---

---

She happened to be around the area. No biggie.
Sonya had been gone from her usual spot for about a week. She didn't like staying still too long, and keeping in the move gave her something to do. It was better than being a sitting duck, anyway. Everyone knew what that would get you.

Making her way through the barren trees in the forest, Sonya let out a yawn of a sleepless night. It had been a while since she had paid Natalie a visit. And to be frank, it had been exactly as long since Sonya had had any kind of human interaction - aside from the rotting meatbags that everyone called zombies. It was a fitting name, really. Who knew that pop-culture would actually became reality one day?

In her traveller attire, which was thoroughly worn but reliable, Sonya didn't stop until she saw the familiar outskirts of the infamous Toxo headquarters in the horizon. It was hot, and a drop of sweat made its way down Sonya's brow, tickling. She remembered the first time she had been around, she had almost blown Nat's face with a Molotov. Glad she hadn't done that, since the woman had proven to be very useful among other things. It wasn't like Sonya had gotten attached to the big eyed brunette or anything.
Small branches crickling under her military boots, Sonya made her way towards the danger zone. She kind of got a thrill of of getting on people's nerves. She hadn't been discovered so far, which she took for granted, being the escape artist she was. Besides there were lots of benefits to camping close to a group's headquarters. It meant mediocre protection from zombies, more resources for food, and all the good stuff without any of the cultish commitment, or whatever. Groups weren't Sonya's thing anyway. Not anymore.

Reaching the property line, Sonya kneeled down on their usual messaging spot along the fence. There was that old shoe there, worn and by all means not very suspicious at all. Slipping a note inside the boot, Sonya shimmied it on the other side of the fence, where it was left partially hidden by the long grass. 'Meet-up at the usual place. Dunno when I'll leave.' After that Sonya stood up and walked out without being seen. Even if she had been seen, she would have a handy bomb or two in her sleeve to create some distraction. Or damage. But it was highly unlikely since close to no one seemed to be awake yet.

It really hadn't been the easiest week. Sonya had been scavenging around, going pretty far, even, looking for something viable for her to spend her time on. There had been groups of the infected, which Sonya had mostly managed to avoid, but then there was that one time on last Wednesday when things had gotten dirty. She didn't really enjoy ending the zombie's lives, if you could even call them alive. It was some speck of humanity inside of Sonya that still saw people with lives, hopes and dreams when she looked at them in the eye and shot them. That's why bombs were nicer. It was a beautiful booming sound, a lot of light and fire, and you didn't have to really look at what you were killing. That plus the damage splashed unlike with a mere machete or some shit.

Meeting the rocky hills, Toxo's area still within viewing distance, Sonya plopped down and took out an opened bag of chips. Might as well eat, she thought. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, after all.

A slightly overweight man with a receding hairline and beard climbed down from the ladder, bags under his eyes.

"Mornin', Laura," He said simply and pleasantly as they passed each other. Laura smiled and gave the fat bastard a smile and wave in return, a smile that quickly faded once she was out of view with him. The brunette checked her bun, raising both of her bare arms to check it wouldn't come undone. This act of raising her arms increased the tension in her blue tank-top, raising it to just abover her navel, revealing the bottom part of her well-toned torso. Not modest at all, Laura didn't adjust her clothing and looked up at the wooden ladder that lead up to the watch tower.

The black leggings she wore made it easy to climb to the top, her boots having plenty of grip. The home-made wooden ladder was smooth and splinterless, allowing her to climb it with her un-gloved hands. Reaching the summit with a grunt, Lauren saw the bolt-action rifle leaning up against the inner wall of the watch tower, the sun behind her glinting off of its metal bolt. Next to it were a pair of binoculars looped around a peg, and finally, a folding chair to sit on.

Letting the rifle lay, Laura took a seat and unhooked the binoculars, adjusting them so they fit her face instead of that other guy she already forgot the name of. She kicked off her boots and wriggled her toes, getting comfortable. The morning sun was at her back and she could feel it begin to warm her neck, but she didn't mind. Looking through the binocs, she once again scanned the area surrounding the borders of Toxo. No activity, as usual. There might be some zombie scrabbling around in a basement, or some cat making a mess somewhere, or maybe some random useless straggler survivor around (and there was, though not to her knowledge), but overall there were no real threats. No horde of freaks or bandits, or anything.

The morning sun raised to a more comfortable position, and Lauren glanced back at the ranch. She could see the Southern house very clearly from her watch tower, the previous watchman having since vanished into it to get his sleep. Lauren had been the night watchwoman before and it mostly involved looking for light sources and scanning the lit-up walls for hordes. There was a lantern up here for the night person but using it was discouraged as some worthless parasite could take a pot-shot.

