it wouldn't jam, and the pulling of the trigger, hoping the infected that was only a couple yards away would not get to him. *BOOM* And the infected was sent back with pieces of it's torso flying in every direction as the pellets from the sawed off barrel hit it. Two pumped the gun and climbed to his feet as the first infected finally caught up to him. The man took aim and fired again, taking a piece of this infected's head clean off, leaving the other bits in pieces from the buckshot. Two grabbed the 1911 from his belt and fires twice into the First infected he shot. He could hear the sounds of more infected reacting to his gunshots. Why were so many out here now?!

Two grabbed his rifle, and the bag that held his best friend and he ran. He ran as fast as he could as the infected ran behind him. He did the math in his head, the shotgun held five shots at a time, and had an effective range of about ten yards. Maybe less? SO that was three shots left. From the sounds behind him he guessed there had to be at least three behind him. He didn't dare look back, anything that slowed him down now was too risky. One of the water collectors was based on a two story house, if he was able to get there with out dying he could seal himself up in one of the few remaining rooms and hold out until they lost interest. As he ran though it seemed like more and more infected started to follow him.

At the house the front door was long gone, on the second floor Two remembers a door that still had a semi functional door. It seemed once he made it to the stairs of the house his body was done. Trying to take that first step seemed like the hardest step he had ever tried to take. It wasn't until he heard the first step on the door frame from the door he forced his way up, not fast but as fast as his body could carry him. The footsteps behind him were faster, at this point much faster. But unlike before there was only one set of feet behind him.

Two dropped the bag at the top of the stairs just long enough to turn and fire the shotgun point blank at the infected, another torso shot sending it right back down the stairs where another one was waiting to meet it. Though unlike what went off in Two's head, the infected behind him did not drop, simply brushed as they charged up the stairs. But now Two had time to run again. He grabbed the bag and ran to the room, shutting the door behind him. He pushed over the dresser next to the door to buy him time as he thought, so far all he could think was he was outnumbered and low on ammo. The room wasn't much either, looked like an old bedroom with the exception of a whole the size of a minivan in the wall. The bed was gone, and the only furniture bits remaining consisted of the dresser in front of the door and a small shelf near the hole in the wall.

He sat down next to his bag, feeling like his body was ready to quit on him. The banging on the door was rough, it wouldn't hold long, even with the dresser in the way. He had minutes at best unless something would draw their attention, he could try climbing out from the hole and hope there are no infected and he doesn't get hurt? Or he could hold a stand with what ammo was left? Assuming the cold of the night didn't kill him or that he could actually hold a stand. "Fuck. My. Life." He looks over at the toy dog. "Don't give me that look, they won't attack you. You'll be fine. I am like 60% sure that they do not attack dogs." At this point, he was just hoping that the infected would lose interest and give him a chance to leave. And if he had to hold a last stand he still had two shells in the shotgun, and the rifle could get a shot off if he didn't care about aiming? Or maybe he could pretend to be a badass and shoot all of them in the head with the colt.45 because it's just like the movies right?

(Note: I did not have time to write up Hank's part tonight, I will have his up soon depending on work.)

_{T E D B R A D Y :}

---

The JLTV tussled briefly over the terrain, but Ted made no notice. He was more concerned about things like whipping that fucking Raleigh Safety Shelter into its place. Authorities had one fucking job, and yet, here he was — leaving the old fort of D.C. for some half-witted shit command job because people — humans — couldn’t do their one fucking job. He wasn’t surprised, but he was more than peeved. On a good day, he was generally peeved, but on a day like this, he was furious. Anyone could have seen it in his eyes. The sternness that lingered across his weathered face calloused further as a small transmission emitted over his communication device. The line was fuzzy, but it was what it was.

His lower jaw moved unevenly to the side as he drew in a rugged breath. The phone piece was gripped tightly in his hand and shoved between his cheek and his shoulder. Gruff words woven with some blunt cursing spoke from his mouth. He had a lot of things to worry about, right now. Adding to the list was just going to piss him off, even more. Unfortunately, Ted was always pissed. Therefore, sometimes, people just didn’t care if they were going to piss him off even more.

The Raleigh Safety Shelter of Zone B was giving the authorities some hell — in more than one or two ways. God, if he could just kill them all — gun them down — that stiff muscle in his left shoulder might stop bothering him when he slept at night for once. His wife, Anne, would massage a stiff muscle back in the day, but she was dead, now. Lurkers, irresponsible people. It made him more irate the more he thought about it, and People thought positions of power were easy like stealing candy from a baby. Well, fuck, yeah, there was a lot of easy corruption and white collar crimes. Hell, there were even red collar crimes, but shit if that lifestyle didn’t have it’s own backlash. Karma’s a bitch, Ted supposed even if he didn’t really believe in such a thing. To Ted, life, in general, was a bitch, and if life was going to be a fucking bitch, he’d get what he could out of it.

Greasers had been ransacking cargo units. It pissed Ted off. Well, what didn’t piss him off, at this point, any how? Cigarettes. Those damn butts were a blessing from the God that didn’t even exist. Whatever. If Greasers wanted the American luxury so much, why didn’t they just live on the dumb fuck Safety Shelters? Sure, the ‘Survivors’ looked like pig swine compared to how Ted was living, which if he was honest, wasn’t really fucking shit much at all, but damnit, the Greasers were like that itch that kept coming back no matter how hard you fought it. Ted and some others had an idea. War with the Greasers was bound to happen. Just fucking exterminate those little shits off the face of the garbage hole of a planet. The little ball in outer space was fucked up enough. The last thing it needed was little Grease Monkeys trying to litter it more with their petty animal shit.

It was at this thought that Ted took out a cigarette and lit it with a match. His thin lips drew in a huge drag, and the nicotine burned the back of his throat. There was something depressing about not having menthol with his nicotine. Sure, the health risks, rat poison, whatever. Maybe, he secretly just wanted to die. No, he just didn’t fucking care. Pleasure was still an option, and Ted was going to get it one way or another. It usually came in blood cold manners, but the heat of a tobacco tar had its perks, like some of those desperate Safety Shelter whores. Abortion should have been mandatory back before the Outbreak. Fucking women and not worrying about some ugly, mistake aftermath shit would have made life so much easier. Yeah, he could have paid some money for a bitch to terminate that lump of cells infecting the inside of her body. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so annoyed with Anne’s death if he cheated on her a bit more.

Another large inhale coursed into Ted’s lungs. Today wasn’t a day for playing. Ha, was any day really for playing? His tired eyes glanced out of the window at the ugly, gray scenery. It was cold outside, but it’d be getting warmer as the clouds dispersed and the sun bitched her way to the earth. He’d made this trip many times in the past eight years, and he was beginning to recognize the landscape. They were getting close to the Safety Shelter. He hated the fact he was traveling in a shabby shit job of a cargo unit. He wanted something more personal, more protected, more powerful — all wishful thinking. There was no fuel for that shit. There was nothing. At least, there would be nothing, soon, and that’s why he was making his appearance to the Raleigh Safety Shelter in Zone B.

As the JLTV came to a stop, it pushed forwards and then backwards. The driver exchanged a small briefing with the guards working the gate of the Shelter. Suddenly, the engine rumbled once more, and the vehicle proceeded into the Shelter. Ted rolled his eyes at the site. It was always filthy to him. He knew he wasn’t much, but he really questioned how these ragged humans lived, sometimes. In fact, he thought about it often, which was why the others and he came to the decision they had.

Ted snuffed his cigarette and tossed it on the flooring of the JLTV. If any sucker wanted the rest of that shit, it was theirs for the taking. Germs and all. His body flexed as he opened the door and nudged his strong body from the unit. His narrow eyes scanned the faces of the Safety Shelter. They all looked the same to him, and he really had no business to do with any of them. It was the head of the shit joint he wanted to meet.

The other transport vehicles came to a halt, and Ted could see the eyes of the hungry open widely. His own lips pressed together and formed a small, disgusted frown. They were all swine. Every single one of them. His nose wrinkled as he took a step forward and pulled out his gun, shifting his body through the grounds and making his way towards the swines’ leader. He was feeling his cheeks heat from the fact that he had not been greeted. No wonder this place was falling to shit. No one could do their bloody fucking job, and he always had to be the mother fucking janitor. It was degrading, and he had better things to do with his time than clean up everyone’s mess. But, if they wanted Mr. Brady to clean up their shit, urine, and vomit, cleaning he would do — whether they liked his methods or not.


_{T H E O D O R E L A W S O N :}

---

Theodore’s upper body sprang forward from the brown night sack his body was resting on. His face was flushed, and his body was covered in sweat despite the coolness of the early morning. For several long seconds the darkness that normally blinded his vision had disappeared, and his mind was pupeteering a grotesque play of the afternoon that the Outbreak became… became what it had become; the afternoon he killed his first human; the afternoon he killed his younger sister, Isabella. His dry, dirty hands cupped over his face. He wasn’t going to forget it happened. How could he? It was all around him.

His breaths were heavy and ragged, and he tried to keep them calm. He was thankful his stomach was knotted in pain from lack of food, again; the physical pain helped muffle the overly cliché mental anguish. He preferred the days when he was numb and emotionless. The tightness clawing at his chest, twisting the muscles, and pulling his heart in-and-out of time was sometimes unbearable. If he could forget the past he would, but he had also grown friendly towards the jaded sense of trust. Abandoning it seemed disloyal and dishonest.

