CDC Center.
Fort Leonard Wood, MS.

---

Will blinked, narrowing his eyes at this odd man he found himself aiming at, thoughts whirring. CIA? A not-so-subtle hint he knew his name? For four years, he'd been growing up around government. SS, CIA, FBI, all prying his father's attentions. So of course, who was he to doubt the man's words? He opened his mouth to say something else, still appearing suspicious despite his thoughts, when he found himself certainly distracted. It was so close he felt the air pressure from the passing object stir his hair, a rather heavy-looking book whipping past his head. Instinctively, he jerked to the side, grunting and spinning on his heel, aim already shifting towards- A woman?

He gave a sigh, slowly releasing the tension on his bow, stepping back to keep his back pressed to the wall, gaze flicking about now, seeking other people. From the beating he'd just seen given, he was more than a little paranoid more fighting might break out.

"Calm down lady! No need to go heaving books at people damnit! He beat the shit out of that fucker, of course I'm gonna aim at him!"

Don't make the archer flip a tit, now. But then, he wasn't quite sure if she'd thrown it because he was threatening Jon, or because she was a fucking nutter.... With that thought in mind, he brought the bow to half draw again, looking wary of the whole situation.

Harris sat at the door for a few long moments. Had he not taken a piss a few moments before hearing the CLICK, he probably would have done so then. Yeah, he was a generation Y guy, he'd seen all kinds of violent shit and deaths on tv and computers, but this. This was real. There were no awesome sound effects or dramatics, and SWISHING sounds when punches were thrown. No time outs, or rules. No score or music playing in the background.

Just a guy beat to death in front of him, and he couldn't get those sounds out of his head. Dull. Bloody. Deadly.

Harris was staring for who knows how long when the another sound, this time a THUD shook him out of it.

...After announcing himself to Will initially, Jon turned his back to Will in some form of trustfall and began to go through the guards possessions. His name tape said O. B. Bradley, but Jon didn't really care. Jon took his key cards, pocketed them, then went for one of his pistols when that book that clipped Will hit him in the back squarely. "What the fuck?" He turned around and glared at Will until he realized what had happened. He shook his head for a moment, but looked at Petra and the anger fled for a moment as he stared with his mouth hung open mid-sentence as whatever he was about to say suddenly eluded him.

Jon was by no means a ladies man; he was always busy with work and traveling, so his lifestyle didn't really allow him plenty of time to mingle with the opposite sex. So while it had been 8 months since he had been locked inside and not seen a beautiful woman traipsing around in a bra and underwear, it had been about the same time and then some, since it happened BEFORE being locked up.

And CIA training aside, Jon was a guy. And guys like that kind of stuff.

Finally Harris said aloud, "what the fuck is going on?" His voice was a bit loud, but his voice kind of broke.

That's what you call success. While the book missed her intended target, at least it offered some sort of distraction. Sure, it got the bow aimed in her direction, but not with an intent to kill. When the archer turned she was surprised to see a pretty young looking kid. Why the fuck was a kid here? Why the fuck was anyone here?

“Calm! Kill! Whaaat?!” She spoke before her brain got a chance to catch up. She took a deep breath and crouched down while she blew it out. Moments later she shot back up, seeming to have done exactly what he told her to... calm down.

Everyone else was 'what-the-fucking,' so she would join in at some point too, but for now she took a few steps down toward them to also maybe catch a glimpse of the third person that she could only hear. She forgot she wasn't dressed, but wouldn't have really noticed or cared anyway. She crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at the doors to the other rooms as she passed by. Finally her gaze stopped on the dead man.

“What the FUCK IS going on here? Why have I been locked in a room for nine months? And why is this guy dead?” She was back to her normal tone now, but was still very fearful amongst the murderer and would be murderer. There were other questions she'd get to later.

Jon looked around quickly and noticed two doors at the end of the hall, both with large signs. One read ARMORY and the other said 3D FLOOR CONTROL ROOM. Both were locked with a card reader. He looked towards the boy in the hall, and Will, but now chose to keep his eyes off of the woman for...reasons. "Look, I'm not exactly sure what's going on. I'm Jon Erikson, I'm with the CIA and this facility was," he took a moment and paused. Sure the shit was classified, but they were now free. So it either meant that A: they were freed and would be briefed because all was well or B: they were fucked, and they were released for some other reason, which meant everyone here was dead to some degree.

He cleared his throat, taking one of the guards handguns, it's holster and magazine bandoleer. "This was a CDC facility set up for assets to be stored until the infection was culled. We were to help ensure we had people with training in vital areas would be around in case most didn't make it. Not sure why the hell we were abandoned, why we were freed or anything, but we need to do some investigating. Not going to go into it much more because I'm sure others will be coming out soon, I don't want to repeat myself 6 times or whatever." Jon stood up as he pulled the slide of the 9mm back, checking that a round was chambered as he flipped the safety on. He ignored the question in regards to the dead body but knew it would get brought up again. He just didn't want to explain himself several times.

Will let out a soft sigh of relief as she managed to calm down, gaze flicking back to Jon as he set to... Half-way explaining. He continued to hold his bow at half draw, pointed at the ground for now, but it wasn't exactly threatening. Just... wary.

"Judging by the fact that that son of a bitch tried to shoot me the second I walked out of my room, I'm going to go with option B. I don't think they'd lock us in here for nine months just to try and kill us...."

He blinked, something else catching in his mind. Infection?... He'd heard something about that, sitting in on one of his father's meetings, just the evening before he was taken to this place. Some kind of... zombie-esque bullshit. He hadn't believed it at the time. But nine months in here... It seemed a lot more possible now.

"Now let's all just.... shut up for a minute. Wait for the others to come out, if they do... Just... Nobody move from where they are. Franky, I don't trust any of you at the moment, it's easier if nobody so much as flinches until we talk things out, yeah?"

Sensible enough.

C.I.A. Three letters absolutely no one at the UN trusted or liked to hear. Mainly because of shit like this when someone ended up dead and the excuse was 'I'm CIA.' They were an organization that thrived on lies and secrets, so while she paid attention to what he had to say, she was quickly learning how to align herself with this person.

She rubbed her temples while he explained. “I must be missing something here. I haven't heard anything about an infection.” It sounded like bull shit, but for the moment she didn't have any choice but to believe it. Vital asset, she could understand. She started to pick at her lower lip as she thought.

She turned back around to face the other one just as he was explaining that everyone should stay where they were. She walked closer and squinted her eyes at him. “You look familiar. But I can't quite place you.” She stared at him for a few seconds longer before she shrugged and kept walking.

“You guys can stay here. I'm going to put some clothes on.” And take a few moments alone to think. She did agree with the kid, but she wasn't going to take orders from him. Plus, she was cold.

Will simply gave the woman a flat look. Had he not just said to stay the fuck put? But, he couldn't blame a woman for wanting clothes. Her comment on him appearing familiar, however, did seem to disturb him a tid-bit. For some reason, he got the sense he didn't want to be recognized as the president's son at the moment...

".... Yeah, yeah. Just... hurry up, yeah?" Will half said, half asked.

Ryan Bishop
Research building east wing
Missouri
February 2017

The weather had been nice that day, but the feeling of uneasiness rose through him. He remembered that clearly.

The black 'inconspicuous' SUV rolled to a halt outside the research buildings East Wing, and two suits climbed out. He couldn't resist the chuckle and shaking of his head at the cliché... Those CIA types, you can spot them a mile away... but why were they here? This wasnt the usual run of the mill office jockey that they woild send to collect reports and hand deliver information, these guys were the muscle.
Ryan shrugged and turned away from the railing he had been leaning on and headed toward the door leading back into the building, the door requested very kindly for him to produce hus biometric and retina verification before it granted him access.

The door closed behind him and he made his way back to his office, but as he closed the office door and turned to face the room, his gaze was met by someone elses.
The man was muscular, a black guy, rounded face but with a prominent square chin, dark eyes that blended into the overshadowed sockets and a buzz cut.
The man remained rooted to the spot and spoke in a very calm and reassured tone.

"Dr. Bishop, I am afraid a situation has arisen and i am to escort you to a secure location immediately. Please grab what you need... and make it quick" the man barked. He was to the point and devoid of any emotion as he spoke, taking a monotonous tone as he gave his piece.
Ryan stared at the man, he wasn't cocky or boisterous and so was unlikely to be a CIA field operative who, from Ryans experience reeked of undeserved arrogance. No, this guy was the real deal, all the way down to his expensive suit.
Ryan edged toward the man.

"Under whose authority may I ask, I mean lets be honest here, you're not CIA" Ryan asked.
The man remained where he was and still kept his calm demeanor.

"Under the authority of the United States of America, Doctor. Now, shall we?" He said as he held an arm up towards the door.
Ryan stopped to assess the situation, this guy was sharp and straight talking, witheld his employers details and had made it this far into the facility without an escort, which could only mean one thing. NSA.

"Whats so important that the NSA has to come and get ME?!" He asked.

The NSA man said nothing and his face remained unchanged at the mention of his employer, yet a slight shuffle was all it took to confirm ryans suspicions. NSA man headed toward the door.

"We havent got time, grab what you need and stay close."

---

The car was swerving manically for reasons unknown to Ryan, outside there were no threats, just people going about there lives, everyone seemed worried and in a hurry though which was odd, the driver took every turn at high speed and with pinpoint accuracy as he weaved through the vehicles, which like the pedestrians were in a hurry, racing around, the city looked lawless.
Ryan looked at the driver and saw the same calm expression on his face, as if this were a drive to the mall on a nice Saturday afternoon. The expression changed drastically however and the car swung violently to the left and left the road. Inside, Ryan and the three NSA men braced themselves against the roof of the car as it entered a spin that was beyond the skilled hands of the driver, he turned frantically in order to bring the car out of the spin which resulted in the car flipping and rolling before coming to a rest on its side in the middle of strangely empty intersection.

Ryan looked around and saw the driver convulsing in the front seat, Ryan waited for his blurred vision to pass and looked in the drivers mirror to find the cause, a shard of glass from the side window was nestled elegantly in his throat. It was now that Ryan could hear a slight gasp as the man tried desperately to get oxygen into his lungs, the glass had punctured his windpipe. Ryan caught the mans eyes and saw both desperation, and the fight ebbing away in them, he looked away and closed his eyes as he tried not focus on the sound of the dying man sat right in front of him, all he could do for him was hope it wouldn't last much longer. It didn't.
Ryan felt a wet, sticky object land on his head, a second one found his neck, checking his vital signs, he then felt his head being turned to face that of black NSA guy from his office, his arm and hand coated in blood,that explained the wet, sticky object. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut loose the seatbelt holding Ryan in place, grabbing his arm simultaneously so he didn't fall further into the car.

Ryan felt himself going dizzy as he was being pulled from out of the wreckage and into a second set of hands, as soon as his feet touched the ground he passed out.

---

Ryan was awakened by loud, dull thuds, as he raised his head he could also hear muffled shouts and he could see the flashes of gunfire, at that moment the dull thuds evolved into clear gunshots. The shouts were directed at him to get up, the face hovering over him was that of the black guy, all traces of the cool, relaxed proffesional were gone, as worry and panic took their place.
Ryan stood up and noticed the other NSA guy firing two rounds at a time into an oncoming crowd of what looked like rioting drug abusers. Ryan wore a look of sheer confusion, staring at the horde before him he saw crazed expressions and emptiness in their eyes but worse than that he saw blood, everywhere, some were missing chunks of flesh and even limbs, the noise they were making was ghastly, animalistic snarls and growls, it was deafening. Ryan gasped and retreated backward, he fumbled around his waist for his gun, finding it he raised it and pulled back the top slide, chambering the first round. The horde were no further than 120 metres away, Ryan knew the spec of his gun, he designed it after all, he raised it ready to fire, he lined up his first shot and took it, the round ripped straight through the fleshy thigh and the man stumbled, falling to the ground he simply rolled and got up again rejoining the pressing horde. Ryan gasped again and looked over at the firing NSA man who looked at him, a look of relief spread across his face.

"The head! The head, hit them in the fucking head!...." He screamed over the noise.

