DAY 1

The time of peace and tranquility was dead, the days of automatic car washes, drive thru fast food, and checking out the latest chick flick had come to a screeching halt the moment they rose. Hell must've got too full and threw up the damned. The dead had come back to life all across the world, but nobody believed it was actually happened.

Ignorance is bliss.

The first day, James was celebrating his 21st birthday down at the Marriott up on 85th and West. He didn't have any friends in the City, so he hired himself a hooker, and bought them some Blow. What a life huh? A Blondie with no cares in the world, sounds cliche right?

Day 2

In this new world, people have started dying as the undead succumb to their equally undead hunger pangs for living flesh and bone. Families lay waste to one another, stranger devours stranger, and then the media just adds to the fiery fears.

No love lost.

On the second day, James and his hooker spent the night in bed, doing blow, doing each other, rinse and repeat wherever they could in the suite, unaware of the horrors of the outside world. The TV remote still in the drawer with the untouched Bible as it collected dust. Only once did James separate from his lady, to go to the bathroom and look at his reflection, eyes of blue staring back at him, full of a deep repressed depression.

Day 3

When the third day came, the numbers of the dead and undead were rapidly rising, fear was now an expected everyday thing, and nobody knew if they'd live to the next. Nobody knew what the hell was happening. Was this a disease? No.

This was a declaration of war, a war for survival. If you lose the war, you lost yourself.

When the third day came, James found his hooker friend dead in their bed from overdosing while he had a good night's sleep. Something the fairly complexioned young man rarely had, and now he awoke to a nightmare staring him in the face.

He couldn't call the authorities, he'd be sent to jail for the Blow, and solicitation. His eyes looked down at the Walther PPS handgun he had set on the coffee table, and without thinking, he grabbed it in his right hand and brought it to his chin.

"Happy Birthday to me," he started to sing mockingly, his blue eyes began to well up, and as he made the thought to pull the trigger, a growling sound shook him from his actions.

He looked at where the hooker was resting in the bed, only she was no longer there. Instead, her corpse was crawling towards him, eyes yellowed, hair a ratty mess, teeth revealed and gnashing on the air.

In a mixture of shock, horror, disgust and terror, he blurted out, "What the f-" before falling over in his chair,his gun knocked out of his hand.

As he tried to recover, she continued her pace, never blinking away the rage and hunger that drove her. Rolling backwards, James grabbed his gun and shot her in the chest, but to no avail. "What in the Hell?" He yelled out, and kicked her really hard in the jaw with his foot, hearing bone snap and her jaw broken, yet her motivation unwavering. He kicked her again in the head, this time she growled in a gutteral inhuman voice, James this time slammed his foot on top of her head, over and over, screaming, "Why won't you stay dead, bitch?" And then his last stomp, mashed into her skull and he could feel the mush of brain soup.

Finally she was dead, leaving him to a room finally silent. Only to hear the terror and horrors beyond his walls...

Happy Birthday to the new way of life...

Day 7...

Emma sat on the bed of her suite turning her knife in her hands. The past few days she listened to a never ending track of screams, glass shattering, and sirens from outside her window. When the dead rose she tried to escape the hotel but, the streets were frantic and dangerous. Emma was confronted by two scruffy,men with knives only to be saved by some walkers who took their lives with a chomp to the neck . She wielded her fallen attackers knife and stabbed a zombie multiple times before fleeing Emma convinced herself on the way back to her suite that maybe the undead couldn't be killed.
Emma knew she couldn't hide forever, that she needed to find others for survival. So today, she suspected that the hotel was mostly empty by the lack of sound throughout the halls and began making her way in to the kitchen.

*SNAP*

Went the ghoul and Donny's broom. It has been some time since he left his little hideout, but after it was compromised by those ghouls he didn't have much of a choice. He barely managed to fill his pockets before they overran the place. He didn't know how long he's been on the run since. A few days, a week, a month? He didn't keep track. All he knew was that he just recently got here, drawn to the sound of gunfire. It was pretty stupid of him in hindsight; why would he want to go towards the sound of someone shooting? He knew that noise attracted these things, and even if he got pasted him, what's the chances that he'll get shot? He was almost certain of this, and his armor wasn't good against bullets. At least that's what he thinks, and he really hopes he doesn't have to test that theory out any time soon.