Letting his bony hands, now with damp palms, collapse onto the makeshift bedding beside him. His shoulders slumped while the darkness continued taking over his sight. His breaths were smaller, but his heart was still pounding against his chest. Theodore’s eyes shifted to the right as his face turned in the same direction. Next to him was another sleeping being, his mother. A small involuntary movement of his mouth crossed over his emotions. He was unsure whether he was relieved she was sleeping next to him or not. Immaturely and selfishly, he wanted to elaborate on the pity he felt for himself, but in all, he could never shake the calmness he innately felt towards knowing his mother was okay – even if he exhibited an inner and sometimes outward animosity towards her.

A dry bit of saliva croaked down his throat, and Theodore closed his eyes. They were burning from a lack of sleep. Even as someone who never truly understood what a proper amount of sleep felt like, the past eight or whatever years had been truly torturous. His thin body collapsed painfully into the brown bedding. The faint smell of dust lingered in his senses as he fell back to sleep until the morning siren cried through the Shelter.

And it wasn’t until the sun was beating down on his neck did he truly awaken from that zombified state. Even through the hassle of some big pig government official waltzing into town, Theodore’s attention had gone into auto-pilot. There were some paranoid folk ruffling everyone’s tail feathers over the guy’s arrival. He even had some armed possy tailing his every move. They seemed smug or something, but God, Theodore could be a pushover sometimes. If they barked at him, he most likely complied. Sometimes it was annoying, but Theodore had never found any use in senseless martyrdom.

Besides, someone had to mind his mother.

Maybe she could care for herself without him, but Theodore doubted it. She spiraled in and out of depressive, catatonic states too much, and none of those guys she slept with would bother with her. She was just a doll with a hole or two in it for them to fuck around with. Sometimes that’s how he saw her, too. Sometimes he saw her as worse, but most of the time, he couldn’t help but care for her — even if it made him sick to the stomach, which was good sometimes, because he was usually starving. Not today, though. The govvy pigs had come riding into the shelter on the food trucks. Maybe today wasn’t a good day for stealing, but Theodore was willing to bet none of the authorities would be paying too much attention to the ‘commoners.’ The royalty needed treatment.

So, yeah, Theodore pocketed some of the goods selfishly. Survival was survival, and Amanda was so 'zoned out' she never noticed or took a hint. It was actually the people on the receiving end who Theodore had to be more weary. They didn't like their portions being distributed infairly, but Theodore was convinced everyone did it. Thieves happened. Stealing was common, but damn if you go caught things went to hell really fast. Theodore hadn’t been caught, yet. He was kind of friendly with a guy who had or so he thought. Theodore felt nothing when the authority figures made the guy into a prime example as to why stealing was against the law.

In fact, in some ways, Theodore forgot it happened many of times as he stood there near Amanda — attempting to make a stupid joke to see if she would smile. It was a game he made up. He made Amanda smile maybe once or twice. He didn’t care if he was bad at it because he didn’t think Amanda was too good at the game either. Besides, a stupid, light-hearted challenge was always a good way to escape reality, and in the off-chance Amanda did smile, she kind of looked pretty — not that he was one to talk.


_{H U N T E R :}

---

Lizards were like the coolest thing to Hunter. Well, not really. Hunter thought a lot of things were cool — a lot cooler than this stupid fucking weather, and the sun dripping hot rays of weird shit kiss sunburns on his skin. His cheeks were baren with forced freckles from all the heat beating and scavenger digging he’d done in his eight years of living. But, right now, lizards were cool as shit, but not really. He wasn’t sure why that — ‘Cool as shit’ — was even a saying. Shit was usually kind of hot — or maybe warm; whatever; definitely not cool. Well, maybe after a bit of time during the winter when left out in the open, but today, shit was hot. For real.

Small, tanned fingers pinched harder against the squirming thing trying to twist its captured reptilia body free from it’s capturer. The body wiggled as a strange noise emitted from the thing’s open mouth. Dark eyes studied the helpless thing; several blinks of eyelashes stroked against sunburnt cheeks in the process. A small nose crinkled against the tan and burned face. Hunter’s lips puckered inward as his brows furrowed mischievously. Slowly his mouth opened as the lizard was brought closer to his face. For several seconds, his lips opened and closed, producing a suction sound, complete with cheeks bulging with each vibration drumming against his dry lips when suddenly, the lizard wiggled correctly and nipped his nose.

“Fffff—!” Hunter’s hand whipped the lizard from his skin in a swift and startled manner, swinging the thing viciously as the annoyance of the attack settled. As the seconds passed, and Hunter calmed his childish mind, his eyes met his now steady hand. The lizard was gone, but the tail was not. A quick frown beset the boy’s face as the words, "Fuck!” hissed from his mouth. His fingers offensively flicked the tail onto the dry, heated ground on which he was squatting. His arm rested, and he turned his head to comb the surrounding area for his escaped prisoner.

It was so cold and windy this morning, but this afternoon had turned into a tortuous desert standstill. Hunter believed if he was quiet enough, he’d hear the invisible footsteps of his prey, and so he drew in a large breath, puffing out his cheeks again and listening intently for any pitter patters of scurrying. It was only another several seconds of his time when he heard some sort of vibrations pressing itself into the ground. His eyes perked at the sound. He knew that sound all too well. It was Antonio.

His head slowly turned to get a better listen on the whereabouts of Antonio's direction. His childish mind quickly began noting dates and times — Antonio’s turn to be on guard was today, now, soon, anyways. His little body tucked and rolled behind a rusted, fallen shaft of metal. The shadow it provided over his lithe body wasn’t much protection from the heat emitting from the boiling ground, but it did provide some sort of shelter from being detected. Hunter so badly wanted to keep the stoicism on his face as he silently lurked in hiding, but his dry lips, now slightly moist with excitement, pressed apart into a crooked toothed smile, growing slowly wider with every foot step that approached closer and closer.

Sure, Hunter was just a kid, but he was pretty tough and cunning and, of course, the typical trope of a mischievous annoyance who popped up unannounced on dangerous voyages quite frequently. He was kind of like a fungus; he’d grow on a person until he was finally accepted and eventually cherished. Maybe it was desperate times for companionship that the immature boy took to understanding for his own personal development, but whatever the case, as unruly as his mouth and mind were, his eight year old charm didn’t go unnoticed.

It was unfortunate he knew about his charm, though, and his rascally demeanor didn’t help any when he was being chastised. There was something brute and beautiful about getting a good beating after almost getting away with something. However, the feeling of actually getting away with something was even better. It was better than the first and last time he ever had a Coca-Cola. His dad said it was ‘Flat,’ but Hunter didn’t care. He never minded a woman with a flat chest, and the Coca-Cola was helluh fuckin’ delicious. He dreamed about it, sometimes — and not just at night. It was that good.

With a flick of his toes inside the worn-out tennis shoes that were slightly too tight around his growing feet, Hunter flicks the dry dirt beneath him and leapt through the air onto Antonio. His monkey-like reflexes swung through the air as he began screaming a loud roar from his small vocals. He could feel the rush of adrenalin that he might actually get away with it. It came in more than just a flushing heart beat and the still air finally moving across his chapped lips and dirty hair. Hunter also liked Antonio, and seeing their shadows merge into one was an earnestly guilty pleasure of his.

Leo was holed up in the lab, if you could call it that ... it wasn't exactly the super streamlined, sparkly-sci-fi set up that was a stable in futuristic films (yknow, the ones with aliens and humans always win, not the dystopian world they lived in right now). When he wasn't on hunts or guard duty around the base, he was in the lab, heck he even slept there sometimes, usually waking up hours later stiff all over and feeling worse than before. The lab was sometimes the only quiet place, other times it was the loudest part of the base, either way, it was a place Leo could carry out work and research without being disturbed too often which was a luxury he could just about afford in this hellscape of a world he lived in.

The only time he felt at ease when he wasn't in the lab, was when he was out hunting. That was the only contact he had with the world of the greasers, the world his twin sister Letty had defected to.
Lurker patrols usually involved trigger-happy Govvy's waiting to blow up some zom-zoms and when they found them, a greaser or two. Leo didn't like harming civvies, if he had brass balls like his sister, perhaps he'd have become a greaser like her too. Either way, patrols were the only time he felt like he was actually looking for her, even though that wasn't supposed to be the plan. He kept it all to himself of course, one of the higher-ups would have his head if they thought that he was using patrols as a means to seek out his traitor sister. No one mentioned her of course, he couldn't help but wonder why they did that and if it was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, never talking about her meant he didn't have to worry about letting his desire to see her again slip, no one could suspect him of being a turn-coat if he didn't care for his sister, but on the other hand, it was as if she was dead and the world wanted to forget her. Wasn't that what people did after they lost a loved one? They shared stories, looked at pictures, they kept the person alive in conversations and late night heart-to-hearts. If conversation were an indication of Letty's chance of survival out there ... Leo could assume she was dead already, but he knew his sister. A girl who learned to shoot a gun with one arm and who survived an animal attack in the colds of Scandinavian winter... That was when she was a child, now she was a woman grown. She didn't have Leo's IQ, but she was clever, clever and ballsy. He knew in a one on one fight, she'd easily beat him, that was probably why she had the courage to leave, it would never happen the other way around, Leo was never brave enough to face the world alone and now he had to through no choice of his own.

Right now, he was studying samples of lurker tissues under a microscope, salvaged from a hunt of course, and once he was finished examining the slides they had to be destroyed to ensure no unnecessary risk of outbreak within the compound. Accidents could happen, especially in the chaotic shambles of a lab where parts and papers scattered around every surface of the shared space. Although his speciality was cybernetic science, any research into the cure was greatly appreciated. He was trying to figure out the mutations in lurker tissue, if it was possible, perhaps there was a way humans could be immunised to be resistant to the mutation once infected, or maybe it could even be reversed. At the very least, someone had to try and Leo put what he could into finding a cure when he wasn't on patrol or unconscious.