Ryan let loose a few rounds aiming for the head as best he could, he had only basic firearms training and so wasn't the greateat marksman. He looked behind him and saw that they were still at the crash site, the SUV lying motionless on its side, he ran over to it and smashed open the back window, inside he saw a jerry can which upon lifting, he discovered was full. He loosened the cap and held it at an angle as he ran side on to the up turned car, leaving a trail behind him as he went.

"Get behind the car and run, fucking run!" He screamed as he placed the can down.

He ran beyond the car and lined up his sights letting them rest on the jerry can, he waited for the crowd to fall within range of the blast radius, pulled the trigger and watched as a fire ball flew into the air taking a few bodies with it, the trail of petrol ignited and raced toward the car which then also erupted into a giant inferno, the shock wave alone took down a good portion and sent Ryan stumbling backward, the rest of the horde were engulfed in flames... but kept coming.

"Are you kidding?!" Ryan screamed.

"Marcus, Ryan! Move you ass!... The tower block!" Shouted the firing NSA guy who had now stopped to provide covering fire as Ryan and the black guy who he know knew as Marcus caught up and ran beyond him, he stopped firing and turned to run, his foot slipped down the curb mid turn and fell Into the road hitting his head, dazing him momentarily and leaving practically motionless on the floor. Ryan and Marcus, unaware of the situation, heard only a blood curdling scream behind them and turned to see the horde hunched over the fallen man.

"Jameson! ... bastards, fucking bastards get offa him!" Yelled Marcus who pulled his sub machine gun into his shoulder and fired off a volley of rounds, all professionalism and training had gone out the window, Marcus was operating on emotion, his rage and sadness consuming him. He watched as his bullets tore through the skin and muscle of these monsters and watched as they carried on unfazed, their hands and teeth peeling long strips of flesh away from Jamesons face and head, the mans high pitched screams of agony made Ryans skin crawl, he saw Jameson reach a helpless hand out to them, he appeared to be mouthing what looked like 'please'

Ryan couldn't watch any more and instead looked at Marcus roaring like lunatic as he continued to fire at the monsters, his breathing erratic as he tried drastically to help his friend.
Ryan grabbed his shoulder and screamed at him to do the right thing.

"Fucking shoot him! Shoot him he can't suffer like that! Fucking shoot him now! Do it, just do it!"

Marcus nodded and put three rounds into his friends already exposed skull, his body fell limp and Ryan could have sworn he saw the relief in Jameson's lifeless eyes as his suffering came to an abrupt end.
Ryan dragged Marcus into the towering building behind them and barricaded the door, he ran over the reception desk and lowered the metal shutters outside for extra security.
He proceeded up the stairs and turned to see Marcus slowly following him, his head sunken in despair.
Ryan moved to comfort him but was met with a dismissive hand. He had given up.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Jameson... You did the right thing. It's what he would have wanted... you have a radio right? Meet me up top when you're ready okay?"

Ryan closed the door behind him and slowly made his way up the first flight of stairs, he made a point of avoiding the elevators, he looked over his shoulder and sighed, he could only imagine what Marcus was going through clearly he and Jameson had been very good friends. The thought took Ryan's mind to his wife, he only hoped that whatever had happened here wasn't happening back home. It must have been the entire city out there chasing them. He sat down at the top of the stairs and watched the door waiting for Marcus to emerge. He never did.
After what seemed like half an hour, Ryan stood and headed toward the door when he heard a single gun shot and a body slump to the floor.
Ryans mind raced, he ran to the door and readied his pistol, he couldn't let Marcus take on those things, those Indestructible, flesh eating bastards. He opened the door and saw one body lying on the ground, it was Marcus. Beside his lifeless body he found the radio and an open notebook which ha only two things scrawled on it in a shaky script, the first was a radio ident the second simply said:

'FORT LEONARD WOOD'

No doubt where they were supposed to go before all this happened. Ryan tried the radio but got no response, he decided it was best to stay put and find food. After that he would decide his next move. But what the fuck happened out there, why were there people eating people!? it was a question that Ryan would never have the answer too.

---

Ryans thoughts returned to the present, he would never forget the events of that day and he would never forget the first death he ever saw. Jameson, poor bastard. That was no way to go, Ryan pulled out his grenade and turned it over in his hand, if ever the time came where he found himself pinned down by reanimated he would pull that pull and go out with a bang.

The Hilton Hotel Union Station Store Room
St. Louis Missouri
Present Day

Luke Porter had been calling this store room in the Hilton home for a little over four days. Granted it wasn't exactly Graceland but it had four walls, a ceiling, an emergency light system with working lights, and a door. Compared to some of the other places he had been this was a suite and there were plenty of things to use as weapons if needed and supplies to make things a little more bearable. Luke pulled out his survival knife, some sticks he picked up a long the way, and began carving up some more arrows.

The building was so quiet it was easy to tell if there was someone or something in the building. It was just the way Luke wanted life on his terms and not having to worry about anything or anyone else. Although that wasn't usually the case about six weeks ago he and another fella by the name of Ryan Bishop traveled together. They basically did The Lone Ranger and Tonto routine which was helping others when they could and then moving on. Until they hit Chicago and they met up with a woman by the name of Candice.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Candice and Luke found that they had a lot of common interests, but Ryan wasn't sure about her. Luke had the same feeling too, but he had been living the life of a nomad four years prior to the outbreak. He was ready to stop moving and plant some roots for a while, but Ryan wanted to move on so the two men parted company with no hard feelings.

Luke remembered that he and Candice had things going pretty good with one another for a time. They were living in a cabin just off of Lake Michigan and it seemed that Luke had finally found a place to call home. That was until Luke began noticing Candice was sneaking out at night. She said she was going to gather supplies, and have some alone time. One night Luke followed her and that was the night Luke realized Ryan had been right all the time. Candice was luring people into her cabin, gaining their trusts, and then at some point drugging them. Once the person woke up they discovered that they had been given to an Overlord in an outpost as a slave, and Candice would get a cut of the poor sap's goods.

Luke made his way back to the cabin and found the syringes Candice used for drugging people. He waited in a dark corner and when Candice entered the cabin Luke drugged her. When Candice awoke she found herself tied to a tree and gagged with a knife off to the side.

Luke stood there and said, "I followed you last night. I know what your scam is and if I ever catch up to Bishop again I got a big I told ya so coming to me."

Candice struggled and growled as Luke said, "Why do I get the feeling you're not saying very nice things about me and my family heritage? Anyway, you took what little freedom many other people had and destroyed it. Now this is the day that you will answer for what you've done."

Luke took two steps back, struck an arrow against a rock causing it to flame, loaded his bow, pointed it at Candice, and then quickly fired it at the cabin about 100 yards away. The side of the cabin was quickly engulfed in flames as Luke turned back to Candice and said, "I poured some of the kerosene on the side of the cabin. You took away so much from so many now I'm taking everything you have away from you. Don't worry I'm only leaving with what I came here with."

Luke kicked the knife a couple more inches out of the way and said, "Pretty painful to know that your freedom is just beyond your reach as you watch everything in your world be destroyed. I figure you'll either find a way to get that knife and cut yourself free, maybe you'll starve to death, or the walkers will get you. Either way justice is now served and I say goodbye and good luck."

Luke tipped his hat and walked away as Candice struggled and screamed through a gag as the cabin now burned through the night.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

For the first time since that episode Luke smiled. He was finally at peace with what had happened, and now he also had a few new arrows to work with.

Luke said, "Okay time to go do some looking around and see what else I can bring back."

Luke began patrolling around the building with his knife ready to be used. Then through a hole in the wall he saw someone resting in a room. Luke was even more shocked when he recognized the person resting there.

Luke made a clucking sound to let them know he wasn't a zombie. He opened the door and saw Ryan Bishop. Luke smiled for a moment and shook his head. He said, "If you agree not to say I told you so about Candice I'll give you two bottles of water."

Kim was sitting in her cell. She could not really call it a room, since you are free to walk out of your room whenever you want to. She had not imagined that the CDC project would be like this. She had imagined that she would construct a haven, actually construct it, and not just do endless amounts of blueprints. She sighed, just as she finished her eighteenth blueprint. By now she had constructed an entire city, a city, that needed no external energy, nor food, at least so long everyone did their part.

She stretched in her chair as she looked at her monitor, before she glanced towards the intercom. Another day of silence. Kim did not mind too much though, it let her work without being drugged or disturbed. She cleaned and cooked herself, so it was not a huge issue, but it was starting to get a little lonely. Sure, she had her work, and her books to read. However, her food was running out, and that was a concern. She was smart enough to just eat enough to sustain her just in case things went to hell here as well. She had started doing that after the Chicago incident.

Kim had been placing food that lasted a longer time in the bathroom, the only place she was sure there was no cameras in. She had quite the storage in there. She had been quite vocal when she was recruited and placed in the room that the bathroom was off-limits, that she needed it for her work. They had not agreed the first time, or rather the first month. But after she placed her blueprints everywhere in the room, on the floor and on the walls, they had reluctantly left it alone. They knew she'd be pissed if they touched her blueprints, they were fragile after all, on tracing paper so that she could copy the blueprints, which she was doing slowly.

She had been amazed that her hiding places had worked. In the back of the toilet, under blueprints, but the important part was that they had worked. She went into the bathroom and took stock of how much she had. "Hmm....enough for a month if used scarcely..." she thought aloud as she was doing her business. She then took a longer shower, getting dressed in underwear and a silken robe, her normal attire. She had stopped bothering with getting properly dressed after the first two months, no one came to visit anyway. The only 'visitor' she had, was that same guard that had told her about Chicago.

Kim had become friends with the guard, Allan was his name. Or rather, started chatting again. They had been friends in high school, and someone she had dated once upon a time. He had been the only reason her bathroom had been left alone, convincing his supervisors to leave her alone, knowing what she's like. "Too bad he's not allowed in here....he was a great partner..." she murmured as she recalled his face. But sex was not everything in a relationship, so she had dumped him after a year, or was it two? She could not recall any longer.

She sighed loudly as she plopped down onto the bed. She needed a good shag, male or female did not matter to her. She had gone a year without one. It had not been that bad early on, but now.... She sighed once again, pleasing herself bad become so damn boring after a year's time. After only laying on the bed for half an hour, she once again got up and sat at her computer. It did not have any internet connection, but it had a few games, tonnes of music, and her programs she required to do her work, she also had a printer. The printer could only print A4 papers though, so she had to print multiple papers and then trace them onto a bigger tracing paper, then she could use a big paper to trace it onto that one.

Kim started drawing on a new blueprint when she heard a distinct click. She turned around and stared at the door. It was open.... Kim was puzzled but stood up and walked towards the door. She opened it slightly just in time to hear a gunshot. "Fuck!" left her lips before she could stop herself and closed the door so that just one eye was looking out from her cell. "What the heck am I going to do!?" she thought as she stared at the scene unfolding outside of her cell.

She watched the 'guard' get tackled and beaten down and inside of her, she cheered at this. Others were coming out from their rooms. There was many still alive she saw. Kim slowly creaked the door open and stuck her face out just in time to see a book being flung towards one of the men. Kim quickly shifted her balance to her left side, however, the door was lighter than what it looked like and it opened up and Kim fell, just as one of the men said that everyone should stay still.

"Ouch....." she said and rubbed her elbow where it had hit the floor, some blood coming out from it. Kim looked towards the others and quickly said. "Don't shoot, I'm not infected! Just....clumsy..." she said and chuckled before standing up. She quickly readjusted her robes so that they were not showing her underwear and licked her elbow two times and then rubbed the saliva into the wound before she took a piece of cloth and wrapped it around her elbow. "So....wazzaup guys?" she asked in an attempt to lighten the mood slightly.

3 November 2017, Southwest Missouri

Silence. A cold wind blew, resembling the howling of the dead, uncontested by nothing. Seeing that the streets were empty of both the reawakened and awake, Valentina made her cross, keeping her head down. She remembered Lieutenant Hugh's lessons, and how she paid for not listening once. It was rather dark, as it was very cloudy, and looked just about to snow or rain. The building she wanted to enter loomed over her intimidatingly like a giant staring down at her, but the girl was unafraid, as there were worse things than shadows to be afraid of. Racking her brain through for a word to describe the building, she remembered that it was a shop, except this one was a big one. One thing lead to the next, and as she was hiding behind a car, she remembered her past life, which seemed like forever ago. Her parents would take her to those little shops with their friendly attendants, and then there was Sa'at's mart. To this day, Valentina still wondered what had happened to Salim Sa'at, the Turkish owner who was her friend - going to his place wasn't just grocery shopping. It was like visiting a friend. Her father had said that Salim had flown back to Turkey to visit his family, but she wasn't sure anymore.