Still Donny moved forward. With any luck, the shooter would get himself killed by the ghouls and Donny can loot his body for the gun. Or he could get a friend who has a gun, either would work for him. So he continued onwards, still using his broken broomsticks, now split into smaller kali sticks. These ghouls aren't the most coordinated bunch, and the only advantage they had was their inability to feel pain and to bleed to death. So his small knives weren't really going to do much if he didn't stick them into their eyes, but he could kick them in the knees and stomp on their heads. One or two quick solid stomps was all he needed, didn't even have to gib them. But he preferred to sneak around them instead; these ghouls had a perception level of zero, he just had to make sure he didn't get sneaked up on either.

What in the actual fuck is this?

That was the thought that constantly rang inside of Stewart's head as he ran through the hallways, his heeled loafers echoing throughout the area. His running stopped, coming to a corner to catch his breath and trying not to vomit from both exhaustion and disgust from the copious amount of blood and the obvious dead people eating living people thing. His panting slowed as he swallowed down his vomit. He could hear them clearly, though it was hard to tell if they were behind him or ahead of him. Running was the only option at this point due to the lack of not having any type of way to defend himself.

Stewart looked to his left and then to his right. "Left or right... Left or right?" Now wasn't the time for stupid decision making, he'd have time for that when he's either dead or somewhere safe. "Fuck it. Left." He turned to the left and continued running down the new hallway, not paying attention to the sounds behind the doors or the oh-so-fabulous blood decor that those things picked out for this shitty hotel. "Some vacation..." He groaned, "I knew I should've stayed my black ass in Louisiana..." Sighing through the panting, he slowed to a walk. Stewart grabbed onto a doorknob, trying the door. No luck.

Taking a deep breath and taking a step back, Stewart eyed the door. "Come on... Open please?" He narrowed his eyes, lifting up his foot and brought against the door with a bit of force, hoping that he'd kick the bastard loose. Again, no luck. "Fuck..." He whispered in an irritated tone before trying again.

It has started when Ricardo got a bite.

The day had begun like any other; Joshua got up at 7, showered, called his mum back in Detroit, drank his coffee and left. He grabbed his bike, stupidly large in the minuscule hallway of his equally minuscule flat, and ran down the three flights of stairs holding the bike above his head. He didn't meet anyone on the way down- taking the lift wasn't an option, it stank of piss and was liable to randomly stop in between floors. It didn't take Josh long to reach 'il Ritrovo', the Italian restaurant he was currently working at. He chained his bike to a signpost, and walked in. There weren't any customers, so he took his time, putting on his apron and making himself a second cup of coffee. He was fucking tired.

Ricardo Mazzioli, the head chef and owner of the restaurant, was already in, marinating some kind of meat. His son, the head of house, should've been in, but that deadbeat was probably out somewhere off his head and utterly wasted.
Work was slow, unusually slow. At one point no one came in for an hour straight, so Ricardo (and the rest of the staff, having now arrived) and Josh sat themselves down at a table, opened a bottle of table wine and wasted time. They were discussing life in general: sometimes the conversation broke into Italian, and Josh couldn't follow, but at one point Ricardo rolled up his long sleeves and displayed his forearm to everyone, exclaiming loudly in English,
'Look at this! Some hobo, yes, he runs up to me screaming, si, yelling fit to beat Jesus, grabs me and bites me! Right there, look.' Joshua had leaned in and was immediately shocked at how bad the wound smelt. It was two open puncture wounds, red and raw, and the skin around it was stretched and pink. There was definitely some green there too, but Joshua couldn't stand looking at it a second longer.
'Damn...Ricardo, get that checked out man. That's some infected shit.' 'I know it's some infected shit, but I don't think it is bad, it'll heal. I keep it away from the food, si?' 'Yeah, for sure. That's going green too, I'd go to the doctors, or the hospital or something.' Ricardo had laughed it off. Joshua wished he hadn't.

2 days passed and everything was fine- except that Ricardo was starting to waste away. It was the evening of the 2nd day and Josh was seriously concerned for the guy- he'd gone so deathly pale, almost blue, he kept coughing and was weak. But he kept on working. Josh and Ricardo were always the last ones to lock up, and to start the day. That's just how it was; after all, Josh didn't exactly have anything exciting to look forward to at home.
Joshua scraped congealed tomatoes off his long cooking knife when he heard a sort of muffled groan behind him, where Ricardo was washing up some pots and pans. Josh whipped around to see Ricardo on his knees slumped up against the cupboard, with his back to him. Putting down his knife, Josh leapt over to see what had happened. He turned Ricardo over, put his fingers to his neck and went pale when he realised there was no pulse there.
'Shit...' He didn't know the recovery position. If only he hadn't flunked first aid workshops.