That being said, Lauren wasn't much safer at day. Sure, she could see everything, but she day dreams about what would happen if someone just shot her from cover. Could she climb back down? Would it better just to stay up? Obviously she would use the radio to contact for help, but that was only if she wasn't incapacitated.

Still, it was a good job. Running and scouting was fun and all, but it's nice to take a break and have an easier job for a month or two. She wasn't good around animals that weren't dogs, wasn't exactly an engineer or a plumber or a doctor, but she was a good shot and very athletic, so combat oriented roles made sense.

Lauren focused her binoculars briefly on the inside of the facility. It was still early morning, but the farmers were out and about. Some people got out of their tents and scrabbled to do their menial tasks- probably laundry. Maybe later there would be something more interesting to look at. Standing, she fixed her gaze to the out of doors, looped the binoculars around her neck and held the rifle in both hands, squinting her large brown eyes at the dangerous but quiet outside world.

Aleksandra starred up at the ceiling of her little shed with a blank look in her eyes. It was as if she had zoned out completely, which to be truthful she had. She’d been laying there staring for the last hour or so, not exactly wanting to get up yet. She’d been up for a while last night since people liked their booze later in than day typically, just like in an actual bar before the world went to shit. That wasn’t why she was still laying there though. She wasn’t tired, well not any more than she normally was now a days. She was just really deep in thought. Alek was the type of person who could never shut her brain off. Thoughts constantly flowed through her head, even when she didn’t want them too. At the moment she was thinking about how Ryder had come to the bar last night and how she had to speak to him in the kindest manner she could muster. Looking at him, let alone speaking to him was always one of the hardest things she had to do. Most of the time she thought she would rather face an infected person than speak to that horrid man.

It was hard to get his irritating smile out of her head. Picturing it made her skin crawl in such a way that she thought she would scratch herself raw. Instead of she picked up her lighter and marijuana joint from where they sat next to her cot and quickly lit it. She took one long drag of it before finally pulling herself up into a sitting position.

“Fucker...” She muttered, running a hand through her hair as she got up to face the day. She took another drag from the joint and let out a deep sigh along with the smoke. One thing California was not short on was pot. There were so many dispensaries in the area that she had been able to stock up on it for a while. No one really thought to take things like that when the world was falling apart. Plus people were already hungry enough that they didn’t exactly want to have the munchies when they were already hungry. Alek typically only used it as a stress reliever, along with alcohol as well. It was also good for pain, so she often gave it to people with injuries since they didn’t have a large supply of pain relievers in now a days.

Aleksandra’s green eyes darted towards the door when she heard someone bag on it loudly. She had just thrown on some new clothes and was going to head to the cafeteria for some breakfast. She didn’t know the exact time of day it was, but she sure as hell knew it was too early for people to want to drink.

“What the fuck do you want?” She said opening the door.

A rather large man with a bald head was standing there with deep circles under his eyes. It looked as if he had just gotten off a night watch shift. “Let me in. I need a drink after that boring ass of a night. “ He said.

“It is too early for that Mason. Go sleep the night off. Your face looks like you need that more than a drink from me.” Alek closed the door behind her and locked it up, not caring about the look she was receiving from Mason. “Plus I want to eat, so no service for you. “

“Come o-“ She cut him off before he could finish.

“No,” Alek said. “If you go lay down you’ll be asleep before you can even think about a drink.” She walked past him towards the cafeteria, puffing her joint as she walked. Alek could hear him call her a bitch after she had passed by him, but the words barely even phased her, not much did anymore.

"The time is 0800." intoned a soft, automated voice. Emilio had already been up for several hours; having risen with the conscripts to join them on their morning 5km circuit. This new world made great demands of those that survived and it was his obligation to prepare the recruits for what lay ahead. Most of them were too young to remember much of the old world; a small mercy.

Crossing his quarters, he stood before the small window that overlooked the training courtyard. Emilio sipped lukewarm coffee from a dented mug, its dull exterior a perfect match for the liquid within. He longed for coffee that wasn't instant; hopefully some would turn up during the next supply run.

Emilio observed impartially as the training class separated into pairs to simulate fighting off an infected assailant. Drill Sergeant Klein stepped between sets of struggling students, stopping sporadically to make corrections.

He turned away from the window and returned to the task at hand. A map of Monterey County lay on his desk with notes pinned to each area that Parris Security had already explored; detailing areas of interest and observed threats. The target of their next raid would be his decision; never one he took lightly.