He wondered if Letty had been able to keep up maintenance on her arm, did she keep it covered? Although it was very well made, the choking sand and dust out in the deserts weren't good for the parts. She was usually good at taking care of things, but what if she was too busy, running from place to place to survive. The last thing someone would be concerned about then was oiling their finger hinges.

Suddenly, a commotion outside pulled Leo from his half-dazed study of lurker cell structures. He discarded the samples appropriately in the biohazard waste bin and dusted himself off. He didn't look the best, but then again, who did these days?
Outside a convoy pulled up and not a moment too late because he was pretty hungry and it was about time for a restock. With the convoy came a forboding looking figure. A new guy huh? Well, lets see if he brings any news from the outside world.

Leo made his way down from the lab to the main yard, people were jostling this way and that for food and supplies, they looked worse and worse each passing day but that was the world they lived in and it was better in here than out in the wilds, at least, thats what Leo told himself, how he motivated himself to keep going so he could bring Letty back when he found her.

He stayed up on one of the guard platforms and watched the new Govvy meander his way through the crowds, he eyed the facility with evident displeasure and Leo knew the new arrival wasn't pleased to be here.

"Can't be bad news, the worlds already gone to shit" Letty smirked, appearing out of the shadows of the lookout platform when Antonio jumped down.
"My bets that they found the routes for a govvy convoy and we're gonna intercept and eat like kings for a week" she said optimistically, fiddling with a part of a gun in one hand, tiny screwdriver in the other.
"Hows the hunting? Kill any'a the bastards?" she asked. Patrols could be boring or exciting, sometimes there wasn't a lurker for days, others there were hoards. As long as you were on the right side of the fence, it was bloody exhilarating, but fall on the outside and you were zombie-chow which was considerably less fun.

Of course, the village monkey leapt onto Antonio's back before Letty could indulge in some playful flirting. That was the thing about kids ... they generally knew how to get in the way of a good time and show up at the most inopportune moments.
"I'll see you in the tent" Letty said, giving a subtle wave with her mechanical hand and sashaying away toward the tent, hips swaying in a confident swagger.

A welcome retreat from the perpetually baking hot sunlight, Letty slumped down onto a crate, a makeshift chair now, and waited for the other greasers to all file in for the meeting that was called. It was surely going to be brief because people had jobs to do, they couldn't afford to sit around all day flappin their gums when there were zombies and govvy's outside threatening to break down their walls and smash and/or eat them.

Ration day, this normally meant Hank had to take time out of his week to get rations that years ago would have been enough to last him a bit over a week. This was supposed to hold him over longer.That didn't matter, Hank could try to pull off enough to eat from his runs, though this would raise suspicion. Plus, the crap rations would make it so he could focus on more important things. Things like finding a way to get out and not get killed. The aging man removed a piece of sheet metal from the wall to reveal a compartment that housed his .357 and what bullets he had left, which wasn't enough to do much but it would help in a bad situation. "Seven bullets..." He closed up the space holding his gun and some spare food and water he has collected over time. Before Hank could leave he needed a lot more. He figured at least a week's worth of food, two weeks of water, and some kind of armor. Tools would help but getting any that would last longer then a few days is unlikely here.

But for now, Hank needed to gather his rations. The time will come where he will be able to leave, but that is not now. Hank made his way to Ration distribution, watching those around him. Despite the weight he has lost over the years he was still a much bigger person then many of these people. Probably stronger too. Years ago it would have been his job to help these people get food, get safe shelter, and to keep them safe. These private security type that run things now say they are government employees, despite the fact that they do technically fall under that classification they sucked at their job. Then again was the government ever good at that? The current armed forces though were nothing to mock though, other then their shady morals they were good at what they did do. Working years with them Hank understood that if a situation went bad it only took a small squad to wipe out a large portion of a district.

One of the first things Hank noticed on his way was a man he knew as Mr. Brady. Hank never got the chance to know him or anyone else while he worked security, but Hank wasn't a fan of anyone in a position of power right now. Hank simply avoided contact while he walked, the food was more important then anything else that might go on.

Arriving to the ration station was a pain. Long lines and not enough rations to go about. Hank would be here for hours before he got some, if he got some. He could find a way to make things work if he had to but that would set him back months if he didn't get the rations. Once he could get inside and outside with out trouble he'd be able to cause more then enough issues for anything that the new government wanted to try to do.



The door held longer then a few minutes, barely. Many holes were made in it but the destruction in the house made enough noise with the wind to spread them out and make them loose interest on his door. It was night now, and the temperature has plummeted. Two is now laying down with a blanket over his body and the shotgun at the ready. It wasn't enough though, it felt like it was below freezing outside. His hands were shaking... so was the rest of his body but at least he could use his legs. With out his hands using a rifle correctly or his pistol would be a problem. He could still try to just point and shoot the shotgun and that would be enough to stop anything point blank in front of him.

He had 2 shells left in it though... he counted at least four or five infected. "....we don't really have much of a choice do we Eight?" He spoke as he looked at the toy dog, who gave his generic blank expression. "...We're dead if we stay, we're dead if we run... We have stew waiting for us though..." The gear and supplies he had on him were heavy, and they were both going to be slow due to the cold...

Two left his bag, his rifle, and most of his gear other then his coat, eight, his pistol, his shotgun,the axe, and a couple odds and ends that fit into his pocket. Eight was strapped to Two's back using some rope from his bag. At least with out the gear he would be able to run a bit faster. He could always come back for it. "We don't have far to go... less then a mile. If we are smart we can navigate the dark and make it inside before things get too bad..." He made sure the guns were loaded and ready to fire.

Two crept out the door slowly, letting it creak as he did so. No infected were near by, at least by what he could see. He worked his way downstairs with the shotgun raised. He could hear the rustling in the other rooms as he walked. Each board making noise as he moved. If it wasn't for the activity in the house he would have been noticed by now. He slowly pushed open the front door with the barrel of his gun, once it was open he broke out in a dead sprint.

He was soon tackled as he ran by one of the infected, if it wasn't for his jacket he would have been bit by now, and yet again, it saved his life. Two was stuck on his side while the infected kept trying to get to his flesh, two was able to pull his pistol and fire off a shot point blank into it's head, sending bits and pieces everywhere. It doesn't matter how much noise was going on inside, that gunshot would draw the attention of anything with in hundreds of yards, and at least get noticed by anything up to a couple miles.

He got up and ran as fast as he could still sprinting. Two wasn't a great sprinter though, all he could do was go as fast as he could before the infected got him. He was able to make it to the door of the Bunker, the infected getting closer and closer as his sprinting went to a jog, then to a steady run, then to a speedy walk... then to just trying to not collapse as he could hear the leaves break under the the many feet behind him.

The door was still shut, Two turned around at the bottom of the steps and took aim. "Eight! I'll Keep them back! You open the door alright? And be fast." The first infected came into sight and was shot out of the doorway with a single blast of the twelve gauge shotgun. As the second one came the shotgun went off again, extinguishing it's last shell. Two dropped the shotgun and drew his pistol. "OPEN THE DAMN DOOR EIGHT!" He would fire off one shot at a time as the infected tried to crawl their way into the narrow stair way. Some falling and getting shot when they hit the ground, others getting shot as they try to charge down.

Once the seven round clip was emptied Two stood in shock, the infected were done. The last one dead as Two executed it with the last bullet. Two still stood in shock... "Why didn't you open the door...?"

A M O S
5 Days' Hike West of Raleigh

The sun was just rising over the wide, empty fields, reflecting off the morning’s dew. Amos was wide awake and he walked down a muddy, unpaved road. His feet sloshed through the mud as he pulled himself alongside his trusty walking stick. His pack was strapped firmly to his back and his boots tightly bound to his feet. Sloshing, sloshing, sloshing. Amos didn’t seem to mind the noise he made as he trudged along the empty dirt road. Eventually Amos came across a trailhead; he stopped for a second to look at the map posted there. With his finger he traced along the protective Plexiglas to find the route he would take to the edge of the lake nearby.

In less than half an hour he reached his goal, he stooped down alongside a creek, rest his pack against a tree stump, and sat down alongside it. Amos leaned back his head and took a long breath, letting the smell of the pine trees flood his senses. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out. He closed his eyes to focus, to meditate. In that moment nothing moved besides his own chest, in and out, slowly but surely, and the nearby creek, babbling and bubbling beside him. Its cool water flowed over perfectly smooth rocks, weathered away by the force of the river. The brook flows and flows from its spring in the west into the rivers and oceans in the east. It is unstoppable but not unchanging.

Quite the opposite, the brook might not always flow the same way but it is constant in that it flows, it is living. A sapling, young and spry, can be manipulated in many different shapes, but when it is old and dying it hardens up and becomes unmalleable. Flexibility is the key to living, Amos noted. All things which live must be able to change or they will be crushed by a force far greater than they are. Like the stone in the river, the hardest person will be chipped away at by the never ending flow of time. But if a person, like a tree, can sway and bend a little to the winds of change they too can remain whole.

Amos opened his journal and jotted down his meditations with an old pencil before flipping open his old Bible in front of him. He recited from the Book of Matthew, before noting the chapter in his journal as well:

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

When he had finished he closed both books, tucked them away in his pack and removed a bag filled with lean meat which he had cooked the night prior. He bit into the cold meat and swallowed it back. It was tough, chewy, and almost flavorless. Amos, however, didn’t seem to mind. When he had finished his breakfast he threw his pack on again and strapped it down tight. He took up his walking stick and returned back to the trailhead before walking back down the road.