He fished into his pocket, pulled out his phone and dialed '911'. He kept his eyes on Ricardo, but when the ambulance person asked for the number of the shop, he nipped outside to see what it was. He chuckled darkly to himself. 'I should probably have known that huh...' He re-entered the shop and when he turned around to close the door he heard a quiet but distinct groan coming from the kitchen. Joshua sprinted back. Ricardo had woken up- but how? He'd died, hadn't he? Well, Josh had never been any good with medical knowledge, but he was pretty sure that no pulse meant dead.

He returned to the exact same spot as he was before, his back to the counter he was just working at, facing Ricardo. Josh outstretched his hand, touching Ricardo's shoulder, saying 'Thank god, man, I thought you was dead. I called the ambulance, they'll be here in a minute, ok?' Ricardo didn't say anything, he just gave another groan. Which, concerningly, sounded a hell of a lot like a growl. Ricardo and Josh were perfectly in sync: as he turned around slowly, Josh took a step back. As his face came into view, another step back. His eyes- wow, his eyes- they were horrific. Bloodshot, the pupil tiny, but the worst thing was the crazed look in them. Ricardo stood, his gait a bit wobbly. Josh was just frozen, his breathing was ragged.

Ricardo lunged for him.

In one movement, Josh's hand grabbed the tomato-y knife and plunged it into Ricardo's chest. He fell back, howling, but came for him again. Josh yelled as he swiped it at Ricardo's face, again and again, until he fell. Josh stood there for a few minutes, shaking, his clothes coated in blood.
'Fuck...fuck, fuck.' Josh was still shaking, but something told him to grab that damn knife; it had fallen on the floor, its handle was slick with blood and had fallen from his hand. That or he was trembling too much.
He quickly washed the blade clean, took off his bloody apron and tucked the knife into his hoodie. Then he ran.

The ambulance never arrived.

On the third and fourth days, James spent the days in his suite, in shock and despair at the undead state of the prostitute he was forced to put down. He spent a few hours on his porch, taking in the state of the city. Buildings burned, people were running down the streets, and the undead tirelessly shamboled on towards their next meal.

Then he turned TV on, and was even further shocked to find none of the normal programming on, all of the news channels, from CNN to MSNBC showed empty studios. Except CSPAN, which shown a timer counting down with a simplistic LOCKDOWN title.

Turning around to look outside for a moment before looking back at the timer, which read 5 Days, 12 hours, and 59 minutes.

Without taking the time to consider what lockdown meant, James quickly made an inventory of what was usable to take with him, eventually finding a bar of soap, a couple of travel shampoos, some sodas and booze from the mini fridge, but beyond that, and his handgun, nothing else.

On the 5th day, James had finally left his suite on the 10th floor, only to find many of the floors ominously empty, the third floor was the most interesting, or horrific would be a better word. Clothes littered the floor, blood smeared the walls, luckily he only encountered one Walker, knocking the undead Bellhop down a flight of stairs in the stairwell, stunning it, but not killing it.

Finally, he made it down to the lobby, once so clean, so organized, so perfect looking, now looked more like a war had swept through. Tables overturned, blood pools on the floor, lights flickered, glass was shattered and it littered the floor.

"Sweet Jesus," James gaped, and slowly walked out, and looked both ways down the sidewalk, only to hear the distinct gutteral moan of a couple more walkers coming down the sidewalk, "shoot," James said and hurried back inside and his behind an overturned oak table, readying his pistol, when he heard a sound coming from the cafeteria, "what now?" James moaned and took a moment to get up and investigate.

Sophia was on the run for the past few hours after leaving her friend's apartment with just a kitchen knife her hand was still shaking and covered in blood from when she stabbed her boyfriend who had been bitten somehow. Sophia spotted a hotel that looked like it was safe for now and made her way towards it opening the door quietly looking around the first floor hoping to find any survivors.

Gwyn frowned. How the fuck had she gotten into this mess? For days she had been cooped up in this shitty hotel room trying to forge a plan. She'd looked everywhere for anything to defend herself but all she could find was a fucking knife, and not even a big one. This guy was a coward, Gwyn was half-glad he was gone. He'd left a day earlier and hadn't returned, at least she was the way she wanted to be - alone.