Grief was beginning to fill Valentina's heart again, but she pushed it away - with great difficulty. She remembered what would happen if she slowed down, and wiped her tears away. Some of it was trapped underneath her 'pirate eyepatch' as she called it, so she had to wipe underneath and readjust it. Pulling out Lieutenant Hugh's knife, she kept her head down and sneaked towards the front door, looking left and right consistently for any distressful surprises. It was dark, but she was used to it, having lived in the dark half the time for months. For reasons she did not quite understand, the lights in the entire world had stopped working many months before, but it was just another mystery she had to live with in her short life.

Testing the door leading into the shop, Valentina found that it was unlocked, and became quite afraid. It seemed too easy, just like when her siblings would hide their best cards in a game of Monopoly Deal or Uno. From the past, she remembered that there would either be people or biters, and usually a group of them. Yet it was quiet, deafeningly quiet and still.

With both her hands, Valentina opened the swinging door while she was crouching. "It's like a game of hide and seek, Valentina." She remembered what Lieutenant Hugh said. She remembered his hand on her head, and how she liked it, "Don't let them see you." Sometimes, whenever the coast was clear, they would even play a real game of hide and seek, and the soldier would somehow manage to pull the smiles and laughter out of her despite the loss of her friends and family, and everything. She remembered his hugs, the closest thing to what only her father could give.

Silence. Valentina ran in, never forgetting to keep her head down. First, she hid behind one of the many cashier counters before going past them, her ears always peeled to listen. Treating any piece of furniture as if they were buoys in the middle of a stormy sea, she scurried to the closest store shelves and listened again. Silence. After some time of silence, Valentina became sure and confident enough that she was alone. Ever since Lieutenant Hugh's death, Valentina had become afraid of people, and it wasn't just because everyone else she had met after were bad people, but she had lost far too much to want anyone more.

Switching on Vertov's tactical torchlight, she started flashing it past store shelves carefully, always terrified of giving anyone or anything even a hint of her existence. Most of the shelves were empty, and Valentina moaned internally. The few odd shelves that contained something were either filled with useless things or... Precious few packeted and canned food made themselves known to Valentina. Like a stalking cat or rat, the girl was almost duck-walking, inching her way closer to the closest prize before finally seizing it. Beef jerky. Hastily, she moved on to the next closest morsel, and discovered that it was a can of Pepsi.

After moving on to the next aisle of the shop, something caught her eye, something amongst the useless stuff that would not help her survive. Toys, many of them, most of which remained in mint condition and well packaged. There was a whole group of them that was familiar to her. Matryoshka dolls, something that was her father's business. Valentina's father dealt with Russian toys as part of his small-medium business. Tears were once again stealing their way out of Valentina's eyes as she picked one of the Matryoshka dolls up, and noticed from a happy bear face logo that it was actually manufactured by her father. Slipping her bag off, Valentina swept the whole collection of dolls into her bag along with the little food she managed to salvage.

Memory after memory of her family began forcing their way into her mind. Valentina found that she couldn't move anymore. She felt drained, too upset to go on living. Sitting down, she leaned against the shelf, distracted from the fact that every moment spent out in the moment was hazardous. She remembered her previous life, and how the world became how it was on the day of her birthday, which was also Valentine's day. She remembered how her life was torn away from her one bit at a time, one family member, one friend at a time, each cut deep and goring and excruciating. Holding up her combat knife, the young girl contemplated joining her family. She remembered going to church every sunday with her family, listening to stories of a heaven where all good people will go, and a hell where bad people will be thrown into.

Then she remembered her time with her father and how he wanted her to be strong and fearless like a bear. She remembered her first day going to school, and how she cried uncontrollably in the family car, refusing to leave it. It took her father some time to coax her out of it, telling her stories of his very own anxieties and First Days and how school was like in Soviet Russia.

Getting up again, Valentina continued foraging for food, throwing into her bag the odd chocolate bar and canned condense milk (which she would not be able to open), nuts and crackers. After filling her bag, she turned to leave...

November 3rd, 1:03pm, Unmarked CDC Facility (Collab between AnriuSB & finalcatharsis)

Plip

Plip

Plip

Pli-

Chich

Sounded the rusty sink tap as the young girl, who had just turn ten twisted it shut. She slowly returned to the table and continued her drawing. She had not spoken for weeks. She had vaguely noticed the voices that had called for her over the seemingly distant PA over that time, but she had not given them a second thought. No, the only thought that had swam throughout the ocean of this young girl's mind was Why? Over and over it had circled, passing in and out of the recesses of her consciousness like the repetitive sequence of narcoleptic's sleeping patterns. Each time it returned to her a different ending was tagged to it. Why am I here? Why was I left? Why has no one come? Perhaps the strangest part of this sequence of thought was how impartial she was to it. It seemed like she could not bring herself to muster up the motivation to search for the answer. All she did was her daily routine. Wake up, eat, draw, eat, sleep, wake up...

It was killing her,

but she did not know it.

So she droned on, continuously drawing a single circle on top of itself and having the same continuous circle of thought pass around her head. She could not escape it, she could not leave it. Just as she was stuck in this room, she was stuck on that table, unable to move, unable to-

*Click*

That sound was strange, it was different, it was new. She was stopped in her tracks by it, almost startled even. Her head turned towards its origin. The door seemed to try and hide its guilt, like she would have done if Ivy had caught her doing something bad. She slowly stood up, keeping her eyes on the guilty door the whole time, and began to walk towards it. When she reached its face she grew anxious, even afraid. She stood, looking at the handle for a good long while, long enough for the events outside to calm down. In fact, the moment after everything had grown entirely quiet outside of the door, she happened to suddenly gain the urge to step out.

She looked up at the people who stood in the hall, resembling more of a frightened animal then a little girl. She saw a man on the ground, she wondered what he was dreaming about, and why he had picked such a strange place to fall asleep. She then looked past them all, noticing the red 'EXIT' sign at the end of the hall. She began walking towards it without a word. She stepped over the sleeping man without looking down, lucky for her she had not noticed his bloodied face and was able to remain oblivious to what had actually happened. Once over him she continued her walking, drawing ever closer to freedom...

When Petra got back into her room she went straight to the chest of clothing at the foot of her bed. She pulled out a sweatshirt and pants. It wasn't sexy, but it'd keep her insulated in the cold, clinical corridors of the building. She couldn't get the word 'infected' out of her mind, or the sight of the dead guard in the hallway. Supposedly he was trying to kill the archer, possibly the others too, but was that really a reason to kill him? It seemed to have gone beyond self-defense and into straight up murder. And infected. Surely he couldn't have meant the hoax that was circling on Twitter her assistant had told her about? Zombies? Really? She'd have to wait until she got outside to see for herself. She sighed and pulled her hair back into a ponytail before returning to the hallway. She tried to do what the kid told her to, which was to stand still in the hallway until all of the inhabitants came out and they could go into depth about what was going on, but when she saw a little girl come out and almost immediately head toward the door, she was curious. And it's not like they actually perceived her as a threat, right? In the mean time, another woman had come out of her room and apparently tripped, but introductions could continue later.

Petra decided it was about time to go into full UN mode, especially with a child around. She did her best to put a on calm and confident expression. A few steps later she was standing behind the girl. She didn't want her to open the door. No one knew what was on the other side of it yet, and if there was a deadly and highly contagious infection going around, the little girl would be one of the quickest to contract it. Petra reached out in an attempt to brush against the girls shoulder. She didn't want to agitate her even further, assuming she was already very confused and maybe even scared.

"Don't go out there yet. I don't think it's safe." Most of her adult life Petra had wanted to adopt a child. Part of her job required being around children often, and while she tried her best to put herself in the little girls shoes, she herself was also slightly afraid and confused. All of them had just been released from a nine month imprisonment. There was going to have to be an adjustment period, however brief, before she could be her true self again -- if that even existed anymore. If the girl continued for the handle, Petra would grab her arm. She hoped she wasn't the only person in this place that had experience with children.

Waynesville, Missouri. The rusted green sign just on the outskirts of town read,“Preserving the Past, Planning for the Future.”

What a shithole.

Even from a mile away, Werner Coetzee could identify the little backwater village as such. Aside from a few grain bins, not a single building stretched higher than two stories, and the few that did were either municipal buildings or decaying farm houses. Undoubtedly, the sole reason for the town’s meager existence was its prime location on Route 66 and the military base 30 miles south of it. Were it not for these two features, the town would be like the ghost towns Werner knew back west, vacant of both life and its homes slowly returning to the dust. Recently, almost all towns qualified as ghost towns, unless the walking dead retained their citizenship.

Werner continued his trek along the snow-covered road winding south. He was grateful for the tall, white hills protecting him from the glacial winds, but the bitter cold still penetrated every crevice in his clothes. Even the grey wool blanket wrapped around his body like a cloak did little to shield him from Mother Nature’s cruel grasp. Before leaving the American Southwest behind him in the mirror of his dirtbike, Werner had never seen snow before, and he was entranced when it first began to fall. His initial fascination with the new climate quickly gave way to hatred as the cold constantly impaired his movement, even now as he forged through the deep sea of snow. His knee was beginning to ache with each step he took, a mild pain shooting up his thigh as his foot hit the snow-padded asphalt. With a look to the sky, Werner estimated that it was roughly 8 am, the dull sun barely punching through the heavy clouds in the east. He’d been on the road for almost a day now, camping in the trunks of abandoned cars during the night and walking when light returned. Finally, he was close to at least some resemblance of civilization, even if it was just the remains. The nomad continued down the snow-covered path, leaving a lonely trail of footprints behind, though another pair followed closely behind.

The town that appeared empty from a mile away seemed the same from within. Crowbar in hand, Werner trudged down the main street, his eyes peeled for any store that might contain something of use to him. Curiously, no corpses wandered the streets, and no humans could be seen darting through the shadows. It was almost as if everyone had vanished at exactly the same time. Werner momentarily humored the possibility that the infamous Rapture event occurred within the small town, but there was a distinct lack of clothing littering the ground. In all likelihood, the town’s citizens were evacuated to the military base to the south when the virus struck, which raised Werner’s spirits, if only for a second. If the town was truly empty, then the long journey was a complete waste of his time. Werner swiftly kicked the snow underfoot into a powdery cloud, only to feel the familiar shooting pain stab at his knee as he did so. He let out a sharp hiss and clutched his wounded knee with a free hand. When the aching subsided, Werner pressed forward, now deep within the town and thoroughly numb from head to foot. His sluggish mind told his body to barge into the nearest home possible and he obliged, shambling towards a single story ranch-style house. It took him mere moments to gain access, the door being unlocked, and once he was within the confines of its walls Werner felt instant relief from the relentless cold.

Shutting the door behind him, Werner proceeded through the house, clearing it one room at a time. He’d swept many homes before, almost always finding something hostile within, so he carried out the actions with methodical precision and caution. The home must have belonged to a working-class family. Four pairs of shoes, including work boots, sat at the door. Vibrant pictures plastered the antiquated refrigerator. Army men littered the living room floor, the yellow soldiers picking off the green from a fortified position on the ottoman. The small house was a museum, archiving life before the fall of civilization. Werner was careful not to disturb any of the items, as if they were holy relics from a bygone era. There was something comforting about the little signs left behind by the family. It evoked a deep nostalgia and longing for his childhood, even though he could barely relate to this normal family. Raised by a single mother, no family, and even fewer friends in a trailer park outside Las Vegas, Werner’s was a far cry from the white-picket household he found here. Werner deeply yearned for what could have been if his father hadn’t vanished, and the humble household here reminded him of the life he missed. He was quick, however, to raid the small pantry of any goods he could find, but failed to find anything aside from a tin of anchovies and sleeve of Ritz crackers. With a disheartened sigh, he pulled his father’s coyote brown shemagh down around his neck and slinked to the master bedroom, where he promptly fell down onto the bare mattress.