“Guide me Lord,” he said out-loud, “Take me to where you need me to be.”

And with that Amos was off, walking along the muddy road alone, searching for a sign that he’s in the right place. But as of yet, he had not found any.

Know the worst part about living in a fort that was built centuries ago? It ain't the holes in the defences, the crumbling foundations or the damn rats everywhere. It was the bloody wind, how it blew through everything, knocked things over and cut right to your core.

Still, could be worse. You could be one of those poor fuckers in one of them Safety Shelters. Overcrowded, little food and being pushed around by someone whose family had more money than you before all this shit went down. At least with William's crew you knew where you stood. Pull your weight and do what you're told and you will be well looked after by everyone else who does the same. Be a burden for too long or refuse to do something and you'll wish that you were Infected.

And today, today somebody had not done their job right. Two people fucked up during the night. The one watching the storeroom, and the one who thought they could pilfer from it. Both had to be punished, both must be made examples of what not to do.

William walked out into the courtyard of the fort. Whatever holes this place omce had were patched up with scraps of wood, metal and even a couple of car parts and frames that couldn't be used. And in the middle of the courtyard stood a dozen men and women, these were the ones who weren't out scavenging or who had no other duties. And kneeling in front of them were two men.

The eldest of the men would be about 30 years old, and apart from his torn pants he wore nothing. This was intentional, he was the watchman who screwed up, so his gear was taken from to be used by someone less useless. The other was a kid, couldn't have been older than 18. Poor dumb shit. He should've better than to steal from his group, and the watchman should've done his job better.

The older of the two looked down at the ground, glancing every now and then up at William with eyes full of fear. The man tried to speak, his voice full of fear and his words were muttered more than said, "B-b-boss, I'm, I'm sorry that I-" before he could say anymore William drove his armoured boot into the mans gut. The man doubled over in pain, he would've grabbed his gut but his hands were tied behind him.

William looked at the man in disgust, he had no sympathy for those who were incompetent. Had the watchman been killed or injured when the thief tried to get away William would have praised the man for doing his job. But no, he was found asleep next to the open storeroom door, not a scratch on him. It took them only a short while to find the thief, he hadn't gotten far from the fort before he was caught by an observant guard. The guard was given extra rations and excused duties for two days. Good work equals rewards. Bad work equals punishment.

Nobody besides those in the courtyard knows what happened to the two prisoners, except that it must have been horrible because while nobody saw anything, aside from dried blood left in the courtyard, they all heard the screams. The screams went on and off for days, they were loud and full of horror, and they weren't all from the two victims. When it was all done, there were no bodies left, not even bones.

There was however more minced meat added to the freezer, and some bones made into clubs and sharpened into shivs.

"Stupid fucking leaches," words so soft they could hardly be counted as real words. The young man was cursing under his breath as boot-clad feet crunched over dry dirt. Particles floated into the dry, hot air, from the soft thump of his steps as he moved in a lazy manner through the hot sun. Quite frankly Antonio didn't give a damn about how bad the higher ups wanted him and when. He'd get there when he damn well got there and not a second before or later. It was too hot to be rushing around like a fucking moron anyhow. Besides, he was wearing all black and his mood wasn't really cut out to deal with this harsh heat, scouting bullshit. He only put up with the Greaser life because it was people. There were real, living, breathing people. It beat being in those weird ass Safety Shelters that made promises they couldn't keep and don't even get him started on being a loner. That was downright laughable.

Perhaps there was a small chance that he really enjoyed what he did here but you see there's this thing called pride. It's a hell of a drugs and well...let's say Antonio might just be addicted. There were plenty of things the asian male didn't do because of pride. Even on hot ass days like today he wouldn't decline the position of sniper up on that high post where there was little wind and even less shade. He'd swelter in the high heat because damnit, this job was important and he was damn good at it.

Another forlorn sigh left the adult as he inched closer and closer towards the promising shade of the compound they'd claimed as their own. It was in his state of heat induced daze, that made it possible for that annoying (adorable) runt to play his damn dirty (fucking hilarious) tricks. A body crashed into his, Antonio's eyes going wide as his steps faltered, arms wrapping around the form tackling his own on instinct.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" his voice broke out, low, rough, and very surprised. Brown irises, like warm chocolate, found the dirtied face of a certain eight year old that had a seriously annoying (endearing) knack at finding the older of the two (the wayy older of the two). Antonio groaned, eyes turning from shocked to annoyed as he stopped, holding the kid on his hip with a frown etching on dry lips. "The fuck do you want kid?" He huffed, his usual tone of pure annoyance warping all of his words as he stared at the boy who happily wrapped himself around him.

"Don't you have shit to do? Shit that doesn't involve me?" He grumbled, setting the much younger male down and continuing on his way towards the compound. Although he'd never admit it, like not even in a thousand years, that damn kid was rather cool. Like an annoying, seriously he's fucking annoying, little brother that Antonio never wanted. Still, he was here and had certainly wormed his foul mouthed, hyperactive, ass into Antonio's daily life whenever he could find the chance. Like seriously, who the fuck watched this kid cus that was not in Antonio's job description.




Faint sounds of gunshots rolled through the sheets, a soft crackle that could easily be mistaken as thunder. Emotionless eyes lifted from the small fire flickering before her, keeping a petite body warm in the coldness of the night that pressed in on her from all sides. Lips pursed in a thin wash of mild intrigue. She wouldn't go pursue the noises. Whoever was out there, that was there business. Hers was here, with her fire and her supplies, although.... "They would have heard," she muttered to herself as she stood and stretched tired muscles. Ghost sighed to herself as she kicked dirt, quickly smoldering the fire that had been crackling before her just moments before.

"Stupid dickhead," she cursed whoever was out there firing this way and that recklessly. Some of us out here are actually smart and being quiet, Ghost hissed mentally as she began to pack up her small camp. Everything was placed strategically back into an old backpack that she slung over her shoulders. Years of training made it feel like an extension of her body. Old words, laced in a deep voice, one that seemed wise and knowing at the time, steady and strong and reliable, wormed its way into her mind. Her father's voice, his old idioms filtering through her mind before she instantly put a cap on that. Ghost knew better than that now. He was just as cowardly as the rest of them, all of them. All so afraid of dying, of eating, of being better, being in charge. Stupid things that didn't matter anymore.

It was scary, when someone stopped caring. They were empty, walking around, going through the motions. Ghost survived because she could. It was what she was born and raised to do. Ever since she could remember, she had worked to survive. Death wasn't scary anymore. There was no one to be around for, nothing to be around for either. If it wasn't controlled by the government or the Greasers, it was empty and barren and blank. There was nothing left of the world that only half of the population left even properly remembered. School, friends, libraries, movies, parks, happiness. Despite the shit ravaging the world, that politics, the economics, day to day wasn't so mad if you had laughter.

"Tch," Ghost scoffed as her feet moved through the steadily dying forest. The hot day time heat sweltered and wilted the foliage that was left. Water didn't flow fast enough to quench the thirst of the lands any more. Humans made sure of that, damn sure. When they hadn't been trashing it with landfills and pollution, they tore it down for mega mansions that could, quite literally, house a small village happily, for two people just to have it. Plenty of times Ghost wondered if this is what they deserved for what they'd done to their home.

Alone with just her thoughts, things like this often crept up. They were the only things that kept her company, the only things she wanted as company. Attachments were fatal, and although she had no real attachment to being alive, death wasn't something she was just rushing off to jump in to either. It was just a thing, something inevitable that would come one way or another. Something inescapable be it starvation, lurkers, humans, animals. This weird infection and the severe lack of resources didn't change that.

"Please stop getting so damn philosophical," Ghost grumbled to herself as she broke through the forest she had been roaming through. She hadn't even noticed that green had given way to brown, the number of trees still standing dwindling drastically, and just because they stood did not mean they were alive. Her steps paused as watchful eyes moved around the barren land she found herself in. Her gaze landed on a pile of bodies toppled over into an entrance.

Now, from where Ghost was standing, there was no way to discern who was in that bunker, dead or alive, and even if, beneath that pile of waste, one of those damn bastards was still alive and waiting for their next easy meal. Lips pursed, gaze flickering back towards the dying forest, to the way she had wandered in from, no destination, no origin. Attention turned back towards the bodies, steps dragging her closer. This could either really pay off or be really stupid...but if it did pay off...

Decision made, Ghost moved closer. Practiced steps were silent as she crept forwards out of sight of the entrance. If anyone actually was still alive in this weird little thing, they wouldn't see her coming. Fingers drew an arrow from the side of her pack, stringing it easily. In one smooth motion, she stood, whirling in on the entrance. No words, no hesitation, the arrow flew straight, the wet thunk of it hitting her target earning just the faintest flicker of a smile before her expressionless face returned.

"Hey," voice monotonous, bored even, as she stared down at the man she'd just shot in the thigh. "I'm taking your food," she declared before shoving dead bodies out of the way with soft grunts as she made her way down. Sure, she hunted not too long ago, but meat was finite. It had an expiration date. Canned foods though, like those found in bunkers like this, like her fathers, those...now those lasted forever.

_{T E D B R A D Y :}

---

Every Safety Shelter smelled like shit. However, each compound had it’s own distinct formula of rancid dirt and rotten flesh — for a lack of better adjectives to describe these hell holes. Ted could not have been bothered to put any time into further articulating his dislike and disgust for this community. They were highly inconvenient, and when the outbreak happened, this was not what Ted thought he would be doing in the long-run. He did not particularly enjoy getting his hands dirty nor messing his sweat and breath with the scum that lingered haphazardly in their filth waiting for some ‘Lord and Savior’ to come and rescue them, and by the looks of their hollowed faces, Death was probably the reality they were facing inside those lifeless sunken eyes.