Emilio gathered up the map as well as a folder containing the latest inventories and placed them inside a satchel. Removing the olive drab BDU from the back of his chair, Emilio slipped on the short sleeve shirt and gave himself a brief glance in the mirror. Satisfied, he took the satchel in hand and left his quarters to meet with Parris

The sky was a black canvas, the rising sun a paintbrush that transformed the darkness into brilliant hues of colors. The paint bled into the canvas beneath, colors leaking into the trees, the ground, the lake. Slowly, the world was painted, being brought to life with an array of colors. The birds provided a gentle song as the world came to life, and Ryder witnessed it all through a haze of smoke, the taste of bitter coffee and smooth nicotine on his tongue.

Ryder had never slept much before the outbreak, and he slept even less after. He always found himself on the back porch overlooking the lake, a cup of hot coffee warming his hands, cigarette smoke filling his lungs. Almost every morning, he had this view, something that helped center and prepare him for the day ahead. The caffeine and nicotine probably had something to do with it, too, in all honesty.

His coffee cup was empty by the time the painting was done, all the colors in place. He flicked his finished cigarette into the empty mug. He didn't like seeing cigarette buds all over the place, something he had made clear to the other smokers of the group. He got up from the lounge chair, stretching his arms over his head, and breathing in the fresh air. The top of his robe splayed open, revealing his chest, but he didn't bother closing it. Living in close quarters with his tight circle meant he had seen some of them he never wanted to. At least he had boxer-briefs on.

Though, he knew nobody else would be up at this hour. At least, not anybody but the ones on shift for the watch towers. He made sure nobody saw him like this. Half-clothed, relaxed, with no weapons or dark colors on his body. He didn't want anybody to see him in such a vulnerable state like this. Ryder walked inside, not seeing anybody up at this hour as usual. He knew soon enough, the house would be a little more full. Besides his tight circle that lived here, he also allowed lower members of the group into the house. He didn't very much mind others trickling into his house, though his master bedroom and private bathroom were strictly off limits. So was his lounge chair on the back porch. That was his favorite chair outside, and it was his.

His shower didn't take long. He may have lingered some, the warm water beating against his muscles feeling amazing, and because it was his right. He didn't put on anything amazing. A dark green v-neck t-shirt, with his leather jacket slipped on over top. Dark jeans, with his usual biker boots. He had his two daggers in his boots, just in case. He could never be too careful, even within his own walls. Naturally, he had his favorite weapon, his bat, on him at all times. He had to keep up an image, after all. As he made his way downstairs, he heard some activity in the kitchen. He ignored it, in favor of stepping onto the front porch. He had to start doing his rounds, checking in on everybody, making sure everything was running smoothly.

When he stepped out onto the front porch, he grinned big at the sight that greeted him. "Well, well, well," he said, upon seeing Natalia sitting on the edge of the front porch. "Didn't expect to see you here," he joked, stepping down a couple steps to be more at eye level with her. He propped the bat on his shoulder, dark eyes taking the young woman in. "Lose something, sweetheart?" he asked curiously, tilting his head at the backpack in her lap, eyebrow cocking upward. He didn't say sweetheart in a condescending way; towards anyone else, it may have come out that way, but Natalia was different. He respected the hell out of her, and he said it in a way a concerned parent might say it to their child.

Screams, that's the way the dream begins every time..

Grace, positioned atop the snipers nest awaited the next toxo to stick their head in her sights. Exhale, squeeze the trigger with both fingers, allow recoil. The Dragonuv barked fire, and the toxo's head snapped back at an odd angle as gore splattered against his closest comrades.

Where was he? Grace thought to herself as she searched the crowd. Her fiance had chosen the beefy combat shotgun, and putting himself in the front line to show those creeps this was their sanctuary. Nobody elses! He relied on her to keep him safe from above, she was his guardian angel. The battered brown duster with the bright stitched wings stuck out against the fire, steadying herself, Grace snapped another shot off. This time, the toxo's throat exploaded in a shower of viscera. Grace continued this pattern, shoot, load, shoot load, until she heard the same sound signifying her dream was coming to an and. The homemade IED's blinked around two legs of her nest, she prepared to hear the explosion as she watched the man in the angel winged duster fall to the hordes, she wasn't fast enough...squeezing her eyes tightly as possible for what came next.

Instead of the explosion, and the rushing sensation as she fell to the ground, it was a woman's voice...shieking bloody murder

Wait what?