There was some pot left and a couple smokes that she put in her bag, along with the knife, cell phone and some makeup. Just because the world was in terror didn't mean she could let go of herself, right?

Gwyn slowly opened the front door and surveyed her surroundings. There wasn't much around so she figured she could make a run for it. The room was on the first floor, and the stairs weren't far. She could go down, through the lobby and right out the front door. Where would she go from there? This place was a good walk away from anyone she knew, and it was too risky to go out with just a small knife. Fuck, fuck, think! But she didn't. Gwyneth ran out, leaving the door open and rushing down the stairs.

There was a loud groaning.

"Oh my fucking..." Gwyn tried to control her breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. She noticed a guy standing in the lobby whom she had failed to notice before. Her voice came out as a whisper as she raised her knife. It was pathetic but at least it was something. "Are you OK? You're not... whatever, right?"

Kevin sat on the suite bed near the window, eating the last pretzel in a bag. Afterwards he tossed it on the ground and looked out the window, eyes narrowing as someone had ran out. He figured it was that James guy, he had met him briefly when he came here, but now he was leaving Kevin supposed. He chuckled as he saw the walkers coming.

Huh, idiots gonna get himself killed out there....Actually, that's better than rotting up here, can't believe I've been stuck up here doing not a damn thing, Kevin thought as he moved away from the window and back to the bed. Reaching down, he slipped his finger through the wrench hole and picked it up as he left his room. Just as he did a girl shot past causing him to jump back with a puzzled face, but ran and watched as she shot down the stairs like it was nothing.

Damn, girl must have been star runner on her track team, Kevin thought as he quickly, but silently went down the stairs. He didn't know what the fuck was down there, and didn't want to attract attention to himself. Anything wanting to eat his cheek meat could go after that runner girl, not him. Still, he couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe what he saw a week ago with his grandfather, he couldn't even believe it wasn't butter but it wasn't the time to think of that.

As he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, he came in sight of two people. He was right behind that girl, he knew because, well, seriously....With that back-side? Who wouldn't notice her? But it was too dark to make out the other person, so he stayed quiet as he wanted to make sure it wasn't one of the dead, but with the noise she was making he wouldn't be surprised if it was one.

Stewart brought his foot back onto the floor hesitantly, turning his head to where the sounds of groaning came. His brown eyes opened wide, locking onto them. There they were, shambling towards him and looking as dead as usual. Fucking gross... Taking a step back from the door and without second thoughts, Stewart ran in the opposite direction, heading to the stairs and then the lobby - hoping it wasn't filled with them - to stay for a while and actually decide what would be his next plan of action. Though in all honesty, he really should've stayed in his hotel room.

The running finally stopped, reaching the end of the hallway. The stairs looked even more terrifying than usual, thanks to the dark and his damnable fear of heights. Able to help with sickness and treat basic wounds, unable to overcome his fear of anything having to with heights. "God I this. So much." Taking a deep breath as he carefully made his way down and letting out an irritated grunt as he could hear this sickening bullshit play out through the entire building as clear as day. The screams from outside and inside the hotel, glass breaking, people running above and underneath him, it sounded as if the world were going to hell around him.

Reaching the bottom, his stomach began to churn as he fought to keep his vomit down. Stewart made a loud gulping noise, swallowing it as he looked toward, what looked to be, a couple of living people running ahead of him. People? Living folks? Sighing at the thought of more running, Stewart began to run slowly behind them. "At least, at least I'll finally get in shape thanks to this bull..." He huffed, continuing his slow pace.

Smash. Smash. CRASH.

And off came the door. When Donny went to try to find the room where he could the gunshots, he found nothing, but he did notice signs that the place was quickly evacuated. He didn't meet too many ghouls on his way around aside from one, with a knife lodged in it's chest. Like the others, a swift kick to it's knees and a couple smashes with a near by fire extinguisher and it was dead. He pulled out the knife, looking like nothing more than a carving knife. Still, better than nothing. As he continued onwards, he would occasionally peek into some doors to see if there was anything worthwhile to loot. He managed to get himself a backpack of drinks, towels, and first-aid kits. More importantly, he found the janitor's closet.