As Werner hastily wolfed down the food, he looked around the bedroom, hoping for any other clues to the homeowner’s identity. He noticed a letter on the nightstand from the United Mine Workers of America addressed to Mr. John Hirsch. Werner stood up from the bed and opened the letter, making his way to the attached bathroom as he read it. The contents of the letter failed to captivate his attention and he set it down on the sink as he turned the handle to the faucet in vain, hoping some water would work its way through the rusted pipes to wash down the taste of salty anchovies still lingering in his mouth. He sifted through the medicine cabinet briefly and was delighted to find a half-full bottle of Vicodin, likely belonging to the miner, John, who spent his days hunched over in man-made tunnels. “Thank you, Mr. Hirsch,” Werner said with a grin. He stowed the bottle away in his backpack and started to leave the home, giving one last look to the soldiers on the floor before shutting the door.

Although the food from the house gave him some energy, Werner knew he would need much more before he moved on. After the trek to Waynesville, he was left with only two cans of food and two bottles of water, though water wasn’t his biggest concern with snow covering the ground. He walked down the sidewalk, hugging what few buildings stood along Route 66. The innocence of the small hamlet slowly faded as he felt eyes boring holes into his back. An ominous chattering filled the still air, the gnashing of broken teeth. He quickened his pace, tightly clutching the cold titanium of his crowbar with gloved hands, yet the feeling followed him. Werner was glad he chose to wrap himself in the blanket, for any observers wouldn’t be able to see his free hand clutching the Colt 1911 in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. If they weren’t human, however, it wouldn’t really matter. Just as he passed an alley, Werner felt a pair of hands grasp his shoulders and violently jerk him into the darkness. He heard his crowbar clatter to the floor as his back his the hard concrete, and looked up to see a shadowed figure quickly pin him to the ground. The stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils, and the feeling of hot breath washed over his face, the figure wheezing in horrific excitement. As his adrenaline kicked in, Werner’s left hand connected with the beast’s right temple, which knocked him off balance and allowed Werner to scramble out from beneath his grasp. The mechanic quickly gained his footing and drew the 1911, already loaded, from its holster, but the weapon was smacked from his hand and discharged a round as it hit the ground. The creature let out a harsh snarl and rushed his foe with primal rage. Werner grabbed one wrist that was heading for his throat and forced it upwards, spinning the undead monster around with one arm behind its back and Werner’s other hand grasping what little hair it had left. His form wasn’t graceful or trained, but the raw power he possessed was enough to overcome the undead. He forced the beast against the wall and repeatedly slammed its face on the coarse brick much to the protest of its free arm, which clawed at Werner’s clothes. The snarling was slowly replaced by the sound of wet meat smacking against a hard surface. The zombie finally went limp, its face replaced by a bloody crater, and fell to the ground.

His heavy breath forming puffs of crystallized air, Werner hastily grabbed his weapons and started running towards the supermarket, the adrenaline pumping through his blood dulling the pain in his knee. Those zombies, the smart ones, rarely hunted alone, and the gunshot would definitely draw more of them out. It was time for Werner to leave Waynesville, but not without some provisions.

Collab between Darkraven and AnriuSB Part 1

November 3rd, 2017, 1:07pm, Waynesville, Missouri:

Ivy had been behind the counter when it happened, counting and organizing the sparse ammunition they had in storage. 15 9mm rounds, 7 .505's, 2 12 guage shells, it was pathetic really. The last run in they had, had with the raiders had put a deep hole in their supply stock pile. Not only had the fuckers gotten away with their food, but they had caused her to have to waste bullets on them. In Ivy's mind the fucker's weren't worth the rounds it took to put them in the ground, 'people like them are worth less than those goddamned walkers.' She thought to herself briefly. It was then that she had been pulled from her duties by a unwelcome sound.

A light 'whoosh' signaled The intruder's entrance, Ivy quickly ducked beneath the counter top, 'Fucking raiders' Ivy thought too herself before preparing to intercept. The intruder walked carefully throughout the abandoned gas station with an awkward stealth, the watchful eyes of Ivy Ellenheart ever tracking her movements. Ivy's partner had left some time ago, and charged her with defending their home. Ivy approached the woman calmly, each step she took seemed to raise the tension of the situation. She had done this many times however, and she had gained a sort of detachment from such circumstances, calmly approaching every high stakes situation with a critical eye. The intruder had not yet noticed her yet, in fact she had begun shoving things into her bag with a controlled swiftness. The intruder's back was to Ivy, so she could not see the tears that welled in the intruder's eyes. Nor could she see the dolls that the intruder had chosen to take from the shelf.

Had she seen these things, Ivy may have approached the situation differently. She may have thought twice before reaching for the 9mm pistol that hung loosely at her belt. She may have even given the intruder a chance to explain herself before pressing the weapon against her back, but Ivy did not know these things, and in one swift motion she lightly pressed her weapon against the intruder's back, and with two words she announced herself, and her thoughts on the situation. "Get out." She whispered in the intruder's ear. Ivy did not want to take unnecessary life, but if the intruder resisted, certain measures would have to be taken.

Upon hearing the woman's voice in her head, Valentina froze, wondering how it got there. It was then she realized that it wasn't a voice in her head, just like how strange people would sometimes talk to her whenever she felt so sleepy or tired, like once when she was forced to stay awake at night because of the lack of a sleep spot. Very quickly, intense fear seized the girl as she could suddenly feel something dull but threatening poking her back - it was a different level of fear, above the reawakened, destruction and evil that made up everything.

Already shaken, Valentina could not help but to start weeping again as she turned around to face the woman who appeared behind her like a ghost, her hands curled up into anxious and shaking balls before she started shivering, believing that she was in danger again, and quite unexpectedly, as she thought she had been doing well so far, remaining unseen and getting out of trouble in the few times she wasn't able to run, hide, sneak and steal. "Please-" Valentina tried to say, but realised that nothing came out of her mouth, and it had only opened as it quivered with the rest of her terror-touched body. Instead, she was trying her best not to cry, only to fail with streaks of tears joining less recent ones, her cheeks and the underside of her eye patch becoming sticky. She was trying her best not to scream or wail, and in that way she was at least successful, though it would be obvious to anyone that she was restraining herself.

For a single moment Ivy was utterly confused. Her brain could not wrap around the concept before her. A child? How had it gotten here? How had she been so daft as to not notice this fact earlier? Ivy scrambled to gather her thoughts, immediately she pulled back her weapon and stepped away from the child. For some inexplicable reason that crept beyond her own understanding Ivy was completely embarrassed. She stepped back once more, retreating both mentally and physically from what she had done. 'Did you seriously just point a gun at a child?' she criticized herself silently. 'What has happened to you Ellenheart? What would Marrie think of this? Ivy's free hand approached her mouth, which was now agape in horror, tears welled up in her eyes "Wh.. ?" was all that managed to escape her lips. This was far worse than any raider she had ever encountered. Any sort of self disgust or fear she had ever felt. Ivy could not comprehend it.

But that...

was only for a moment.

It was then that Ivy's instincts took over. She had been hardened by this past year. The sight of a child had startled her, yes, but she would have to be strong. Marrie depended on it. Ivy holstered her weapon and turned from the child. An emotionless expression re-plastered onto her face when she turned back. She studied the girl, from head too toe. 'Scruffy' was the first thing that came to mind. Her clothes were worn, but still useable, and she had the face of a soldier. This would have seemed out of place if the world had not gone too shit, no, now it was only the soldiers that would survive. Those that could take a hit and punch back twice as hard. That is what Ivy had become, and that was what this girl was seemingly trying to be. The fact that she held back the obvious tears that welled at the corners of her eyes was proof enough. This girl was hardened, she was still a little girl, but she was a tough one.

Ivy half turned from the child, keeping one eye on her as she made her way back too the counter. When she finally reached her destination she let out a sigh of relief and went back to her cataloging. "Welcome to Dominic's Gas an' Go kid." She lifted one eye from her work, eyeing the pack that held all of the child's newly found supplies. "you gunna pay for that?"

For the most part, Valentina was rooted to the ground, afraid to move, having been defeated by surprise. Then something surprising happened. She wasn't hurt, nor did the woman ever attempted to hurt her. In fact, the woman seemed... Valentina could no longer find the word for it. Then a new problem arose - Valentina did not know how to react anymore. The idea of someone who would not hurt her seemed like something of a distant memory. Then it came back to Valentina. It wasn't the first time. People were bad. All of them. The last woman she trusted had a friend, and that friend had done things to her, painful things. To Valentina, all good people were gone- her father, her mother, Vertov, Valerie, Mr Sa'at, her friends, Lieutenant Hugh...

Valentina reached behind her and pulled out her steak knife, holding it to stab, and with a scream rushed and leapt at the woman who threatened her, and was now presenting her another false promise of friendship, the kind that would only lead to bad things happening. Landing on the woman's back, Valentina pulled her down to the floor, and as soon as she was able to quickly straddle her, brought the steak knife down to her throat with both her hands, the young girl's face displaying a rage that was out of place on such a youthful, if scarred face, saliva dripping from a side of her lips. She didn't want to be hurt again - no more.
Suddenly Ivy was on her back. She was utterly impressed by the girl's speed, had she been a fully grown adult Ivy would be dead, but this was a ten year old girl, and she lacked the strength to follow up. Ivy grasped the girls wrists with a single hand, stopping the knife in its tracks. She then used her other arm's elbow as leverage and tossed the girl off of her with her whole body. The girl fell on her back and suddenly Ivy was on top. She held the girl by her wrists and stared into her one visible eye. "So this is what happens to our children when everyone decides to go geek huh?" Ivy shook her head as she repositioned herself, and spun the girl onto her chest. She then pinned he girl's arms to her back. The knife that had been used as a weapon was several feet from them, laying on the floor. "I may not know your folks kid, but I am pretty sure that they did not teach you to stab people in public places."

Even as Valentina found that the tables were turning quickly against her, the young girl refused to give in, and struggled all the way against her enemy, though she couldn't break free from the woman's strong grasp. Screaming up and down in an uncontrollable rage and misery that had been building for months, she tried to pull herself away, but found that the painful lock she was being put in would not permit her to do it. "DON'T TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS!!!" Valentina managed to yell in her high-pitch, her reaction more of a knee-jerk reflex to pain than an intentional response. In her senseless thrashing, her eye patch had become askew, revealing her blind, milky-white iris.
Ivy pulled the girl too her feet, keeping her arms locked behind her back as she did. Ivy then retrieved a small amount of rope and bound the girls hands together. She sat the child down on a chair and tied her to it.

Ivy sighed and retrieved a chair of her own, the kid's eye patch lay discarded on the floor and her white iris lay unveiled before Ivy. Ivy glanced at it momentarily and then retrieved a pack of matches and a single cigarette from her pocket. She lit it and took a deep puff, simply waiting for the child to calm down. For a long time she sat, purposely judging the child's face. She didn't say a word. Simply waited,

and watched..

Collab between Darkraven and AnriuSB Part 2

Valentina continued screaming unintelligibly at the woman, but eventually, when the anger ran it's course, she began to realise the reality of the situation, that she had lost her fight for survival, and was helpless, at the mercy of the evil witch sitting before her, taunting her with her cigarette. Her anger diminished, and in its place, helplessness and fear returned, and Valentina began weeping again.

"The eyepatch doesn't suit you." Ivy simply stated. "You got this whole 'badass little girl' thing going for you, and the pirate element just throws it off." She took another puff from her cigarette and then crushed the butt on the counter beside her. "Today is a special day, did you know that?" Ivy looked the girl in the eyes, waiting for an answer.

Valentina remained silent and continued weeping uncontrollably, struggling fruitlessly against her well-crafted restraints, first incapacitated by her fragile emotions, though her lack of social contact in the last few months had ensured that conversations and talking had become a difficult thing. In a world dominated by the senseless dead and even senseless living, there was no use for words.

When she didn't get one Ivy simply laughed. "Of course you wouldn't know, even before everything went to shit no one knew about today's importance. Well, no one except me that is." Ivy stretched a little before leaning into her chair comfortably. "Long story short; today is the day something very special happens, you might even call it a 'grand opening'." Ivy chuckled at her own joke before continuing. "Anyways, before you decided to go crazy on me earlier I asked you a question. That stuff you took, you gunna pay for it?" Ivy, who had, up until this point, been glancing carelessly above the girl shot a questioning gaze to her.