Grace's eyes snapped open as her subconscious reminded her that the event in her dreams happened months ago. Rubbing her eyes as she peered outside her improvised loft, a blown out hotel penthouse. She'd created a makeshift sanctuary by unbolting the stairs leading to the floor, making it impossible for infected to get up to her home. Any idiots who decided to climb up, well, her tripwires had a deadly surprise. Yet, someone was going through her territory? Muttering to herself, Grace began the process to arm herself. A quick weapons check, she was still allright, the 1911 pistol, her collapsible baton, slid into a cargo pocket against her hip, finally, she checked the battle scarred Dragonuv. It was her weapon of choice for the most part, it let her be the avenging angel against those dumb enough to wander into her territory with malice. Drawing the sleeveless, slightly scored winged duster around herself, she picked up the rifle and left her loft.

The woman's voice echoed out against the calm, the man refused to listen. "Boss's orders, you are heading to the market." She began to plead, offering anything she hoped would entice the man to not go through with his original plan. As they passed a pair of bright painted wings on a brick wall, her tone changed.

"The saint..." She muttered softly, the bandit looked at the wings painted on the wall. His laughter carried even farther then the woman's shrieks. Grace's ears rang as she settled on a point to set up her shot.

"The saint? It's a myth! Some fake angel made up as a sign of good luck and protection! He drew out his shotgun and aimed it against the wall with the emblem painted on it. As he squeezed the trigger, a second shot rang out. The man's head snapped forward, spinning his body around and collapsing into a heap. The woman shrieked again, trying to get away from the recently de-brained corpse.

As Grace stepped her, she pushed a lock of brown hair out of her eyes and gave the man a once over to confirm he was dead. She drew a small pocket knife from her pocket, and cutting the woman loose without saying much more. Afterward, Grace turned her back to the woman and began to field strip the bandit's possessions. The woman looked at Grace, and focused on the stitched wings on the back of the brown duster. "Wait, you..you're the saint?" She asked incredulously.

Grace continued to strip the man of his valuables, and nodded. "Best get going before the infected show up. You two weren't quiet..."

The woman stammered for a moment as she composed her thoughts. "Wait, your a hero, you are supposed to help right... My husband, he was caught by them. He left me when I fell through some rotten boards." Grace's grey eyes snapped up as she turned to address the survivor.

"He left you, he's either at the markets, shot, or dead. You need to go," Grace turned away from her, loading a fresh bullet into the chamber of her dragonuv.

"HELP ME!" She shrieked, almost begging.

Grace groaned, cursing softly to herself. "There's a PMC company North of here. Keep to the open areas, watch out for cars, and bandits are loud and usually drunk. Toxos', well, if you find them, I wish you luck. If you get there, tell them you met me, and how you got there. They'll let you in...probably." Grace muttered as she walked back to her hotel slash perch.

She honestly wasn't sure what the PMC's thought of the entire "Saint" myth, mostly survivors that she ran into while scavenging for supplies. She'd often taken bandits out, painting a white set of wings in areas she had covered. Whether it helped, or just gave them a good way to find her, was yet to be seen.

Sighing one more time, Grace grumbled as she saw the woman nervously plod away. Her sniffling worried Grace, she was a scavenger, she'd be a really horrible one. "Hey," Grace called out.

The woman looked nervously towards her again, Grace cursed as she hefted her backpack. "It's about a day's trek, I'll get you within safe range of their last known location and then I'm gone." The woman nearly collapsed from relief as she nodded gingerly. Grace shouldered the rifle as she walked past the woman, "My real names Grace."

"Anna - wait! The Saint's real name is Grace?" She asked incredulously, Grace grinned a little.

"More of the fan of wrath, let's go." The pair set off towards the last known location of the PMC camp, or at least a group of survivors she could drop this woman off with.

Carson was in the training facility teaching a bunch of recruits the finer points of up close murder. His sparring partner was one of his best security contractor a former Green Beret turned security contractor. They ran through numerous scenarios. Some of them were intended to deal with a human must were intended for dealing with the zombies. “The most important lesson is situational awareness. If you still have three flags attached raise your hand.” Everyone of them began checking the flags attached to their body. None of them raised a hand. “You are all dead. Just because your focus is supposed to be on one thing doesn’t mean you can focus completely on it and leave yourself vulnerable to be attacked from behind. Practice what we demonstrated.”

Carson returned top side. He walked the wall examining the defenses he had set up to protect the farmers from zombies, they weren’t fool proof they had to leave an opening for people & vehicles to get through and it did nothing to protect against a gunman. Which is why every watchtower had a sniper watching the farmer’s backs.

Carson returned to his office to begin his daily routine.

“There’s a problem with the potatoes.”