Brown boots gripped their soles into the grimy dirt ground, leaving noticeable imprints that made a rigid trail of grimace behind Ted. His eyes were scanning the area as he gruffed his body impolitely through the area. Mental notes were snapped of certain details that made him further spiral into the crudeness of his mind. Most of these people might have been more useful as detain Lurkers — caged and made into experiments that would help find a Goddamn cure for this crap. That was an idea. Thin lips pressed together to form half of a smirk on his otherwise stern face. Just the neediness in their eyes, exactly like malnourished swine who would would barely hesitate to kill off their own kin for some sort of satisfaction in their gluttonous starvation. It was going to be another Holodomor, and quite frankly, Ted thought it might be more humane to simply let the Lurkers eat them first.

So, he had ideas, and, of course, those were not all of them. But first, ”Who’s Goddamn cock do I have to chop off before people start doing their jobs?” Ted turned his head pensively to look at one of his men. Both exchanged a mutual saturnine annoyance; although, the armed man, evidently guarding the Government Official, seemed more of less in a position of mirroring out of fear than anything else. Ted’s narrowed eyes shifted slowly from the guard and traced an intuitive path through the air and landed on a tall, square jawed man blinking his pretty-boy blue eyes at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Maybe that was an over exaggeration of the dumb look on the medic’s face, but it seemed to suit the young man finely.

Ted’s smirk dropped immediately upon locking his eyes on Leo. His mouth opened as if he was contemplating something, mulling over what exactly he was supposed to say to this bastard — some kind of age that his daughter would have been had she been a good little girl and kept her legs closed like her parents and school had taught her, ”Nevermind,” he scoffed to his guards, I know exactly who I am supposed to be pissing on. His right shoulder rolled the stiffness from his muscle as he cocked his head slightly, still keeping his attention on his subject. His lips opened again and closed, but no words came from the motion.

Pushing him and his men further along his path, Ted moved his frame coarsely. The heaviness of his clothing was irritating, and he, by under no circumstances, wanted the Leo the Doe to think he had any leeway when under the thumb of Mr. Brady. In fact, he was quite into playing with Leo and having the younger of the two Government Officials pick the means of clean up for their swine infestation. This thought rested well with Ted. Maybe not as well as the one where he grates the youthful vigor from the young man’s face with his chain, but it was fairly suffice, anyways, like those dirty harlots with too much to put out and let in. God he missed Anne, sometimes.

”Remind me your name,” Ted’s voice was low, salted with a fake decency, ”What was it, again? Leonard? Letty?” He paused and drew in a dry breath through his nostrils. The stillness in the air made this sound of his action audible. A wad of spit slithered down Ted’s throat as his mouth motioned contemplation along with the rest of his face while his eyes studied Leo’s stoical disposition. Ted was not about to be offended by the man’s personal attitude. He’d need some sort of head to make it through this world. But, God, if he could just iron punch the boy in the cheek a few times to relieve some of this stress.

Maybe, he would do that before leaving — if he still felt like it. Wasting energy on something so pathetic was vaguely inefficient.

”I’m frankly fuckin’ not sure where to begin, to be honest,” his right arm moved and shifted his hand upwards to motion a sense of need in Leo to look around the Shelter, ”This is absolutely disgusting; and I’m gunna be real tight with you since you’re kind of young and probably don’t want a lot of lip flab from some ‘high ranking Govvy,’ even if I think you need a good old fashioned bitch slap to the face; and that’s me holding my tongue,” Ted tilted his head slightly to watch Leo’s reaction, ”I’m not very happy that I have to come all the way out here to role play as Janitor because you cannot do your Goddamn fucking job.” Ted’s hand lowered, and his arm stretch outwards by placing his rough palm on the shoulder of Leo. The tendons in his arm squeezed his hand tightly over the younger man, ”I want you to tell me why the fuck you’re so important to the Raleigh Safety Shelter; why the fuck you’re the only one greeting me,” Ted leaned in closer to Leo. The body heat from the two men touched, ”Because, I did not come all the way out here to be treated like I’m shit who has no idea what’s conspiring behind these walls,” Ted looked straight into Leo’s blue eyes and slowly pulled back to re-position himself and straighten his back, ”And why the fuck I shouldn’t just get rid of you right here and now,” Ted paused, for another time. Whatever suspense he was trying to uphold was mostly a breath to calm his anger, “And then, you’re going to lead me back to the Govvy Offices of this hell hole, so I can give you your options on how to clean up this pigshit,” Ted’s hand released Leo’s shoulder and gave him several sarcastic, good-boy pats before withdrawing into his other arm, folded over his chest impatiently. A demeaning smile was wearing itself scornfully on Ted’s face as he continued studying Leo.

_{T H E O D O R E L A W S O N :}

---

The day was turning murkier and murkier, and the presence of Mr. Brady was making a stiffness of the Shelter noticeably more bone chilling, even with the ravenous sun bursting it’s heat overhead. A nervous worry caught Theodore as he handed a small ration to a wrinkle faced man. The man’s hands were shaking with weather and wear, but the neediness in which he grasped the package was awkward and rigid like he was ready to drop it at any given moment (like at the strong breath of the nonexistent wind running around the atmosphere). Theodore could not say he was feeling particularly strong. Although, he was wondering if he ever had been strong.

He wiped a warm hand over his face. The sweat was at least a sign he was somewhat hydrated, even if he did feel that weary faintness exemplifying the light in his vision. He did not want to imagine what the people standing in line felt. His mother was lucky he could grab her rations, let alone make sure she would even get some. Many of these people were going to stand in the line and bake and return with absolutely nothing. For this reason, Theodore had tried his damn hardest to get this job, and fuck, if the line would move slower and slower as the day dragged. It was not just the people standing in line, growing more and more complacent with their mobile limitations, but Theodore and Amanda — the two sole individuals - who were distributing in this part of the Shelter, were growing tired, as well.

Complaining seemed fair, though, but sometimes, as Theodore looked at the repeat customers, week-after-week, month-after-month, year-after-year, he saw them change. Largely, he had forgotten what they had even looked like at the beginning. Eight years was a long time, especially in this type of condition. Theodore knew he was lucky to still have all his teeth, which was more than he could say about many of the people dwelling in the Safety Shelter. Things looked grim, even with the sun shining so brightly, blindingly.

_{H U N T E R :}

---

Swinging around Antonio after successfully surprising him, Hunter found himself suddenly strapped to his prey’s hip, held in the position by strong hands securely wrapped around his dirty, boyish frame. His dark eyes glanced at Letty, squinting to size her up like he was a ferocious beast who could wiggle his way from Antonio’s grasp at any given second. Neither of the two adults would have to bat an eye before the young boy made his Great Escape. He was about to yell at her and mock her for walking away from him. She should be scared. He was scary as fuck, and this wasn’t even him at his worst!

His eyes quickly caught themselves playfully jumping back to Antonio, who was doing that angry-but-not-really thing he did when Hunter would catch him off guard randomly, which was quite frequently. It was fucking awesome! Like, Antonio would just be chillin’ like a lazy bum or somethin’, and then, along came Master Mind Hunter the World’s Greatest Motherfucker — BOOM — Easiest prey alive, folks, Antonio Lang. Hunter’s mouth shifted listening while listening to Antonio’s bitching. A small, disgruntled frown charmed his lips in a pouty, mischievous fashion. Antonio was the hardest and easiest prey Hunter knew. Sure, he could sneek-attack Antonio all day, every day, but there was one thing he just could not get from Antonio: his heart.

The boy was not about to give up, though. Hunter was a trooper, and he knew if he gave up, that would just be the start of some avalanche of failures. Fuck that, Hunter would tell himself in childish frustration towards the situation, ”What the fuck I want!” Hunter weakly pushed himself from Antonio and squirmed in annoyance when Antonio’s arms were resilient towards his toying efforts, ”I’ve got shit to do!” Hunter rolled his eyes along with his head. The intricate parts of his goggles bobbled a shifting noise at the exaggerated movement. , “I am shit! And you should do me, right now! Sideways!” Hunter shifted again, feeling the strain of his weight and movement in the muscles of Antonio, ”Besides, you saw the way I scared the fucking shit outta Letty. She ain’t no match against me, and I’ve been seein’ the way you eyeball her ass like its some kind of meal. What the fuck wrong with my ass? I’m a virgin, too, ya know! I’m fresh meat, bitch!” He pulled up his arms and flexed. His wrists bent as his hands folded into fists.

Hunter was probably as annoying as his big mouth and ego, but he was unscrupulous for making sure he was worthy of people’s time and attention — no matter how inconvenient it was. He was a fucking child, after all. Them little shits needed some parental minding, and since Hunter was more than a little shit — being a big shit, he deserved more attention, obviously. Plus, his father was always working long efforts for the Greaser Group. He did not have as much time for Hunter as he would have liked, but the Group was good like that, taking care of Hunter despite his son’s primitive style of thinking. At least, he knew how to save his skin if things went to hell.

---

---

“SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING FUCKING ASSHOLE FUCKER!” Was one of the many things that came out of Two’s mouth after the arrow pierced through his leg. “What the FUCK?!” he screamed one last time before grabbing his empty pistol and tried to fire it at his new stranger a couple times. Only getting a nice sounding clicking noise as he tried to fire. “...fuck.” He said as he realized he had no bullets left on him.