As the woman talked, Valentina was able to calm down a little, if only because she had ran out of tears. As she was sniffling, she listened, a little, to what had been said to her, and had difficulty comprehending it all. Months of isolation did not benefit her. In general though, Valentina more or less understood the meaning of the words related to her. Sensing no way out the usual way, Valentina shifted her glance at Ivy before regretting it and staring at the woman's legs again, "I- I don't... know." Valentina finally mustered the will to say, forced out of her comfort zone by this sudden change of circumstances.

In the little thinking Valentina could do in her grief, she remembered something. Twisting her fingers a little, Valentina tried to reach for an opening cut into the waist of her jeans. Barely able to pull the feat off, she was able to fish out the shiv that Lieutenant Hugh had taught her how to make - it was her first and only, the result of a little homework her late soldier friend gave her in a relatively peaceful evening. With it, she started cutting the ropes binding her hands.

Ivy secretly smiled at the girls' shyness, despite the street rat look she had adopted, the childs behavior was quite cute. What she wanted to do was take this young girl into her arms and hug her pain away, but Ivy knew better. This kid was dangerous, and would need some srious rehabilitation before she was even somewhat trustworthy. Ivy made sure to look the girl in the eyes the whole time, speaking in a clear and calm tone. "First things first, I just want to make it clear that you can leave at any time. Just return what you took from the shelf and go on your way, I could care less either way. Second, if you want to earn the supplies you took, than you can. I happen to be in need of a favor. If you happen to be able to complete this task, you can take the supplies, plus extra, and run. Who knows, I am a person who happens to have a lot of work that needs to be done, stick around and you may just get even more supplies. Either way I want to make one thing clear. Jump me again and you are dead, I have my eye on you now, and that little surprise tactic of yours won't be working twice on me." Ivy finished and stared the girl right in the eye's. The girl's life could go three ways from here. Death, Back down the same road she had come from, or into a life with a family, in the end it would all depend on what she did in the next few moments.

"What do you want me to do?" After some difficulty, Valentina managed to think of how to reply. It was tough for the little girl, digging through a mountain for bad memories existing ever since her 10th birthday on Valentine's day and reaching for her acting classes before groping around for the best words before and after the reawakening. And even as she feigned interest, Valentina continued sawing at her restraint. Yet... The thought of having more supplies than what she gathered was a big treat, and when the witch before her threatened her with death, it became all the more enticing. Gradually, the girl began losing interest in cutting the ropes, as she really feared what the woman could do. After all, it wasn't the first time Valentina had tried to kill living people, and she was far more successful previously.

Ivy smirked at the child. "Oh nothing, just a simple retrieval mission. Start at point A, go to point B, get the package, back to A. There are some rules however. Firstly.." Ivy stood up and walked accross the store, retrieving a black sweater and sweat pants, both of which were sized for a child. "You have to where these. Hell, you can even keep them if you want. Second, you go at night, this is all about stealth. The area is full of infected. Third, and this is the important one, you leave your bag with me. I don't want you running off with the package or anything like that."

The task the woman was giving Valentina sounded vaguely like... A game to the girl, but not one that seemed fun with the biters. Then there were the rules that Valentina, in the pit of her stomach, felt wrong somehow, "But..." Valentina could not translate her thoughts well, especially considering that they were more complex than a yes-or-no answer. It felt like a game, a game in which she had no chance of winning because the rules were made up by the other player. Scrounging up memories of a time when she still had a family and a school to go to, she remembered games like that, "What if- What if- My bag-" Valentina struggled with her words, before finally finding the good ones, "How do I know you'll keep your promise?" She remembered the Matryoska dolls she had kept in her bag, made by her father - what remained of her father.

Ivy laughed at the girls' question. "You don't kiddo, for all you know I could be just using you to get something I want, with intentions of throwing you out when you return." Ivy then pointed her finger to the ceiling "How-ev-er" she annunciated each syllable, "Taking on this job is entirely up too you, and that risk comes with it my dear. So what do you say, you up to the task? Or will you simply choose to walk away?"

Valentina considered the woman's words, finding it less and less convincing, at least until she turned to look at where the woman was at before she leapt at her. There were heaps of food, and a mountain of guns. A CAN OPENER. As if on cue, the little girl's stomach rumbled, and her thoughts returned to her own stockpiles, where great numbers of canned goods were hidden, but as if some demon was playing tricks on her, Valentina could never find any can openers, "Okay..." There was more that Valentina wanted to say, but she felt exhausted from all the talking they had been doing. In the end, she gave up trying.

"There's an extra cot in the back, go get some shut eye. I will wake you when it is time and go over the details." Ivy then untied the child, noticing that the bindings were partway cut through. 'Impressive' she thought to herself before finishing and pointing her to the door behind the counter.

When the woman came close, Valentina shrunk a little, afraid that she might try to hurt her, afraid that the woman was just lying to her, making fun of her by giving false hopes. Yet, the woman untied her. It was a surprise, one that was pleasant, yet Valentina was afraid of any kind of surprises. She became afraid that the woman was really playing with her, but the girl felt that she had no choice but to follow her instructions - she remembered how she was easily overpowered when she tried to kill her.

Reluctantly, Valentina stood up after the ropes on her were taken off. Rubbing her wrists, she walked towards the room before realising that her eyepatch had come off. Ever since losing her sight on her right eye, the milky iris had become something of a taboo to the young girl, something to be covered, something that was worse than nakedness if seen. Quickly, she went to pick the eyepatch up only to find that it was gone. Valentina gasped, looking everywhere for it as she covered her right eye, afraid that the woman would see it again, but it felt hopeless.

Ivy watched the girl, a little amused by her frantic search. "Looking for this?" She asked, producing the eyepatch from one of her pockets.

"Give it back!!!" Valentina shouted, the rage in her returning as the very thought of her blind eye and the eyepatch had brought her back to the day she lost the sight in her right eye.

"I already told you kid, it throws off your whole look. You can have it if you want..." Ivy then lazily tossed the patch to the child, "but you should really consider ditching it. Besides, that right eye of yours, it is surprisingly stunning." Ivy then turned from the girl, still keeping an eye on her, and began to do her catalogging again. "Now off to bed with you!" She announced loudly. "You're gunna need the rest!"

Upon catching the eyepatch, Valentina quickly put it on, wasting no time at all, as if it was her helmet in space. In the space of seconds, the girl decided that she hated the woman for looking at her blind eye, for calling it 'surprisingly stunning'. Painful memories were returning. Painful memories of the gas station explosion, of the glass shard that flew into her right eye, the pain, the unbearable pain that made everything else seem trivial...

Begrudgingly, Valentina headed into the room the woman had dictated her to sleep in, taking slow, painful steps, afraid of what would come next. Lying down on the cot inside, Valentina instinctively curled up, her only good eye facing the door, afraid that the woman would come marching in to hurt her, to beat her up. Pulling her revolver and combat knife out, she stored them between her stomach and lap, confident that she would need them.

Then there was a click, and Valentina realised that the door was locked. Valentina felt like Rapunzel. Imprisoned. Trapped. And there was no way out, except through the witch's instructions.

Village of Pualmo. Just north east of Brasilia, Brazil.
June 26th. 2015. 0235 hours.

---

It was a war zone in every sense of the word. Recently, the LNO had been carving out areas of South America, battling cartels and governments, and winning. Eventually, the capital was taken and the US Embassy was surrounded, essentially being held hostage which led to a US and Brazilian led invasion to take back the compound.

Air raid sirens were going off, gunfire and small explosions were constant, and at this time of night, those various flashes lit up the night like fireworks. There were occasional screams, people yelling in the distance, and people running down the streets to flee when they thought it was safe. The smell was constantly changing. One moment, gunpowder was in the air, while the next it could be simply flames. The stink of death was there also, and so was the smell of destruction in the form of dust from any of the myriads of buildings that were destroyed to more or lesser degrees.

The night sky was not dark; it was lit up bright and orange and then riddles with huge, distinct beams of search lights. It was a war zone.

Itchy made his way through the streets, sticking as best he could to dark spots, keeping out of the open as often as possible. He was in Fallujah with Marine Force Recon and Syria with the U.S. Army and both were hellish. This, this was something else. This was an entire city tearing and shooting itself apart.

Itchy was alone, but he'd come here with a group of 3 SEALS. Unfortunately, one was wounded, and another killed, all because a girl with a doll was somewhere unexpected, and she screamed. Since then, the four had been under attack or avoiding patrols of LNO paramilitaries. When pinned down, the two men simply told Itchy to go, that they "got this." Itchy figured they were dead and that they had given him the means to escape the building and get to the target. He would not allow that to be in vain.

He could see the roof of the target building ahead and was about to exit an alley and cross the street when 2 modified Mercedez's ripped through the street. Itchy ducked back into the alley for a few moments before poking out his head and making sure it was clear. He raised his silenced M14 SOCOM to his shoulder and moved quickly across the street. He heard soldiers yelling, not more than 100 yards behind him, but that didn't concern him now.

He moved through the next alley and came to another street, one that was almost void of activity. One would not think that less than 50 feet away was the General of LNO, one of the most powerful and feared men in the world, a man capable of going to war with the United States and Brazil.

The man Itchy and the group had been sent to kill.

He moved across the street and along the front of a building when around the corner came two LNO soldiers. He would have let them go but they were about to turn in his direction. The first shot caught them both unaware as it took one in the temple. The second soldier hardly reacted, but turned fast enough to take this round in the right eye socket. Itchy moved and stepped over them, hardly noticing and not caring that one of those he stepped over was a boy that couldn't have been over 14. The AK 47 seemed to be bigger than both of his arms.

He dragged the bodies inside the building and continued on, peeking around the corner at the target building. Again he was about to turn the corner and make his way to the building when a small convoy of about 6 vehicles, including one armored personnel vehicle, raced up to the HVT's building and troops deployed in protective circles. Obviously, they were there to move the General. Itchy cursed under his breath and decided on a rather simple plan.

He waited for a moment or two, but laid down on the floor in the prone position, the most stable for firing, and he began to relax, finding his breath and focusing. The General walked out a moment later, stopped to point and bark an order that he never finished, because from less than 50 yards away, Itchy fired a 7.62mm round that ripped through the man's neck. The men around him raced into action, a few shielding the body of the General while the vast majority of the over 40 men focused on where the shot had been fired from, and that focus was in the form of dozens of rounds being fired every second. Itchy moved quickly, feeling and hearing rounds whip past and impact homes and the ground around him. He went to take cover in a building but as he was, soldiers behind him opened fire and an SUV shot around the corner and opened fire. Itchy moved to the alley, bullets slamming into the wooden home all around him, showering him with splinters.

He was almost at the end of the alley when he heard the distinct sound of an RPG behind him. He didn't move fast enough and projectile hit a dumpster behind him and Itchy was unconscious almost immediately. For the next 2 hours and 28 minutes, Itchy was held and tortured by LNO members as he moved in and out of consciousness. When asked who he was, he'd give them his name and answer questions. "Justin Beiber. Delta Force. Here to kill Adolph Hitler. Remember the alamo."

Itchy knew he was going to die and was simply trying to make it happen sooner. At one point he blacked out as hit body dealt with the pain, only to wake up to the room being lit up brightly, mainly from the outside via high intensity search lights. Someone picked his chin up and Itchy heard "--of ours" before passing out again. By some unfortunate happenstance, coalition forces stumbled upon the building and breached. Itchy would live. He's also get a commendation. When it was handed to him, he looked up and saw a face. It confused him and he dropped the commendation as the boy looked at Itchy. It was one of the younger boys Itchy had killed, where and when, he couldn't remember. Maybe it was all of them.

---

CDC Facility, Fort Leonard Wood, MS.
October 31st 2017.

---

Jon sat up suddenly. He looked around, confused and panicked. The military channel was on the TV and He looked at his bed. Jon once read about a prisoner in WW2 who survived the entire war as a POW, and one of the things that the man did daily to detach himself from what was going on was cover his head with his pillow and limit the oxygen allowed in. He'd then concentrate on something he wanted to think about or revisit and eventually, the lowered amount of oxygen and his focus and concentration , almost meditating, would put him at an altered state of mind. The effects were similar to that of using drugs. It was dangerous but it was something different. Jon had tried if a few times, and it works, just like it had just now. Only Jon had been thinking about Panama City Beach in Florida, not some hellish war zone over seas.