Kate giggled. Sure, the world had been run over by a horde of flash-eating zombies, but she is dealing with the real problems – the potato problems. “All right, I’ll take a look.” She headed over to the field where potatoes were grown this year, she could see an elder couple standing there, clueless. She would always get the old and weak to work her fields, the rest were either out scavenging, training or on guard duties. Kate didn’t mind, older people usually knew their way around gardening and planting things, or at least were willing to learn. It was the young who barely remembered the world before the disaster, who thought there were some mysterious trees which produced bean cans and MREs. Sadly, Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were incredibly rich before the outbreak (the fact that they stated to everyone who was still willing to listen to them), and had servants fulfilling most of their needs. When they joined Parris Security, they seemed deeply offended by the fact that there is some work expected from them, let alone hard manual labor. They have already been positioned on multiple spots like laundry duty or helping out in kitchen, but always managed to complain for so long that the person in charge had them transferred somewhere else. Kate had to put up with them for over four weeks now, and they seemed to produce more damage than actual work.

“So, show me your potatoes,” she told them, ignoring their miffed looks.

“We have no idea what happened. Perhaps it is some kind of a disease?” Mrs. Bryant pointed towards the row.

Kate frowned and kneeled beside the plants. Any kind of disease that could spread to the rest of her carefully nurtured crops was very dangerous. The green top of the plant looked fine, it had already started to dry out which was the sign the potatoes are almost ready to harvest. The dirt was dug aside to reveal the tubers. Kate reached for one to examine it up close and then laughed with a bit of relief. “Yes, this is indeed a dangerous disease. It’s called ‘the mice’.”

“The what?”

“The mice. You know, the tiny rodent with teeth,” Kate used bent her fingers next to her mouth in an attempt to show what a mouse looks like. “They must be pretty hungry to go after the potatoes, they usually prefer other vegetables. By the holes in the ground it looks like there is just a few of them, seems like they only picked this one plant.”

“But… what are we supposed to do about it?” Mr. Bryant scratched his badly sunburnt head – he would refuse to wear any kind of hat or a scarf, claiming the he doesn’t want to look ridiculous.

“I have no idea, I’m a fucking botanist, not an exterminator. Go file up a requisition for a cat or something.” She turned to leave, giggling quietly imagining them actually go to the supply officer to ask for a cat. In the normal days, the mice could turn into a problem, but nowadays as the nature slowly took back over the world, the increased numbers of bird of prey and other predators kept the rodent population on a manageable level.

Exhausted by the human interactions, she headed to her safe place. Over the years, her originally tiny private garden grew to several smaller fields and even a small orchard, that should start producing apples and peaches in the next few months. With all that, she needed a place for experimenting and preparing new breeds of plants. After long discussions, Carson allowed her to take one entire floor in the industrial building and even sent a raid to gather the equipment she requested. Now her kingdom had lots of artificial lights shining down on rows of tiny saplings and sprouts, sprinkler bottles with water prepared at each table, lots of mysterious tools lying around - it looked almost like a lab. And, in all honesty, most of the equipment actually did come from a pot growing lab, although it was put to a better purpose nowadays.

---

---

Back on the move, Sonya wondered if Natalia had already gotten her message. No, the woman concluded, she's in all likelyhood still asleep. It didn't really matter, though. Sonya was already making her way to their secret spot along the flat land that was dotted by debris falling from the eroded suburbian buildings. Those were the lands that the infected loved the most, which also made it relatively safe from any intelligent snoopers. The wandering zombies were a con, but only a few of them ever had the bright idea of wandering inside buildings.
Making her way through the barren field view before her, Sonya heard something growl from her left. It was a low gurgling sound that was all too familiar to her. A lone infected with a rotten eyesocket approached Sonya slowly, relealing itself from the shadows. Immediately on guard, Sonya's hand flew to the ice pick hanging from her belt. Using a bomb in this area could work, but it would be highly dangerious: Sonya had no place to hide, and the explosion would attract more company than she needed. This was exactly the kind of situation Sonya hated. She'd have to take the ex-creature down discreetly and up-close.
The infected being came closer, ready to lunge on Sonya and bury its foul teeth into her flesh. Staring the zombie down with a cold stare, Sonya looked for a quick opening to stab the undead's neck. It was the safest spot to strike, since Sonya didn't want to get more hurt than she already was from the past week, but the creature was facing her, ruining the element of surprise. Kicking the creature down and ignoring the sickening crack sound she heard, Sonya immobilised her target and stabbed the ice pick deep into its chest, not stopping until its arms stopped flapping and the disgusting gurgling sound faded away with its last breath. Face stoic, Sonya wiped the bloody weapon on the zombie's own, albeit dirty, shirt. The zombie had nothing on it, which was disappointing but not unusual. She spit out the irony taste of blood from her mouth and continued to work her way up to the secret house unshaken.