He probably could have locked himself inside of the bunker and hid while his captive was threatening him. She said something, but Two was too busy cursing out the situation to understand. Seemed like a robbery though. But running wasn’t a realistic option. Not while she had her bow and his gun was out of bullets. But she didn’t know about the shotgun did she? No, that ran out earlier? If asked he could claim he dropped it. That could work! If all else fails there is still a few more guns inside the bunker.

Like the .22 rifle! ….that broke years ago. Or the other shotgun! Which Two is pretty sure is jammed or something but he has no idea how to fix it so that one is out… There is a beretta! That ran out of bullets years ago…. All two could think was he was fucked if he didn’t come up with options soon. “this is your fault eight” he said quietly under his breath.

With his leg hurt and him being out of bullets he had a couple somewhat reasonable options. He could counter threaten her with the shotgun and see how that went? Or he could claim the bunker isn’t his and he could work from that? He had some options here.

He decided he was fucked no matter what so why not try for something reasonable? He grabbed the pump action shotgun from the ground and pumped it once to show he was ready to fire and then took aim at his new [i]guest[i]. “Don’t fucking move or else I’ll blast you back up those steps.” He tried to sound confident, he honestly seemed like he was ready to pass out, but he wasn’t ready to give up. Though he thought about the arrow in his leg for a bit.

He made sure his aim was locked on their head as he spoke again. “Here’s how this is going to work. You’re going to drop your weapons, then you’re going to open this door for me so we can go inside and have a nice chance to talk about how you shouldn’t rob someone at your own home.” Claiming it her’s! It’s an excellent idea! Thank you middle school drama class!

---

---

Ghost ignored the man she’d shot in the leg as he cursed. She seemed completely unphased by it as she looped her bow over her shoulder, having every intent of grabbing the arrow from his leg on the way down. She hadn’t shot him in anything too important. She could have sliced right through his artery and let him bleed out, a very appealing thought as he pumped his shotgun and aimed it at her. An annoyed grunt left the darker toned woman as she frowned at the action. “Put that thing away before I shoot you in the stomach and let you bleed out,” she threatened, having every notion that she was faster than he was. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of the action as she thought over her options. She could challenge him, most likely snag her gun and fire it before he got a shot off is she stepped out of the line of fire and aimed just right. There were too many variables to that though. Too many things could go ary and although death didn’t terrify her, it’s not like she was running head first towards it either.

“Fine,” Ghost grunted with a roll of her eyes. If she played along with his little game here, she’d be able to get close and disarm him that way. A smirk flickered over her lips, an action hidden by the black mask that covered the lower half of her face. One by one weapons dropped from her. Her bow was first, than her backpack containing the arrows. Two guns from holsters on her hip, several knives from her waistband, bra, and boots. They clanked to the ground with the sharp sound only metal on cement could make.

---

---

Two was a bit surprised by this, mostly because he didn’t expect any of it to work. But now that it worked he had no idea what to do. As she disarmed he knew she would try and go for his gun, jokes on her the only remaining bullets for it are inside. Though seeing her two pistols drop to the ground was rather unsettling. He was partially relying on the fact he had a gun and she didn’t. Even with a bow a shotgun is harder to fix.

Realizing this he tried awkwardly to hold the shotgun with one hand as he spoke working with the arrow in his leg. “Now, don’t move for a moment. I need to fix this before I get blood all over my good pants.” Good being a relative term. The holes in them were almost as big as his knees, but they had pockets and fit well, so they were his good pants.

With his spare hand he grabbed the end of the arrow tip sticking out of his leg and snapped the head off, letting him be able to slide the rest of the shaft out the other direction. Most of this time he wasn’t actually aiming the gun, more of holding it as he tried not to pass out pulling the arrow out. “I hope you understand you’re fucking crazy?! Do you realize that no one makes the things I need to make sure an infection doesn’t kill me?” He spoke with full on fear. Despite no one making these supplies in years according to Two’s information he had a couple odds and ends for meds inside the Bunker. Most of which were expired or he used in attempts to escape reality a few times before they expired. He was starting to regret that now.

Trying to use the remaining bits of his pants to slow the slight bleeding he looked up at his new…. He wasn’t sure what to call them yet but he would stick with jerk face. “Just…. Help me get inside this damn place. Bunkers usually have a decent amount of supplies in them and I am on next to nothing now.” He spoke trying to draw attention away from the fact it was his bunker.

---

---

Ghost watched the male snap her nice arrow head with a hard jerk so he could slip the wooden piece from his leg. A wave of irritation washed over her at the sight, but her face remained neutral. Considering most anywhere with a store was in a once populated area, thusly in the midst of left over lurkers, it’s not like she could run to the store and pick up whatever she needed. In fact, half of the arrows she had now were handmade and he went and broke one!

Taking a deep breath, the still calm female continued down the stairs. She lifted the stranger up with some difficulty. Considering at least half of his weight was on her, that’s what happens when you shoot someone in the leg, it was quite the weight to bare. She helped him limp towards the bunker, ignoring his worried commentary. His ability to heal himself was none of her concern, and quite frankly she didn’t give flying fuck what happened to him. All she wanted was the food in the bunker. The only reason she was even leading him towards it because why else would he be at the bottom of the stairway unless he was heading in. If he was going out the other door wouldn’t have been open, unless he was an bumbling idiot, which may actually be the case.

Ghost stopped before the door, looking expectantly at the male whose weight she was currently supporting. It’s not like she knew how to open it, although, if she really gave it a look and found something to work with, she may, and this was a big if here, be able to crack it open. That was unlikely though, and if this guy couldn’t open it, then she was kicking his scrawny ass and maybe shooting him in the other leg for good measure.

---

---

Bullshitting didn’t work as well as Two had hoped, now he was dependent on this chick who would be more then willing to kill him to save herself. Though he was in no condition to fight now, and he was out of bullets. If she really wanted to she could kill him and wonder off, but for now Two was betting she was concerned that Two had a plan B, and he did. He was going to rely on his best friend to get him out of this.

Two looking around realized they were going inside, the bunker had no real outside locking mechanism other than an out of sight release for the main lever. THough if someone really wanted to they could attach a chain to the door and to a truck and see which would win. Two having built the thing didn’t like that idea. Knowing his situation was not good he did probably the stupidest thing he could. “Fuck my life…” Two used his weight to push down his attacker just long enough to reach for the release switch for the lever.

Once free he shouted for his friend to help him out. “EIGHT GRAB THE OTHER GUN AND HELP ME!” He screamed as he tried to keep his hot attacker at bay while also trying to prevent things from being awkward. Two has less then great priorities. “IF YOU CAN’T FIND THE BULLETS LOCK THE BUNKER DOWN SO SHE CAN’T TAKE OUR SUPPLIES!” He screamed

While all this was going on he looked around looking for his friend Eight, but Eight was still on the ground next to him not moving. Was he hurt? Was he unconscious? Was he dead?! Was that why his friend was unable to open the door?! Though while thinking and struggling he started to fall short of breath, borderline blacking out, and now scared beyond any real fear he has had recently. Before he has always had a safe place to return to, now, his home was being stolen from him.

---

---

Ghost, meanwhile, just stood there, watching this man shout at….at a toy dog? His voice bounded around the small walkway from the first door towards the second, strained, panicked. Quite frankly it was making her head pound by the absurdity of all of this. Fingers pressed into her temples, massaging lightly as measured steps moved towards the dropped plushie. With a heavy sigh she picked up the animal, brow lifting with an annoyed glint in her eyes. This man was batshit insane. Of course she’d stumble across the worst kind of loner, the ones who had lost their grip on reality, started talking to inanimate objects.

It seemed like this guy considered this toy real. What a pain in the ass. Ghost was annoyed she even had to do this, slipping one, last, hidden blade from her bra. It was a small switchblade, flicking out with a dull click before being held to the stuffed animal's neck. “You’re going to open the door, keep it open, and let me in. Or your stupid little toy gets it,” she spoke in a bored, monotone manner. She was threatening a fucking toy right now. This was pretty much as ridiculous as things could get right now.

---

---

That bitch... She was holding yet another blade. This time to his best friend! She seemed more annoyed then anything else though, but now Two had no more weapons he could use. "How.... you... okay just.... don't hurt him.... he's all I have left." He moved his way to the Bunker release switch before entering the combination to the lock to open the Bunker.

Inside was a small locked cabinet, a table for four people, a couple bunk beds, some shelves holding a few weeks worth of dried meats and fruits. Most of the food supply that remained consisted of foraged food from the last few weeks and the small bit of chocolate that Two has been saving for a special occasion. The only other thing in the room the size of a storage container would be a door that led into the Bunker's heart, the air filters (Which hasn't had a decent filter in it for years), an emergency generator (Now useless due to the lack of fuel and the poor quality solar panels outside), and the water systems (That stopped working years ago).

Two was... less then pleased about the situation at hand. "Are you happy? Are you proud to have taken our last two weeks of food? Do you want the last few sips of water too? How about the blanket that smells like a dead animal?!" Two was going to make his frustration clear. "I suppose you want the explosives too? The ones that have enough firepower to destroy this bunker and everything with in a fifty yard land area around here?!" He was trying to bluff, technically a decent amount of the Bunker's equipment could catch fire and cause damage, but nothing like he was describing. He just wanted to scare the person trying to hold his Best Friend Hostage.

(((I will be posting for Hank soon, all of his stuff is still in pieces.)))

---

---

Hank worked his way back to his shack with his rations. Fewer then last time, not by a lot but enough so that anyone not paying attention wouldn't notice. This isn't the first time this has happened though, it seems to happen once every few weeks. The rations would get cut more and more to avoid giving out less and less food. Once back inside Hank planned out his week, he needed a couple of days where he did as little as possible so he could avoid eating. That way he could keep adding a few bites to his stash. It could make him sick, especially with the amount of physical activity he does most days, but it would be needed. For now, he had a job to do.