Next time, he'd turn off the military channel and try to find baywatch or some show that would lead him to a lot more fun of a place. Then after over 7 months of isolation, something hit Jon. He went to the channel guide and began looking for SOME form of adult entertainment....

"Shit, he's bleeding everywhere..."

"Just keep pressure on it."

"It's not fucking helping..."

"Just keep pressure on it."

Two men stumbled slowly through the trees, a third man in between them both with his arms slung over their shoulders and his feet dragging over broken sticks and small stones. His face was awash in sweat and his eyes, half opened, focused on everything and nothing. Blood oozed from a fresh wound, drenching his clothes and dripping onto the ground, the path they made marked by the trail of red they were leaving behind. His lips began to move and his voiced struggled to escaped a mouth full of his own blood.

"Whuuaa.... whuuaaar they"

The man on his left adjusted the weight on his back, pulling his share further up to rest on his shoulder. The man on his right did the same.

"Whuuaaaa-"

"Close. Shut up." The three of them continued moving forward trying to keep pace with themselves and not lose their footing. With their feet shuffling so low to the ground, there was the hazard of tripping over a stray branch that could be sticking awkwardly up in the air. With their strength already spent, falling would be the end of them. Not to mention how uneven the ground itself was. Every step they took was draining and the farther they got, the closer they came to dropping their friend. However they soon stumbled into a clearing and all three stepped onto what looked to be the tip of a cul de sac. Their end of the road was bare of anything but some cracked pavement and the closest house was little more than half a football field away. It was a simple two story home, fresh grey paint with five front facing windows and matching shutters for each all surrounding the single door. There was the front porch resting under the shade of the canopy, the single garage with driveway and the out of place metal fencing surrounding the front lawn. Besides the fencing... the black scaring on the second floor drew their attention. It seemed that a fire had tried to eat away at the house but hadn't quite finished the job.

"What do you think?" Further down the road, the dead that'd been attracted to all the noise were already amassing on the street. Any other house that may have been preferred were already being over taking leaving them no choice.

---

All eyes fell on the map of Missouri, a land mass of nearly seventy thousand square miles and a population of six million... all of which were hostile. Sprawling across the state were cities, major roads, small rural towns, points of interest most of which had been covered with a plethora of circles and X's. What had already been explored was clearly marked and what was left were blank, soon to be covered by it's own symbol. Today, three men in particular would be sent to explore part of the city of Waynesville in chase of a tip they'd received.

"I know we usually send you out in pods of four but it looks like we're a little short handed today. Michael as we all know fell ill last night." Some of the men nodded their heads. There were a little over ten in attendance, all of them weary eyed, ragged hair, all smelling like shit. "And Candice is still recovering."

"Told that dumbass not to fuck her." There was this deep chuckle that vibrated through the group, most of them smiling and throwing glances at each other.

"Hey hey. Focus." He tapped on the hood of the car, bringing everyone's attention to him. "So you two will be short by two heads which means I'll be joining you." He pointed at two men. One of them still fairly new to the group went by the name Mathew. Despite being in he middle of the apocalypse, he still had this glow in his eyes, this look of hope on his face as if things were going to get better. Abel on the other hand, had been with the group since its inception. Whatever light was there before had faded long ago, and what hope he held was replaced with a strong grasp for reality... or at least that's what he liked to call it. It's what made him the most valuable among the rest of the crew and why Billy had chosen him to tag along when he'd realized they'd be short. "Unfortunately we don't have an extra hand so it'll just be us three." The two men nodded in unison, both of them realizing their handicap, Abel more so.

"Do I get to drive?" Mathew smiled.

"No you don't. My truck, I drive." Billy folded up the map, stuffing it in his pack and threw it over his shoulder. "Besides you can't drive stick for shit."

"I'll drive this stick right up your ass." Mathew jiggled the rifle around in his hand as he went through the motions of sticking the barrel through the rectum of some imaginary asshole.

"Just get in the damn truck."

---

Mathew's eyes opened to blurred colors, his head spinning after having suddenly blacked out. There was the grey dashboard of the truck in front of him, glove box open and hanging in an awkward position pointing upwards. The windshield was still in place however, looking as clean as ev-

"Wh..." Mathew craned his head down at his lap looking for what he thought would be glass shards from a missing window but didn't see a thing. No sparkle or glint in the sunlight, just the dark blue jeans he'd put on that morning. However, it was precisely at that moment that he realized something important. There was this force, this feeling that he was being pulled up into the air. Looking past the windshield this time, his eyes fell on a wall of trees that'd been planted... upside down. He simply stared at them for a while, his mind racing to catch up with his joggled memories as he realized what was going on.

"Fuck.... FUCK." He turned to his left. "Billly!" He ripped himself from his seat belt, dropping onto the roof of the truck and crawled over to his upturned and bleeding figure, winching as the skin on his hands sliced themselves on shards of glass. "Billy... fuck. We need to get you out of here." Billy managed a soft moan in response. He was hanging upside down still trapped in place by his seat belt, his left arm dripping quite a bit of blood from a fresh wound in his shoulder. "Jesus... Jesus that's a lot of blood."

"I'll get him.... climb out." Mathew turned toward the back seat to see Abel coming to as well. His hand fumbled around with his buckle but when it wouldn't release, he pulled the knife from his hip and cut himself free, landing hard on his head. "Shit..." He carefully unfolded and righted himself just as Mathew began kicking out the passenger window. The cabin filled with the sounds of feeble attempts to break through glass and with each kick, Mathew fatigued. Abel stopped to look at the man trying his best to remain calm and refrain from killing him outright. He was doing more harm to himself than good. "The hell are you doing? The wind shield is blasted! Go out that way!" He pointed with his knife, the tip of the blade coming to a stop a little to close to Mathew's jugular.

Finally outside, Mathew caught a quick break, looking around to better understand what had happened. There were skid marks along the road that lead to their upturned truck and shards of glass and plastic lying everywhere. To their right was the break of trees he'd been looking at earlier. To his North was the empty road, a turn about a few hundred yards out. Behind him however... the moans of the dead were becoming ever louder. Within a handful of minutes the first would be upon them. He turned back to the truck, and ducked down into the Cabin.

"Shufflers maybe four minutes out."

"Ya I see them." Abel pressed the blade of his knife into the edge of the seat belt, tearing into the fabric and cutting Billy free. He fell face first and screamed out as shards of glass embedded themselves in his face.

"What the fuck man!"

"Shut up and help me out." Abel fed Mathew Billy's hands before directing him to pull him through the open windshield. As he pulled, Abel did his best to support the man's weight and at the same time, push. The priority was getting him out but if he could help by preventing his already injured body from being sliced further, he'd try. A minute of careful maneuvering and lots of swearing and Billy's bloody form fell free from the truck.

"Holy hell he's losing a lot of blood."

As Mathew spoke, two more trucks turned down their road. White in color with plates of metal wielded to the sides and bars in place of windows. Mounted to the back of the lead vehicle was what looked to be some kind of large gun. Abel didn't know what it was. He'd served no time in the military and had little training when it came to firearms save for his pistol. Although by now he was able to use it proficiently, when it came to anything else, he was clueless. However he understood whatever it was meant to kill them.

"We need to move now. Get him up." He grabbed Billy's right arm while Mathew jumped to his left and together they hoisted him up. "Pressure." He said, nodding toward the gushing hole in his arm. Mathew's hand flew over the gap and tried to keep what blood he could from seeping out. By the time they pushed into the treeline, there was red dripping from between his fingers onto the ground below.

---

"Red." Abel stared out his window at the world as it slipped past him. "It was always red."

"I still think it tastes like shit."

"It was never my choice and she only ever broke it out on special occasions..." There were large empty expanses of space that would appear out of the blue at times. Nothing but green grass that seemed to flow on forever, hills in the backdrop and a lone tree in the middle of it all. Alone, lost... alive although it always seemed dead. "...Birthdays, anniversaries... special dinners." Abel continued to stare as Billy nodded absentmindedly.

"You miss it?... Any of it?"

Out there, the world seemed barren. What was left, what life tried to fill the empty space was stretched so thin it was like it didn't exist at all. They could travel for days and not run into a single person, an animal, even at times the dead seemed a rare find. It wasn't until all these things were gone that he realized how empty everything could be and as he took in the empty grass field before him, he began to wish for something he promised he wouldn't. A single shrub, a blooming flower.

"Lilacs..."

"You know what I miss?..." Mathew cut in, his over joyous tone rubbing the other two the wrong way and making Abel's ears itch. "Kendama." Abel furrowed his brow as did Billy.

"The fuck is Kehdama."

"It's this con-"

"Sounds like some butt fuck of a religion." Abel let the words slip to Billy's delight. He let a smile appear on his face as he turned to look at Mathew. "So that's it then... Kehdama. How long have we been trying to figure out what he used to do?"

"More interested in the reward actually. Narrowed it down at least... Maybe altar boy?" Abel pulled himself from the window as he began to think up other possibilities. He knew none of them to be correct but he was hardly one to pass up a good conversation. It was in his genes to continue.

"No fucker. Kendama... It's like this contraption that you know... you throw around and shit." His hands made a flurry of circular and thrusting motions as he tried to reenact playing with one. "Has a ball and some cups and stick poking through a hole and it's shaped like a cro-"

"Wow, sounds like my kind of religion... how big are the cups?"

"No no.." Billy started. "I think he means which hole?"

"Ookay. Fuck you both." Mathew turned back around and faced forward in time to notice the tip of a small town coming into view. "I don't know man. It was just something I enjoyed doing when trying to pass the time. It certainly beats sitting in this car with the both of you."

"Aaahh see? You hurt his feelings." Abel said with a smile. Outside his window, the first small houses began to pass them by. These were the furthest from the center, old and decrepit up crops of a home that did little when it came to shelter. Most of them had been entirely boarded up while the rest that weren't could barely stand on their own foundation.

"I'm sorry Mathew... Just you know... warn us before you start jerking your dick."

"Ya we're stopping here. I'm getting out you assholes."

"Awww come on."

Mathew gave them both the finger as he stepped out of the truck and started toward the closest house. "You two are on your own."

---

"I got you..."

Abel and Mathew doubled timed it toward the house, the dead closing in from the road and more slipping through the trees. They struggled to pull Billy up the driveway as his weight began to bear down on them. It was clear he was losing consciousness.

"We're almost there..."

Abel was the first to reach the door, kicking it in without checking to see if anyone or anything was waiting on the other side. It swung open a little to quick to have been closed properly. Stepping in, the three men found themselves standing in a quaint living room. There was the white carpet on the ground, a sofa pushed into the corner of the room. To their right hung the mount to a TV that was no longer there. The room itself turned into the kitchen with a bar counter separating the two. At the very back was an odd looking door. Along the walls were the telling signs of missing pictures frames. Every now and again there would be an almost pure white square stain where some image use to hang. Perhaps a picture of the small american family: a wife and husband, single child and their one dog all packed neatly into a box. A memory packed away. Abel recalled how many of the homes he'd entered after the rise were missing the same things. Pictures...

...People...

All three of them staggered further into the house before deciding to prop BIlly against the counter. "As soon as we put him down..." Abel began as they lowered him delicately to the floor. "I want you to remove your belt and tie it around his arm... above the hole." They set him down and leaned him against the counter. "Do it quick." He got up and moved toward the door, shutting it just as the first shuffler tripped itself up on the porch step. Moving toward the sofa, he picked up his end and began pulling back toward the door... until something burst through the wall just behind his head throwing dry wall, paint and dust into his face. He immediately dropped the sofa and hit the floor.

"Shit!"

Another bullet smashed through the house, burying itself in the open refrigerator. A third. Suddenly the door was pushed open and a the first of the dead stepped inside. Abel rolled onto his back, kicking his foot out and catching the shuffler across the shin, it fell forward and hit the ground hard. He followed up with his knife, shoving the tip through the back of it's skull and burying it in the brain. Before he had to time recover however, a second wandered inside. It turned toward Abel as he fought to pull the knife from the corpse but just as it was about to fall on them both, it's head exploded. His arm shot up over his face instinctively as brain matter showered the white walls and rugs and left blood all over himself.