Sonya did anticipate meeting Natalia this time. Talking to oneself got pretty boring after a while, and Sonya would have lied if she had said she didn't crave human contact. This, Sonya thought, was a weakness. But it made her feel better in a world where pretty much everything felt like shit, so she took what she could.
Seeing the suburbs in the distance, Sonya unknowingly hastened her pace a bit, reaching the housing area relatively quickly. The woman made sure there were no zombies around, since it would make for a nasty surprise.
Unlucky, a pack of them was hanging around in the middle of the fucking road. However, Sonya was prepared. It didn't bother her using explosives this far away from any major camps like Toxo, which could track her. So she felt relatively safe in blowing off a head or two.
"Boom," Sonya stated with a wry smile as she threw the first lit Molotov cocktail into the mix. Taking cover behind a porch of a random house, she could hear the gurgling of the infected, burning all in flames of her little gift. Let them burn, Sonya thought. It was no use mercying something that had taken her whole world and ripped it apart. People or not, there was no cure for the infected, and Sonya wasn't damn well going to wait around for that.

It became quiet after that. Sonya climbed on the shed of a garage, viewing the world opening before her. The dawn was beginning to turn into the morning, giving life to the abandoned buildings in the area. Someone was approaching from the horizon. This caught Sonya's attention, but soon she recognised the familiar style of her acquaintance. Huffing with dry amusement, she hummed: "Took you long enough."

Aaron woke up in a start, at first having a deep-seeded feeling of panic as he realized his surroundings were not the usual living quarters he was used to. However, almost immediately after the first wave of fear, he calmed down as he noticed that he had merely fallen asleep during a long night at the infirmary. Unfortunately, he didn't get much time to rest as two other Toxo members barged into the infirmary, carrying a limping man between them. "His leg's acting up again, Doc." Aaron sighed, looking around the infirmary to guide them to the sleeping area. When he first saw the limited space offered to him, he worried that it wouldn't be enough, but it soon proved to be more than adequate. Directly in front of the entrance was the table that acted as Aaron's desk. To the left of the entrance was the small waiting area, occupied by several folding chairs. Of course, behind the desk was a group of cupboards lined up that housed most of his medical supplies. And everything beyond that was his treatment area, which was filled with cots and small nightstands to hold patient's few personal items, if they chose to bring them.

The two men who had so generously escorted the limping man set him down on one of the cots, before slinking away. Aaron pulled out his clipboard, searching through some of his entries, trying to find how he had solved the man's leg problem before. "Hm. So it says here we gave you a splint for four weeks and afterwards you were fine...until now." The man shrugged. "I thought it was. Maybe it just corrected it for a small amount of time?" Aaron sighed. "Who knows. I'm just a college kid, after all." He looked at the man's leg. "Ok...I'm just gonna do the same thing, but once we take the splint away, you'll need to use the crutches for another two weeks. Hopefully by then your leg will have strengthened and be accustomed to the lack of a splint. You can come back if anything happens again." He quickly grabbed the materials required and set to work.

-----

Aaron held the door open for the man as he hobbled out of the infirmary on his crutches. "Good luck!" Aaron called as the man slowly disappeared from his view. Aaron went back inside, his lack of sleep finally catching up with him as he collapsed into one of the waiting room chairs. He almost gave into the temptation, but fought off the urge in favor of going to breakfast. Aaron made his way across the ranch to one of the three kitchens, the delicious aroma of the cooking food drifting towards him. His stomach growled fiercely, and he sped up a little bit. As he entered the house, the noises hit him all at once. The head chefs were bellowing orders, as others served the plates of food. Aaron snuck a peek at the plates of food, grinning as he saw pancakes and eggs. It wasn't often they got pancakes, but when they did...It was quite popular with Aaron.

If there was one thing Carson hated more than anything else was government bureaucrats. Thank the plague he didn’t have to deal with that bullshit anymore. He could run this how he saw fit, not that there was much to run anymore, just survival.

He read the weekly updates on their storage.
Food: enough to last for quite awhile.
Medicine: barring any unforeseen illness or attacks by Toxo enough to last a year or more.
Ammo: less than he would like.
Fuel: just about running on fumes.

Carson hated how some of his department heads reported in such vague terms, except the doctor, that one was great. Ammo guy could have enough bullets to wipe out every zombie in the world and it would never be enough for him. Carson usually had to go check the actual inventory on it.