Hank grabbed his gun, and loaded it with six of his seven bullets. He then put the spare bullet inside of his jacket pocket in case things got that bad. Though if they got that bad one bullet may not do him a lot. Hank then left taking with him the gun and a small metal box holding contents of trade.

It took him about two hours to get to his meeting point. An old sewage drain that despite all it use to be used for wasn't too bad now compared tot he surface. The holes in the tunnel every now and again were enough to make sure oxygen was still somewhat fresh down below. Methane was still fairly strong though, if hank were to fire a shot off the whole tunnel may explode. Or it may just cause his gun to explode, and leave the rest of things alone. It was impossible to tell unless you really understood how these things worked, and Hank wasn't too sure but he didn't like the idea of getting blown into smithereens.

Two fairly big men walked up to Hank from the opposite end of the small tunnel dragging a box about a foot and a half, by a foot and a half, by another foot and a half. "You have the stuff mate?" The smaller of the two spoke. Despite being smaller it looked like he worked out a decent amount still. It also looked like he spent a lot more time outside then Hank did, and in the front lines against the infected. He was covered in scars, so was his friend. Who looked like he was brought just to be intimidating. "Seven Cigarettes, two cigars, my last few sips of pre-war alcohol, and the information you requested about the Govvi convoys that came in." The larger one of the two stayed expressionless, the smaller but well built one still seemed excited. "That's what I am talking about! You're asking for some pretty interesting things yourself. Enough explosives to send half the state to-" Hank cut him off. "Don't exaggerate. It makes you look unprofessional."

The smaller man kinda stood there annoyed. "Fine just... Give me the damn box and we can get on our way." They made the trade, all of them staying quiet until the two traders opened the box. "What... what the fuck is this? The smokes look like they are filled with grass and the booze looks like cheap fucking tea?!" The two turned to face Hank who now had his revolver drawn. "That information I gave you will have to do. I am on a budget and a time table." The smaller one kinda laughed, revealing his own sidearm as his larger friend slowly grabbed a claw hammer from his belt. "You're in a pickle now man, we got our own gun, and not like that matters here. You shoot, we're all dead and you never finish your work." They were smarter then Hank gave them credit for. If he tried to fake it more they'd call him out. If he didn't give back the explosives they would kill him. They would probably kill him anyways for him trying to pull a fast one over them.

Hank slowly holstered the revolver and sighed. "I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this." The larger man charged hank with his hammer raised, only to get it stuck on the rusty frame of the tunnel, giving Hank the chance to drop low and send a fist into the guy's kidney's stunning him long enough for another punch to the side of the jaw. When the larger man was crippled Hank kicked out his knee to the side while bringing down his elbow on top of his head. Once the larger man was on the ground Hank kicked his head, leaving him out cold.

Hank turned to face the smaller man, who now had his gun drawn locked onto Hank. "I ain't gonna kill you. Not unless you do something stupid. Like try to fire a gun inside a confined tunnel filled with methane. I recommend you and your friend leave before your actions draw the infected." They both stood still for a moment. Hank eyeing the man, the man eyeing hank through the sights of the gun. Then he put away the pistol, soon dragging away his bodyguard.

Hank left soon after, once convinced he wouldn't be followed. When at a safe distance he stopped to catch his breath, he felt like his entire body was ready to quit on him all at once. His heart was racing as it felt like it was skipping beats, and his blood was boiling. Once he was able to calm down though he stood up and checked inside the box, showing an even smaller plastic box, that was holding some on mining explosives. The stuff wasn't super strong, but strong enough to bust down a gate if need be. They were strong enough to get some payback on those who let his family die out, to those who forced him to beg and plead for scraps, to those who try to keep power over what little he has left. He just had ot make sure he didn't blow himself up before that point.

Fleas

Five days west of Raleigh...

---

He had woken. That much was certain. The canteen was dry. The rations were gone. It made getting a start to the day easier. Nothing to slow you down. Just get up, and walk. No need to take time to eat and drink. This is what he told himself. He was on the move by sunup. He tried to compile a mental list of other positives that he could be thankful for. The hole in the sole of his right boot kept him on alert. The lack of supplies in his pack kept it lighter to carry. The nearly-empty magazine in his rifle likewise made for a lighter load, and made certain he was choosing his shots carefully. The ache in his stomach kept him sharp. On the edge. Where he needed to be.

He followed the highway. Not on it. Too many wrecks, too many shufflers. No, he stayed clear of the 587, instead walking within fifty yards of it, currently on the South side, flanking the road. This area hadn't been too heavily populated, but ahead he could smell the decay, the incessant smell of a place humanity had once been, and had left, as if swept clean. In the times before, nobody ever thought what the smell of a thousand homes with broken windows and rotten drywall would be like. Nobody ever realized how badly the death of a nation would fucking stink.

There was a cluster of houses ahead. He stopped, a hundred yards away, and consulted his old AAA map. Maybe the outskirts of Bailey. He could avoid it by crossing to the North side of the 587, but there were rotters. A few, but (checking the load in his M1) more than the three rounds he was packing would allow. Skirting the community to the South would take a day, to move safely. And he could use supplies... decision made. He moved off, into the outskirts of Bailey, NC.

It had to be the right house. Nothing that had been obviously looted. Nothing with the Govvie spray can markings on the door from all those years ago (1/3 was common. Sometimes as high as 4/8.) He shuddered. The first number indicated number of infected, second number was number dead. Usually these were sprayed by local police in the first days of the fever. Later, as the systems collapsed, some govvie s&d teams kept up the practice. Wasn't tough to see which of the markings were old, and which were newer.

He walked on for an hour, maybe an hour and a quarter. Finally, he spied the right house. It was set back, off the muddy street. Surrounded by a large yard, and a fence about four feet tall. There was no obvious signs of looting, only deterioration over time. And the front door had no Govvie markings. Either the place had been empty when the world died, or nobody had ever checked inside. Either way, it was the best candidate he had seen all day.

What was that? Sound. Not shufflers. Distant. Moving this way? He found cover, behind a crumbled wall at the side of the road. Definitely coming closer. Whoever -- whatever it was, it was moving carefully. Taking time to avoid making noise...

@MenageAUne

Nothing about this insane fuck scared nor intimidated the girl. His voice was beginning to grate on her nerves, even more so than they had before. Another calming breath was taken before she stepped inside, tucking the stuffed dog into the loop of her belt, keeping him close at hand for leverage. The bunker was a...decent size. It could, perhaps, fit a small family. Just from the looks of it, she couldn't tell much about it's contents. Judging by the mental state of this guy, she didn't have high hopes. Perhaps she could look it over, check out how usable it was. If so, she could crash here for a little while. She liked being alone, but a bunker was never a bad thing, far safer than roaming the woods as she had been up until now. A nice good sleep, without having to stay alert in case of attack, be it human, lurker, or animal, would be a nice change from her usual routine.

Brown eyes flicked towards the injured party, rolling as she realized that he was still yapping about her stealing his shit. "Shut up before I leave your ass outside to be eaten," she grunted, making sure he was in, eyeing his movements. She didn't need him going for her dropped weapons. Her attention shifted towards them, debating on weather or not to grab them. Lips pursed, deciding that she was better safe then sorry. One foot held the door open, hands placing her weapons back with practiced ease and efficiency. The door fell closed behind her, a hard click as bolts latched, keeping any unwanted intruders at bay. The bodies of decaying lurkers still lay across the steps, making the path in or out a pain in the ass. The air inside the bunker was thick and stale. It made the girls face scrunch beneath the mask, measured steps leading her further inside.

There were three main places of interest to her; the kitchen, the weapons cabinet, and the bathroom, not necessarily in that order. "Go sit. If you don't piss be off maybe I'll patch you up," she muttered, not even sparing the head case a glance. Her steps moved her through the space easily, only two steps before she was in the living room, the other half of the space given to the kitchenette. A doorway in front of her opened up to a long hall, three bedrooms and two bathrooms at the end of it. To the left would be a doorway, latched, that she could only assume would lead to what had been food storage, or perhaps the mechanics of the bunker. Right now she didn't care. What she needed was the weapons cabinet, smirking when she found it.

That smirk died once she began to inspect the guns, finding issues with each and every one. With a huff of anger, Ghost tossed the last firearm into the cabinet and slammed the door shut. She stomped towards the kitchen, looking through the cabinets to find the bare minimum, another annoying issue. Then she tried the water, and unsurprisingly, it didn't work. "Jesus fuck!" she grunted, whirling to glare at the injured man she'd shot with her arrow. "You aren't even worth stealing from. Waste of my fucking time," she ground out, snatching the toy from her belt and throwing it at the other dismissively. "Take your fucking toy back."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



"Do you ever shut up?" Antonio questioned the bundle of squirming irritation in his arms. Hunter was a pain, but Antonio would admit to himself, on occasion, that he didn't mind the boy too much. It was mostly his strange obsession with getting into the older male's pants that the asian boy found odd. Seriously, who in the hell taught him this crap? He should be running around with the terribly few children in this camp, chasing bugs or climbing old busted tires, not attempting to scare a particular asian sentry and shout about how they should fornicate then and there. Seriously, there was something messed up in this over active kids mind to be saying such things. Then again, Hunter probably didn't understand the full ramifications of what he was saying...probably. At least Antonio thought that Hunter wasn't fully aware of what he was saying, er, well, more hoped that he didn't because just ew.