"Close the damn do-!" Mathew was cut off by the sound of a fourth bullet smashing through the door. This time he fired at the window, dumping four rounds through the glass hoping to hit something on the other side. "Close it!"

Before Abel could comply, two more shufflers pushed their way inside.

...Shit...

He shoved the door against them with his heel, stunning them and giving himself the chance to vault to his feet. Mathew managed to clip his second kill in the shoulder before nailing it in the head. It buckled over the other two corpses just as Abel disappeared into the other rooms.

"The fuck are you going?!"

"Back inside the truck?"

"Why are you cheesing so god damn much?"

Mathew turned to look at Abel.. his eyes glinting again just as they had been before. Abel never understood where people found these slivers of hope. He only wished they'd stop waving the shit in his face. It was annoying. "I found-... you know what. I found nothing." He turned back toward the truck holding the same smile he'd been holding since he stepped out of the store. He climbed inside the cabin just as Billy caught up with Abel.

"The fuck is he so happy about?" He was confused. The both of them had come up empty handed after searching house after house. This was hardly a reason to be smiling and if he had found something worth taking, he was obligated to share what it was... especially if it was food. He could already feel the familiar turning in his gut reminding him that he was running on fumes.

"I don't know." Abel shrugged. "Says he found something but he doesn't want to share what it is. Knowing him... probably something small enough to fit in his ass." He cracked a smile, Billy along with him. "Anyways there's nothing here. I'm starting to think that bitch lied to us."

"Ya... me too." Billy looked around at the rest of the houses on their street. These homes were middle class, two story wonders. Something he had wished he owned in his past life. Most of the lawns now were dead from lack of upkeep but he could imagine the perfect green lawns, cut grass, maybe a small tree growing in it's center. There were probably kids running up and down the driveways without a care in the world. It was free and open and beautiful place to have lived in... nothing like city life. Back then, these people had so much that at times they squandered their riches, took things for granted. Now everything was valuable but despite having so much, these houses were nothing but shells. Empty and shallow.. haunted by memories. Nothing worth taking here.

"Well... we still have a few spots to check." Abel started back toward the truck. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Back on the road, the three continued their mindless banter, all of them now rambling about nothing and everything at the same time. There were stories of the past tossed between them, stories of the future, of things that they hoped would come to pass. Stories about how they survived up until now and how they learned to live in the new world. It was the same conversation Abel had with everyone after the Rise. Everyone was interested in how you managed to stay alive. No one wanted to know how you died... how they died.. like it was a bad dream that they wanted to simply forget... Abel along with them... and he did. It was surprising to him how easy it was to let things go. He didn't know if it was just the way he was, how he'd been programmed to be but it disgusted him. As he stared out the window, he caught a reflection of himself in the mirror. His face looked tired... lifeless almost. His grey eyes were always devoid of color, they were never really something he liked looking at. They were beautiful. Women never walked away remembering the way his eyes sparkled... They looked like dark ominous clouds trapped in a bubble, like a storm waiting to burst forth... like rain that's been trapped. What did people remember out him? His words.. his lips. Even now they moved, spitting forth nonsense, things he didn't half believe himself, things he didn't listen to. His lips moved but he didn't hear anything he was saying.

...Has it always been like this?...

He could almost hear the answer echo in his head.... not in the form of words or sentences.. but in images... the way he'd always seen things. In smells... Lilacs.. spots of green light... silk. When it all disappeared, he'd felt as if his world had started to tumble, he could feel himself loosing his grasp, being pulled back and forth, left and right by some invisible force.

Shards of glass glided in front of him, splaying glimmering light into his view of the world spinning out of the control outside. It was beautiful... picturesque. Maybe that's just how his world was... a beautiful mess. But he still hated it. He'd let things go and saw it as something to admire... something to build on and it wasn't.

More shards of glass followed by the glint of something metal disappearing into a cloud of cotton. Like a falling star pushing through clouds. Beautiful. Where he was now, in this state of bliss, he could almost feel it again... her a voice.

...abel...

No that's not right... it's missing something.. that wasn't his full name...

...abel...

No... no.

"ABEL!"

Abel's snapped his head around in time to see another bullet smash through the windshield. It glided along an invisible path surrounded by shards of glass, burying it's head into Billy's arm and ripping right through it. His seat turned red.

---

He searched everywhere. A broken window, a conveniently placed vent, a smugglers den... he didn't care what it was so long as it provided an escape, but as he looked around, he realized there was no escape. Not for him, not for Mathew and especially not for Billy. There were windows but they'd been boarded up and there wasn't enough to time rip them from the wall.

"Shit!"

They were going to die...or.... they were going to die. A light appeared at the end of the tunnel and he smiled as he finally found a way out.

"Well?!" The pile of bodies blocking the front door had grown to little more than six but while it was slowing the assault, it wasn't enough to stop them and Mathew was running out of bullets. Without saying a word, Abel pulled Mathew to his feet and dragged him back toward the back door, leaving Billy against the counter. The bleeding man muttered something.

"The fuck are you doing?! We need to grab hi-"

"Shut it! He's going to buy us some time!" He screamed out as he threw a heel into the door. It didn't budge. A second attempt was met with much of the same. Another bullet smashed into the wall beside them.

"Hurry... " Mathew watched as the dead turned toward their closest meal. They climbed over the bodies piled in front of the door, snarled and bit at the air. Mathew dropped two more before the gun in his hand began to click with the sounds of no ammunition but he continued to pull the trigger... continued to watch as they fell on Billy and ripped at his flesh. There were no sounds for him... everything was mute save for the screaming in the air.

"Two fucking locks...." Two bolts faced him which he'd already turned but the final two needed picking. "The fuck is behind this door?" He threw his pack on the ground and pulled out two hair pins.

"Abel..."

Abel turned to see more of the dead flooding in, the rest ignoring Billy's corpse and turning toward them. They climbed over the pile of bodies with this renewed fervor, their arms outstretched and their jaws hung open.

"Abel..." Mathew fell back toward the door but suddenly caught on something... something sharp. He felt it... pierce through his skin... cut into his flesh... He felt his lungs fill with blood.

"Sorry Mathew." Abel pulled the knife from his back and threw him at the ground in front of the dead. "Don't take this personally." Mathew fell, his eyes looking back at Abel, watching him as he turned without a second glance, without a single shred of remorse. He simply opened the door and left him behind. He felt hatred... hatred that turned to regret... and then sadness and finally loneliness. Loneliness turned to pity as he felt teeth sink into his back, his neck, his arm. He felt his skin being pulled apart, his muscles being torn from his bones, he felt pain ebbing away at his life. Unable to scream, he simply closed his eyes and went to sleep.

---

A third line was etched into the wall next to him.

"Three days..." He says as he stares at the tally marks. "Three days since I locked myself in here." He turns to look at the rest of the room once more. A dark and lonely place. Scarred, haunted... there on the floor were the last of his water and food supply. All he had left was the single sliver of meat in his tin can. He didn't dare touch it... he would fight through the emptiness in his gut for as long as he could.

"You're probably think me to be some kind of asshole... some kind of heartless fuck." He closes his eyes as he tries to find something to answer you with, to answer the question he's imposed on himself. "I grew up with one rule." He opens his eyes. "Opportunity."

Able slowly pushes himself to his feet, his legs weak from having sat in one spot for so long. His clothing is covered in dust and debris, his lungs filled with the smell of burnt wood. His mind filled with the nonsense that somehow drives him onward. He begins to make his way down a long flight of stairs toward the blocked door waiting at the bottom. "Opportunities never come twice. You only get one chance in life.." As he reached the landing at the bottom of the steps, he places his hand against the sofa he'd managed to prop against the door and pushes it back against the opposite wall. He speaks again as he undoes the locks. "So... when an opportunity presents itself... you seize it." He pulls the door open slowly.

What stands before him is horrifyingly beautiful. Where most would see death, he sees a product of choices and opportunities made and taken that all lead to this portrait. Littering the ground of this once gorgeous home are the inanimate corpses of the dead. They're strewn everywhere with nay a single sliver of the floor visible. All of their heads have been blown out, most of them sporting a wide hole while some are missing entirely. None of them are coming back. A few feet from the door is the stripped body of Mathew. His flesh has been torn through, his guts having spilled across the kitchen tiles. What clothing was salvageable was taken from him including his boots and belt along with the holster and the matching gun. His backpack had been turned over, the useless contents spilled on top of one of the counters.

Stepping over and in between bodies, he maneuvers his way into the living and turns to look at Billy. He's unrecognizable, a skeleton with pieces of flesh clinging to what remains of his body. There was nothing left to take. In his lap are a few of the items left from Mathew's pack, these items having dropped off the counter and landing on top of him. There's a few KFC hand wipes surprisingly left behind. There's a bloodied pamphlet of some kind, maps, a pen, a broken pair of glasses... and finally... a peculiar contraption... A toy like object with two cups on either side and a ball on a string attached to the tip. He walks over and picks it up, turning it over in his hands as he looks it over. Placing the ball on top where he figured it went, he held it up in front of him.

...Looks like a cross...

---

Abel pushed through the rest of the men to see what all the fuss was about. In the center of this small circle was a woman tied to a tree... surprisingly still alive.From the state she was in, it seemed she'd been tethered to her spot for a couple days already. Her frame was weak, her eyes dropping and the rope around her wrist had already cut down to the bone. The sight was unbearable to some.

Billy stood closest to her, the flat of his machete pressed under her chin as he tried to look into her eyes. Abel strode to his side and she turned her gaze to him.

"Says her name is Candice..." Billy started.

"....I'll.... be... whatever... you want... me.. to be." The woman struggled with every word, her lungs heaving and her body quivering as she spoke. "Just cut me loose." Abel simply stared back. As far as he was concerned, she was already dead. The woman possessed more luck than she deserved.

"Says she was part of a smaller group... they have a good stash. Could be a good score."

Able shook his head. "Good stash wasn't good enough." He said as he turned toward the smoking cabin. The fire had climbed high in the sky and although it had alerted them, they hadn't seen anyone else move in to investigate. They'd waited around for a while and finally decided to move in themselves hoping to find something... but not expecting this.

"Guys come on... let's just cut her down already." Billy and Abel both turned to see Mathew push through the crowd. The glint in his eyes was wavering. "She looks like she's been through enough and besides, she could lead us to the other people... recruit them, sell them... everybody wins right?"

Candice's eyes darted over to Mathew. "He's... right.... I'll help...."

"Where are they?" Abel asked. Candice shut her mouth but Billy pressed the tip of his blade against the skin of her neck.

"Where are they?"

"Waynesville... Waynesville"

Sitting alone at a small diner was a man, his only company a cup of coffee he hadn't touched, an empty glass of water, and a plate with a half eaten sandwich. He checked his watch and took another bite, washing it down with water as another man came and sat down without a word. The two nodded to each other and stared for a few moments. The one who'd been sitting was clean shaven, younger looking and had very short, brown hair while the other was a bit older with longer blond hair and a full, albeit slightly short beard.

Finally, the younger one spoke up. "Hey man." The other responded, "hey," and there was another minute silence. The bearded man spoke up again. "You uh. We need to talk. Can you..."

He stared at the bearded man, raising an eyebrow. He'd known him for some time, even done a few missions together. He also knew what he was, and what he heard in his voice wasn't supposed to be there. Something was wrong. "Yeah. Sure man."

The older of the two sat and stared at the table, the fingers of his hand tapping in some random patterns that he couldn't figure out as he watched him. Everything about this screamed "wrong" to him as he watched. Finally the other man spoke up, confirming his thoughts. "Man...I. Something's wrong."

"I can see that," he responded, taking a sip of his water.

"It's that I've been. I don't know man. Thinking. Have you ever thought about what we do?"

"Every time we have to do it."

The man gave a frustrated sigh through his beard. "No. Think. Like. Look at that couple there, what do you see."

He looked over, there was a man and woman sitting together at a table. He could tell they were intimate and exclusive, but they hadn't been together long. They didn't sit across from each other, they sat closer so that their knees were almost touching. They were laughing and flirting and didn't seem to pay attention to anything going on around them. It seemed as if the only thing in the world was them.

"They're a couple, they're in love."

"And them?" The bearded man motioned to the couple across from them. He looked over, took it in for a fraction of a second. "Friends. They go to school, out for lunch. Plutonic. He's single, she's involved with someone, but he wants something with her. Not going to happen though." He could have gone on, mentioning other things about them, but he looked at the man across from him, sipped his water and asked, "what are you going on about?"