Carson went to find his most reliable guy, Emilio. After searching for a while. “Emilio I am assuming you are going on a run for gas. If you need to siphon every drop of fuel from every other vehicle in the fleet to fill up the tanker truck. Also if you get a chance and can do it safely, the teacher of the advanced close quarters training class would like a live zombie, he says if you remove the mandible and the arms it would make an ideal demonstration dummy. I’ll have the Delta Forces commander we rescued lead a raid to scrounge up some ammo. He says he knows a good place to look that most people wouldn’t know about. Some kind of crazy prepper, a real Burt Gummer type. Whatever that means.” @apathy

Meanwhile out in the wild a patrol from Parris Security on horseback came across two women. Their commander got down from his horse. “Are you two alright? Do you need anything? My name is Dave.” The Parris Security logo on his gear was still very readable even after years of fading. This guy was lucky he made it back the day before the outbreak he had missed his flight he would have been stuck in Afghanistan and he hated that part of the world more than anything else even zombie field America is better. In the distance you could see their handiwork, smoke filled the air in the distance, they destroyed another pot dispensary. There was only one thing worse than a zombie a zombie on pot. Dave and his men were responsible for finding and setting up safe houses for anyone in Parris Security to use if they can’t make it back by nightfall. The safehouses didn’t offer much but a place to sleep without worry assuming you could climb because every safe house was minimum two stories tall and the stairs were destroyed at least half way up to prevent a zombie from wandering in and getting you in your sleep. @RavensMuse

It didn't take long for the base to be set up, of course, it wasn't a base in a sense of an airforce base but more so a base of operations. The farm that the group inhabited had been abandoned by some farmers and then cleared by the group, in the early stages of building onto it wooden fences were erected and later replaced with makeshift barricades. The team set up and began to scavenge with decent success for such a rural area. The 'Farm' became the USAF's enclave.

Organizing with the few members Richie did have he spoke to the group earlier in the morning about new changes considering they have had been there a while and maintaining their position was critical at the moment. "Boys it's clear that we need to establish ourselves as a beacon of hope in the Area. With the bandits and rabid about it's no doubt putting a benchmark of stress on those survive, who are still surviving. Plan is to scavenge what we can and help out the good guys, any questions?"

There were none, the men were ready. Not everyone was a do-gooder and surely there was some resent in the group but it wasen't voiced at that moment. Half the team including Richie headed inwards to the more sub-urban/urban areas to search for people and supplies. The rest held down the fort, building onto to what they could and working on a few projects. One being a few pitfalls, at the moment there was no signs of the Toxo. However, it would be up to fate if that were to change.

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Something was terribly off. Sonya's half-assed smile turned into a frown as soon as she saw Natalia motion at her in a stiff way. What was going on? There was... there was no one here, was there?

The scene unfolded in a horrifying manner before Sonya's eyes. The gurgling sound of the infected multiplied, and it soon dawned on her that Natalia was in grave danger. Shit.
Unable to do anything but watch - bombs could hurt her friend so they were useless - Sonya stood frozen, looking as Natalie tried to come up with a solution. She was clearly feeling panicked, and Sonya didn't blame her one bit. How hadn't Sonya seen this coming? She was a moron. Fucking idiot, she was.
Like a chain reaction, Natalia threw a rock, attracting the zombies' attention, while simultaniously darting towards Sonya's location. Careful not to make a sound, Sonya scooted closer to the edge of the shed, trying to figure out a way to help Natalia. She couldn't let her get hurt. She couldn't.
When a trail of zombies closed the path to the shed from Natalia, the brunetter ran out of the line of Sonya's sight. Sonya panicked herself, not that she would admit it to herself, making herself act without thinking. In cold blood she jumped down from the shed, bombs in hand. She was going to fucking end these bastards. If they would do so much as to lay hand on Nat, she would blame herself.