After some time in the closet, Donny walked out with a new weapon: a knife on a broom handle. Wasn't all that complicated, but it was sturdy and he'd rather not get any closer to those ghouls than he had to. He also jury-rigged himself a sort of tomahawk using pipes, buggy cable, and big-ass nails. He gave it a few swings to make sure it would stick together, and than threw it towards the opposite wall, where it landed into the wall with a satisfying crunch. But in case he had to go hand-to-hand with the ghouls, he had one more trick up his sleeve. Or rather, on his sleeves; a pair of bladed gauntlets, using some bongos he snatched from one of the rooms and pieces of metal he made using the now-defunct boiler. Now sufficiently armed and armored, the scrapyard hero retrieved his axe and decided that he didn't need to be here any longer.

Though he was weighed down, that did nothing to slow him down or make him more clumsy. He walked down the halls and stairs at a careful pace, always moving briskly, but on constant alert for something out of the ordinary. And as luck would have it, he found it before it found him; when he walked into the lobby, he saw a group of people. Not ghouls, but people. But he had to be careful; he obviously didn't look like your average bloke in his metal armor and carrying his Mcguvver weapons, but hopefully they'd talk first before they started firing.

Gwyn turned around. She whispered angrily.

"What the fuck is happening?" she widened her eyes, following the train of his. "Are you... checking me out?" Gwyn rolled her eyes. She did not want to do this right now, but with those... things coming, she didn't have a choice. She couldn't defend herself on her own with that pathetic knife. She turned it around in her hand. Why oh why had she slept with a guy who didn't have a gun? Why did she always get dealt the bad luck? Well... actually, it seemed like everyone had bad luck today.

Think, think, think. What was her plan of action here? She didn't know what they were going to do to her but she wasn't going to stick around and find out. She had a decision, try and make a run for it or stay and try to fight with these people. It didn't seem like it was possible to escape with her life if she ran, so she had no choice but to hang around with creepy perv and table guy and whoever else was around. There had to be more, didn't there? It wasn't possible that everyone else could be gone... was it? Shut up, think. Gwyn gripped her knife tightly in her hand and jokingly showed it at the guy behind her. Now isn't the time for jokes, Gwyn, even if he is checking you out. You've got to concentrate on not dying right now. God, was this how it was going to be, talking to herself in her head all the time? She was going crazy already.

"Dead is rising is what's happening, haven't you been watching the news? Or just paying attention period?" Kevin replied, then raised his eyebrow to the checking her out part, "I wasn't checking you out, just making sure you're the same girl who ran past me. Only thing I saw of you was your ass, so I was checking to see if it was the same ass, nothing wrong with that."

He lowered his eyebrow, watching as she showed him the knife. He showed her the wrench, dried blood still creaked on it, if she was smart then she could see it was from a long time ago before any of this started and nothing recent. He lowered the wrench, finger still through the hole.

He heard someone and quickly checked behind him, seeing some random black dude slowly following them. In any other case he would have questioned why he was sneaking, but it was pretty much obvious why. He didn't want to attract any of the dead, so Kevin didn't speak on it, instead just gave a slight nod and looked forward, stepping off of the stairs beside Gwyneth.

"Kevin," he told her his name, not wanting to be a rude fuck. They had enough to deal with with the dead wanting to eat their guts, last thing people needed was someone rude. He kept his eyes forward, watching for anything or anyone.

Stewart began to walk slower, adjusting his glasses as he looked off to the side of him. Keeping silent as he met eyes with this guy and nodded back at him, continuing to walk forward and stick to his original plan; Get to the parking lot, get his car, drive like hell out of New York and get as far away as possible from whatever this shit was. Passing the dude and chick, Stewart didn't look back and continued to walk, trying his luck with this whole car thing. Hopefully it wasn't destroyed or stolen, not that there was anything of value inside, of course. As the two were out of sight, Stewart stopped and removed his glasses, pinching a bit of his dress shirt to wipe the lenses. "'Take a vacation Stewart! You work hard and all, but you need to take some time off'." He said in a mocking tone.

Sliding his glasses back onto his face, he looked straight ahead and then behind him, back towards those people. His time as medical personnel and helping others was beginning to eat at him, he couldn't leave people that were sick or injured and he couldn't not help living folks that might need help in this crisis. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he squeezed the car keys slightly, turning around to look back again before walking towards those two.

"Gross." Gwyn smirked at the wrench. "I'm Gwyn. What's the plan here? Other than not dying I mean."

Gwyn saw another guy walking towards their direction. A real guy, not one of those things. How many of these people were there? The things were approaching quick and they had to do something.