With a sigh the older boy set the young one down, dusting off his hands before sheathing them in his pockets. The sun was still as high as ever, lands empty as far as the eye could see. No lurkers had wandered over this way in the last few weeks, this meeting that he was called to the most action he'd gotten in nearly a month. The hope of a convoy raid, as hinted at by one attractive robot-armed female had stated, excited Antonio, and he was eager to find out the details, lay a plan and a form of attack. He loved raids, the excitement, the adrenaline. It was like a drug and he was very much addicted to it.

"Hunter, I'm not having this conversation with you. You're eight, go eat bugs or something like normal eight year olds," Antonio sighed, turning to head towards the meeting room. Of course his little 'shadow' followed right along behind him, voice a little too loud to be saying the things he was saying.

"Well I ain't no normal eight year old! I'm better! The best actually! That's why you should do me, right here, right now!" he huffed, stomping his foot in a childish fashion. He was a child after all, one that spoke of things no child should really know about until their teens. It still bothered the older one on how Hunter had even come to know anything about sex honestly.

"Hunter. Go. Home," the older grunted, steps pausing but he didn't turn. His words were hard, almost angry but did nothing to deter the young spirit behind him.

"Only if you come with me!" He stated, challenged really, with a pleased huff, small arms crossing over a small chest. Hunter was pleased with himself, his retorts and the outcome of having Antonio turn to face him to respond. He always liked Antonio's attention the best. Attention in general was pretty great, but this particular man's always left him more pleased than the other's. The naive mind didn't have a name for it, but of course it had to be love right? That was the only thing that made sense. When his father told him stories of his mother, he said that when she looked at him, nothing else in the world mattered, just her. Surely that's what he felt when Antonio looked at him, right? Right.

Little did he know that what he felt was not love, but admiration. He idolized this particular Greaser above all others, but he was too young, didn't understand, the difference between the two. Sadly, around here, no one really had the time to tell him the difference, or to correct his use of fowl language. When you spent every day protecting a compound from raids, lurkers, and had to scavenge for food and weapons, child rearing was a community effort, children not really getting to be children, at least not for long.

"No. I have a meeting," Antonio stated. He frowned when he saw those shoulders slump. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the feeling of his chest almost ache for the boy. What a pain. Somehow in all of his incessant irritation, Hunter had wormed his way into the sentry's heart, a place of a younger brother really, an annoying, inappropriate, hassle of a younger brother, but loveable nonetheless. Kneeling before the dejected boy, Antonio offered up a compromise. "Look, after my meeting, maybe i'll take you out for shooting practice?" he suggested.

Hunter instantly perked up, smile bright and wide on his dirtied face. Antonio snorted a laugh at the sudden change in demeanor but didn't question it. As long as he didn't look like someone just kicked his dog, Antonio didn't much care. His momentary peace was called to a halt with a grubby finger shoved in his face, Hunter's voice back to its obnoxious volume.

"It's a date! You better not be late!" he shouted, face stern as if he could really give directions to the older Greaser. Another roll of his eyes but there was no counter. The older ruffled dirty brown locks, much to Hunter's pleasure, as he stood, turning back towards his intended destination. "You're gonna fall for me one day!" Hunter's voice called out to him. Antonio chuckled softly, amused by the boys persistence. Someone should really tell him the difference between admiration and adoration, for Antonio's sake. That kid was gonna kill him one day.

With that little issue resolved, Antonio stepped into the 'meeting room', more of a closet with a salvaged, rickety table, barely working ceiling light, and makeshift chairs out of anything that was sturdy enough to hold a person's weight. His eyes fell on the girl from before, head nodding in greeting before he moved over to her and plopped down on the ground next to her. His arms slung over bent knees, head leaning back against the cracked cement of the wall behind them.

"So, what'cha think s'on the truck?" he wondered, eyes sliding over to the female next to him. Meetings were only really held to plan raids, or to guard from them if they caught wind of an attack. The latter was unlikely though, so it really only left one thing to be assumed, they were hitting up a convoy of supplies headed for the Safety Zone.

The she bandit start going through his stuff. His nice collection of broken pipes, broken guns, stale air, and little food. Some of which was expired. Part of him was enjoying her disappointment. Watching her look for anything useful. Most of what is useful would be the main door, the little bit of natural gas left in the generator and in the pipes, and his plan... the plan that comes after like A,B,C, and the others he lost track of.

Two laughed a bit as she finished her search. "Like what you found? Enough food for a single person for two weeks, if it doesn't make you sick. And a broken air circulation system. Too bad the working guns are outside still." She made a few very important mistakes. She never retained Two, and closed the door behind her, and she gave Eight back to Two. Meaning she had no leverage, and Two had one last idea in mind.

Sitting at the table he lifted himself up and threw the fabric covered wooden seat at the She Bandit. Doing two things, causing a diversion, and revealing the only other working firearm within the Bunker. When the seat was gone he fell back and pulled the single shot sawed off shotgun from under the bench and took aim at her head. In the confined space there was nowhere for her to move other then to the back wall, or closer to him. "I have the gun BITCH!" He was glad now, though he only had one shot. And if by some chance he missed he was sure to be dead.

He had to think of a new idea, one scarier then a shotgun that may or may not fire. He took aim at the ceiling, where all the pipes and wires lay resting on some simple supports, in easy view for anyone to see. "Make a move and I blow this whole place to hell. There's not much but there is still enough natural gas left in the system to destroy us inside this small space." He looked at Eight for approval. He seemed to have gotten it. "SO first thing you are going to do is take the handcuffs out of the... the... Fuck..." He forgot where the handcuffs were, and she was better at hand to hand then he was. Meaning tying her up would only cause more problems. Eight seemed too scared to do much against her too. "Fucking dammit..." They were at a stalemate, that depended on if this gun that had been sitting under a bench for a few years would still fire. He hated this. "Okay I am ready to talk now."


@SilentWriter83

@SilentWriter83

"Beats me" Letty shrugged. They were situated near the outskirts of one of the major trading routes so lots of things came and went from lots of different shelters. A crossroads of sorts. There were a couple of shelters that could be raided, Raleigh was the biggest but the supply drops usually came from a third route that was just a little farther out so Letty never worried about hitting up a convoy heading toward her brother.

Of course no one knew about that issue ... it was a closely guarded secret. No one knew anything about Letty's past life, they just knew she was the "bad-ass bitch with a robot arm". Where the arm came from and how she landed in this camp was anyones guess and she liked to keep it that way.

She kept her head down ... sort of. She kept up banter with the blokes, taking pot-shots at lurkers and seeing who ranked the most kills. She boasted when she got the most kills, got a teasing when she had an off day or someone stole her kill. When she wasn't competing in dick measuring contests with the blokes, she had her head in an engine and grease covering her overalls and elbows where the sleeves had been rolled back. There was no time to talk about home, the past, family or any of that shit. No one knew she was more than just a gun-toting, engine-fixing bitch though. No one knew she secretly studied the trade routes and supply runs. No one knew she constantly paid attention to the news from the camps, most of all Camp Raleigh in particular.

Leo's name never came up of course. Reports rarely went into detail on individuals, most certainly not a grunt like Leo. Until he found the formula for a cure, he'd remain a nobody ... but the second he figures this shit out ... ... everyone will admire him. Letty couldn't help but feel a pang in her chest when she thought about it. Leo was quiet and inauspicious. People noticed her not him, even before the arm-thing happened. She liked that no one else ever paid him attention, he was hers and she was his ... though she got more attention and had more friends as kids, he never seemed to grow jealous or mind. She was different in that sense. She didn't want the whole world to want her brother, she liked it when the whole world was just her and him but that world had disappeared too long ago ... The only consolation was that when he found a cure perhaps they'd reunite. They wouldn't be separated Greaser or Govvy, people could live together again and old wounds could be mended.

That was the funny thing about being a twin. Letty knew she'd forgive him for not running, and she knew he'd forgive her for leaving. It didn't make being apart any easier though, but no one would suspect a thing from how Letty behaved. Arrogant and sassy, she didn't show her loneliness or vulnerability. And it was hard to cover it up this time ...

The meeting continued as Antonio slipped in beside her.
"So, what'cha think s'on the truck?" he wondered, eyes sliding over to the female next to him.
Letty shrugged, "Drugs ... food maybe? Hopefully we can siphon some decent gas and salvage something useful from whatever shit-mobile they're driving". She, like the others, waited for further instruction and information.

"The convoy is coming up from the south to Raleigh..."
"Raleigh?" Letty piped up ... surprised. "We usually hit up that other bases supplies ... whats a Raleigh drop doing out here?" she asked.
"A new commander or some shit ... they'll be distracted and they'll be sloppy on a new route, it's an easy steal, too good to miss."

Shit

This was bad news. Letty couldn't sit by and let Leo's camp run out of supplies ... They had enough to get by themselves, and there would be other convoys to plunder ... they could let this one go, but how would she convince them of that?

"They'll be sloppy or twice as cautious since its a new route for them. Unless we know they'll be lapse are we really gonna risk getting shot up out there?" Letty countered.
They had routines, they knew the other routes and what to expect but this was a risk ... potentially huge payout but ... a risk was still a risk.
"Is it worth taking that chance? What exactly are they carrying?" she asked.
Perhaps she was asking too many questions this time, she was usualyl the type to sit back and make a sarcastic comment, "Shut you big-ass mouth and lets go steal some stuff already", but this time she was asking questions, planning, thinking ... It was slightly out of character for her but she was scared for Leo and let slip ... hopefully not enough to draw undue attention to the fact, but a slip was still a slip.
"Raleigh is one of the larger camps right? How d'we know they aren't gonna be packing some serious heat?"