Boom. Flames were hot near Sonya's face as she ran, following the trail of infected running ahead of her. Sonya's hand trembled in anticipation as adrenaline flowed through her veins, heightening every one of her senses. Now the zombies had spotted her too, and tried to get a hold of her. She evaded, skirting through a window of a shack of a house. Something sharp sank into Sonya's bicep, making her growl in pain. Looking back, she saw the sharp shards of glass sticking out from the frames of the broken window, making it pretty apparent what the source of her injury had been. It didn't matter right now. She couldn't stop running, trying to track Natalia. Where the fuck had she gone?
Explosions went off left and right as fast as Sonya could light her bombs. She was running out soon, she knew it, but it didn't matter. Something had to be done. Reaching the end of the suburbs, slightly out of breath, Sonya's eyes darted around frantically, finally landing on Natalia. She had seemingly escaped the infected, but Sonya wasn't sure if the woman had hurt herself while running. Raising her non-injured hand in a salute, Sonya waited if the woman would notice her. This was the absolute worst place to be right now, no place to hide and zombies all around them, waiting for a free meal like them. Sonya jogged closer to Natalia, wiping the ashes from the flames on her sleeve, only smudging the thing on her cheek more.
"Hey," Sonya said in a rough voice. She didn't have it in her to throw a half assed insult at Natalia for not being more careful. This had been mostly Sonya's fault for not being more aware of the situation, after all. "We should get going before they spot us," Sonya continued, taking Natalia's hand in a grip and pulling her forward. What a lovely meet-up after a week of not seeing each other, Sonya thought grimly. It wasn't like she thought Natalia couldn't take care of herself, quite the opposite actually, but Sonya would have lied if she had said that she didn't feel protective over the brunette. The woman seemed quite visibly shaken, too. Sonya was too, but she was the kind not to show it. It was easier to lock things up inside.

Grace eyed the man on horseback carefully. Her sunglasses hiding her hesitation at going with the man. Anna almost sighed in relief at the sight of someone in military attire. To her, military meant safety, sanctuary, not running from bandits, toxos and everything else.

"I'm Anna, please, I just got away from some bandits, they were taking me to a place called Market. Is there somewhere we can rest?" Grace looked about as Anna talked about how she was saved by the Grace, the Saint.

Grace, looked about cautiously for any bandits, toxos or zombies that happened to hear her frenzied conversation. She looked as Anna's voice caught her attention again. This woman was too loud, she needed to get into sanctuary before long. Grace pulled the heavy dusters hood up to try and muffle her own irritation at the noise. Finally, she spoke up.

"My name's Grace, some survivors out here have given me the nickname "Saint." Can you get Anna here somewhere safe, I could use some rations, then I'll be on my way." She spoke quietly, and pointedly. She didn't like being exposed this long...

Lauren Watson had the rifle resting on her neck, her two arms raised high and keeping it balanced across her shoulders. The humidity gave her a sticky feeling across her body, but Lauren didn't mind. She sniffed, her eyes glazing over slightly at the quiet outside world. Breaking the silence, a small flare of bright orange lit up in a far distant suburb. Then another, another, and another. Too far away to hear, but with literally nothing else to look at, Lauren could see the small event unfold from her high vantage point.

"Fireworks. That's fun." Lauren said to herself. Putting down the rifle, Lauren raised the binoculars to her inquisitive eyes. Nothing after that. Either they got away, or being munched on. Either way Lauren was happy- the less stragglers in the world, the better.

At this point in the late morning, her tank-top had ridden so far up her torso as to look cropped. Perhaps it helped with the heat, though Lauren didn't notice. After a few minutes of scanning the horizon, there were no more explosions to look at. Shame. Explosions were pretty rare these days- not like when she could turn on the internet and watch action movie after action movie. Hundreds, thousands of people pretending to get shot. Blood, guts, gore everywhere, a determined hero, yadda yadda yadda. One thing Lauren has since learned is that it wasn't as good as the real thing.

'Good' was a strong term...it wasn't as interesting. I dunno. She didn't want to sound creepy, even though no one could read her thoughts. When someone like her has put down so many infected, it's easy to notice patterns or lack thereof, that's all! When you brain a zombie they kinda drop, like a sack full of potatoes. Really ripe potatoes that squish real easy. One of the things they didn't show in movies was how hard the impact is. If someone lays down on the ground, cranes their neck, and then lets it fall it hurts like a motherfucker. Now when a zed does the same thing but from 5 feet or more up, it's a real thwack. One time, a zombie tried to get at Lauren on a scouting mission. It tried to climb over a broken window, but the dumbass tripped and faceplanted hard. It fucking died from the faceplant. What a useless pile of garbage.

Laughing to herself about the patheticness of a long dead foe, Lauren put down the binoculars again. Bored, she folded her arms and leaned against the railing of the watch tower, looking over the ranch. Lauren was looking for someone to talk too, maybe make fun of. She didn't know.

"Helloooooo..." She called out quietly while waggling her hips back and forth as she put her weight onto the railing. Though she was speaking quietly, her clear voice carried throughout the area around her tower.

"Anyone wanna try climbing my luscious blonde locks to get up to the top of the tower?" She said, now jokingly twirling her dark brown hair. Lauren was fucking around on her shift, not talking to anyone in particular.