"I hope you're as good with that thing as you are at being a perv." Gwyn commented amusingly. She grimaced at her own line, honestly, the world was ending and all but she could come up with better than that. Whatever. "I really do."

"Well shit, not dying was the only thing I was thinking of," Kevin said sarcastically, "And that would make me not very good if that was the case....But I can hit pretty hard, put a guy into the hospital using it once, so it's handy. Would rather a gun, but it's fine all the same." Kevin then looked at the guy who left, he started walking back towards them, he then noticed the car, "Plus, I used to work with my grandfather as a mechanic, so if there's any cars down then I can probably fix it or hot wire them if manageable....Come to think of it, I heard something about a lock down happening. I didn't get all the details, but it must be important, so if they're broadcasting it then I can atleast fix the radio so we can listen to it and figure out what's going on."

Kevin then walked outside to the guy, not really awaiting a reply for Gwyn as she could do what she wanted, follow him or go on her own. Meeting him half way, Kevin spoke, "Yo, I'm Kevin, this is Gwyn here. Need any help with that car?" Kevin showed him the wrench, "Mechanic...Sort of, I can get the car working if it isn't in too bad of a shape....But I just really need to use that radio."

"Everyone might be a ghoul, but traffic is still going to be killer."

Donny walked out from the stairwell towards the three who had gathered. One black dude, some white guy with a wrench. and a chick with a nice butt. He didn't let them know that bit. Donny himself was still fully clad from head-to-toe in his armor, his face hidden behind his welding mask. His tomahawk hung from a strap on his belt, and he held his spear with his right hand. He tried not to look hostile or intimidating, but he wasn't trying very hard. "But if you know any small roads and got a small car or got a really big and heavy car, I'm sure you could drive out of the city. Otherwise, I'm sure all of new york has become a parking lot." Donny should know, he drove here, but had to ditch his car when he can stuck behind a gigantic fifty or so car collision. And that was just as he was passing through Virgina, after he managed to get himself a hummer. He doubt it was any better in the city.

One of the others, Kevin he called himself, mentioned a countdown. Donny didn't have to imagine what that was about; he's played enough of these scenarios before to know that it meant that once the countdown reached zero, it was game over for all of them. What that entailed he didn't know, and he didn't want to be around to find out. "Car will be nice of course, but you might want to get used to walking. And running. And climbing. Name's Yang by the way." Donny just gave them his last name, not feeling that he knew them well enough to know his first. It was pointless really, but he didn't care; that was his character.

Are you OK? You're not... whatever, right?"

Just a few steps more to the cafe, but James realized the noise he heard mere moments ago was a struggling walker on the ground. When he heard the voice, he spun around and got on one knee, aiming his handgun at a young woman. "No, are you?" He asked, prepared to fire his weapon.

Another noise, this time in his blindspot in the dark. He had enough ammo if it were another of those beasts, but he kept his attention on the woman.

"What the fuck is happening?" The woman asked, but this question seemed directed to the darkness, so she must've had a better vantage point of who it was.

"Dead is rising is what's happening," the body beyond the darkness explained, and it seemed to make sense in James' eyes, what with the prostitute once being dead.

Then a black fella came walking up, and James quickly aimed his weapon at him, before going back and forth between everyone else. Then they started talking about a car and a radio and one of them brought up the Lockdown thing.

"So you've seen it too?" He asked and started to follow them outside, but still in a wary state of mind.

"Yeah, I have," Kevin said to James, "Well, heard it more so. Wasn't really paying attention, I think I blanked out....But I know enough to know that it's important." Then he turned his attention to the guy decked out in armor, impressed by what he had, more respect to him that he was prepared atleast.

"If it's as you say, then a car wouldn't really help that much....Would be nice to get as far as we could with it though, if we found an open rode then I could probably fix up a new ride if I had the necessary tools, otherwise it's walking like you said." Kevin stuck a hand in his pocket, looking as if he was reaching for something, instead his hand just rested there.

As the guy stated his name, Kevin nodded, "Kevin," he said, although he figured the guy heard his name before so it would be useless to state it.

"A lockdown?" Gwyn frowned. "There's no way that's good, is there?"

Gwyn was already sick of this new world. All of these things and moving around. She knew she was going to miss being comfortable and being lazy.

"They're going to get here soon, aren't they?" Gwyn was referring to the things. "And your weapons are a lot better than mine."

Gwyn was worried. This was serious. This was something she had to get through. She was not used to being in serious situations. God, she was stressed; she really needed a cigarette. Soon.