"Damnit man. You just see, you don't feel. What the fuck. I'm out man, I'm done. I can't just go on like this anymore. I stopped seeing and started feeling and I can't do this."

At this point, he didn't know what to say, how to react. He assumed this was some kind of test. The Agency had never done anything like this, but this was to see how he'd react, check if he was unraveling.

It had to be, because there was no other excuse or reason that this could be happening.

"Don't you ever want that? Any of that?"

"Look, I don--."

The man interrupted him, "Just. Listen. Because I can't tell anyone, but I have to tell someone. And you can tell them, tell them everything, I don't care. I can't just do this. I see that, that couple. And I know exactly what's going on, I probably know more than they do about what's going on. And I don't know shit. Nothing. Not a fucking thing. But lately, it's different. I want it. I just want other stuff."

He watched and listened staring at the man, studying him. What he saw and heard made him more nervous. He furrowed an eyebrow and tried to make heads or tails of this. He wanted to think it was a test, that this was something he was supposed to see and recognize.

But he could tell that everything that was being said was genuine.

He adjusted in his chair and took another sip of water, finishing the glass. "What do you want? What're you gunna do?"

"I don't know. What can I do? I don't know what I can do. I just. I want to feel something. I can see everything. I see people, families, love, hate, desire, fear. I see all kinds of stuff, and what do I have? It's empty. It's nothing."

He watched and listened and had no idea how to react. It wasn't about the situation though, not anymore. He simply had no idea what to say--which was ok because the bearded man seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone. He wasn't even looking at him, he was staring at something on the table.

There was another 2 or 3 minutes of silence before he continued speaking his thoughts. "You. Me. We're going to die some day. Maybe here. Maybe old age. Maybe in some sandy desert. Or some city. Or the jungle. Shot, stabbed or blown to shit. And we're not going to have anything. Not a fucking thing. Not even a god damn name."

He tugged at his beard in thought and stood up, exhaling deeply. "Look. Not sure what I'm going to do. But, you tell them whatever. I know you would anyway. I hope you're better than me, I hope you never deal with this. Seeing is easier than feeling." He stood there as if he toyed with saying something else, saying more--or maybe he was hoping for the other man to say something.

Instead he nodded to the man as he stood there and without another word, he turned around and left.

The next morning, he was pulled into an office and interviewed by 4 other people and asked a myriad of questions regarding the meeting. He told them everything, exactly as it happened. Exactly as he was trained to do. Exactly as he knew he should.

The interview was over and the men all nodded and thanked him. He stood, opened the door and as he was about to step out, one of them said. "And by the way, Agent Jacobs committed suicide last night."

He nodded and left the office, and walked down the hallway. The only thing he could think is that he was not surprised. He could see this was going to happen.

November 3rd, 2017, 1:33pm, Waynesville, Southwest Missouri

Valentina could not sleep. She had tried for what felt like forever, and she couldn't even close her eyes - but in truth, she didn't dare. She remembered stories about witches. Hansel and Gretel. She felt like Gretel, except she had no Hansel for company. Or rather, her Hansel had died a long time ago. The snub-nosed revolver and knife sitting between her stomach and lap weighed heavily on her, as if calling out to her to be used.

Back in one of her sleep spots in an apartment building, she had cans of beer to help her with such a problem. Valentina remembered what her father had said about beer, but he was no longer around. She furrowed her brows. The thought of Daddy brought her back to the time of his slow demise, when he held back a whole ocean of the dead with the help of only a few soldiers. Valentina loved him, so, so much, yet she couldn't help but to hate him for leaving her, and yet she felt so confused about herself, about how it was possible to love and hate her own father at the same time when all she knew before was to either love or hate. Valentina's Daddy would have slapped her for it, but her cans of beer was helpful when it comes to sleeping.

In truth, it had only been 20 minutes, and by the half hour mark, Valentina fell asleep regardless, against all odds. In the faint thoughts that followed before sweet, sweet darkness came, Valentina wondered how it was possible that she could feel sleepy around the witch outside the door, especially one who could kill her no matter how much she struggled and screamed and kicked...

"What's making love?" Valentina asked, the words she had just heard did not make sense at all. There were too many questions, and no answers: How could love be made? How do you make love? Valentina thought the woman and her friend, who had just returned from somewhere, were just kidding. Valentina had not heard a joke ever since... he died, but she could not bring herself to laugh at all, as both curiosity and wariness was filling her mind.

"That's what she said before." The woman, who said her name was Marilyn, said light-heartedly to her friend, throwing her arms comically as she smiled. Valentina thought her smile was a little... scary for some reason, but she thought she was just tired - it had been a long day, trying to find food and then finding little. All she had found were more biters and bad-looking people. Marilyn and her friend were the first people who weren't trying to hurt her after spotting her. Instead, when Marilyn was alone, she had invited Valentina into the house even when she had tried to break into it.

"Is that so?" The man, who said his name was Manson, said. There was a look on his face that Valentina could not understand. It looked like he was smiling and happy, but at the same time he didn't, "How about we show you? It's a fun little something, you know."

"O...Okay..." Valentina stammered, suddenly afraid, like when she knew that a practical joke was going to be played on her by a boy and was still going to fall for it anyway. The smiles that her two new friends were wearing unnerved her a little. After agreeing to what she thought would be a fun game, or something like what a family would do, Manson lead her into a room where there was a huge bed, something that Valentina remembered her father would call 'Emperor-sized' jokingly. There, Manson carried her by the waist and laid her down on her back, "What am I supposed to do?" Looking up, she saw that the woman was behind Manson, smiling in a not-so-smiling way.

"Just lie down, baby and... Close your eyes." Marilyn said, thrilled at getting to play the 'game'. Valentina felt confused, but did as she was told, closing her eyes and waiting for the practical joke. On the other hand, she thought that they were about to give her a surprise. For a crazy moment, she thought that they were friends with Lieutenant Hugh, or her father, and was about to bring either one of them into the room for a surprise. Valentina held onto that thought, hoping that it would come true. For the first time in a long while, the young girl actually smiled. Marilyn seemed to like that very much: "Good girl! You'll do more than smiling next, sugar."

As Valentina waited, she could feel something heavy climbing into bed next to her, and that heavy thing coming, lying down on top of her, pressing down on her. The young girl could hardly breathe, yet she could smell that it was Manson - she could smell sweat, and something else that she could not name. In fact, both Marilyn and Manson smelt that way. As Manson slipped his arms around Valentina's back, the girl thought that it was just a family tradition that they had to do for her to be accepted into the family. She remembered about family traditions - every family had one. It was what Daddy told her. Valentina had all kinds of festivals and celebrations in the family that few other families had, and they would always visit Russia... 'Maybe this is their family tradition...' Valentina thought.

Valentina liked it. She had never been hugged before, not for a long time. She felt warmth and love, and thought this was what they meant by making love. The girl hugged back, and liked it... Until she could feel something moist and disgusting down her neck before feeling it shoved on her lips. Opening her eyes, she saw Manson, up close... Kissing her in the lips. Wide-eyed from surprise, Valentina was beginning to doubt herself and everything, and when she could feel the man's fingers digging into her back, and saw his face withdrawing and pressing itself against her chest, she began to shiver, and feel fear. Her back was beginning to flare with pain.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Valentina protested, but it was as if Manson was deaf. Instead, the man was lifting her shirt up. Looking around at Marilyn, hoping to find help in her, all she saw was the woman putting a finger on her lips and then coming closer, and closer, looming over her. Marilyn was taking off her belt for some reason and Valentina could not understand, but more so, the fear in her was becoming terror. The man on top of her continued to pull at her shirt, managing to lift it up to her chest even when Valentina was trying to pull it back down, "No!"

"C'mon, you lil' cunt, give me some sugar!" The man said, and all of a sudden, Valentina found that she hated him, "You wanted it, remember baby?" He became rough, and soon Valentina could hear something ripping, and found that it was her shirt. Somewhere and somehow along the line, her pirate eyepatch had disappeared.

Valentina screamed as her shirt was torn down the middle...

Valentina screamed as she could feel the man on her bare chest...

She screamed as she remembered what to do, and started groping...

She screamed as she groped against the barrier of no hope...

As the man was trying to undo her belt...

Valentina screamed, but as she found the solid handle of Lieutenant Hugh's combat knife, her lighthouse in a sea of hopelessness, she unsheathed her weapon and brought it sideways into Manson's tickle zone desperately. It went all the way in, sinking down to the guard. Manson's scream was far louder than anything Valentina could muster. "Son of a bitch!!!" He cried as he writhed in pain. Valentina stabbed and stabbed again, the blood flowing in huge amounts onto her jeans and the 'Emperor-sized' bed. Into the lung, into his stomach, until Manson, in his effort to get away, accidentally fell off the bed.

Marilyn was staring, just staring, as it all happened, her own jeans loose as her belt was off and the zippers were undone. As soon as the woman made a move for her pistol, Valentina did the same thing with her revolver. Gunshots rang out, two almost in unison. Both of them froze, gun in hand, both believing themselves to have won... Before the woman whom Valentina thought was a friend fell over, coughing out blood from both her mouth and a hole in her throat.

Valentina cried, cried hard as she tried to sit up, and barely could not as she could feel pain all over her body - It wasn't long before she realised that she had been shot as well, and it was a long, nasty-looking thing on her shoulder - a graze wound. Had the woman fired her pistol a little more to her left, she would have been lying down next to her and Manson.

The girl tried to get off the bed, and tumbled down instead, finding it hard to move as her body felt used and bruised, as pain was all over her, not to mention her jeans had dropped as she tried to slip off the tall bed. Getting up, she found that she could barely stand up, much less bend down to pull her pants up. She had stopped crying, but couldn't help but to start again. "Dad..." She cried, suddenly missing him, really, really missing him, wishing that he was with her, wishing for his huge, powerful arms to be around her, only to feel the cold air of night and darkness, of two new ghosts watching her.

"Dad..." Valentina mumbled in her sleep as newly produced tears slipped out of her closed eyelids, wetting her pillow.

Manhattan, New York
September 2014

Daniel looked down at his watch. He had been sitting in this bloody church for three hours going on forty. Taking confession was by far his least favorite priestly duty, but he was required to log a certain number of hours for seminary. He slumped down in his chair trying to get in some position to wake up his numb ass. This embroidered, purple monstrosity was a poor excuse for a cushion. He sat with his back to a portable screen, facing the altar. Everyone who came in walked up to the small prayer bench on the other side and knelt with clasped hands and heavy hearts to be absolved.

The first hour directly followed morning prayer and was the busiest. It was full of the older crowd, the only ones other than red-faced business men that were easily up at that ungodly hour in Manhattan. With the women it was always about guilt and how it manifested itself in their interactions with others. How they secretly cursed them, envied them, or otherwise wished them ill. For the men, it was usually out of fear over anything else. They were afraid their wife was going to find out, they were afraid their livers were going to fail, they were afraid of losing their jobs. Everyone was under the misguided assumption that they were baring themselves before God. In reality, he always saw it as people just trying to get right with themselves, or feel better about the choices they made somehow.

The second hour had brought in some people that were clearly uncomfortable and nervous. Their voices were shaky and they had trouble bringing their thoughts to their lips. These people usually confessed to not having regularly attended church or been lacking in their responsibilities to their faith.

The third hour was nothing. Mid-morning meant quiet time. Everyone had gone to work or started their daily routines. Dan's eyelids started to get heavy. It might have been considered blasphemous, but he imagined what better things he could be doing right now. He could be practicing on his banjo. He could be spending time with family or friends. He could be reading alone in his room. He could be--

“Um. Excuse me. Are you there?” A woman had snuck up on him and quietly lowered herself down on the bench. Feeling out of place, she tried not to disturb anything.

Dan's head shot back up so quickly that he banged it on the back of the wooden chair. He sucked in air and winced while trying to rub the pain away.

“Yes, I'm here. Go ahead.” She noticed his perturbed tone. He was thinking more about his head than he was about the person on the other side. Daniel forced himself to sit up straight and shook his head back and forth to try and wake himself up.

“Well... how do I say this? I guess.. um...” The woman, with fingers laced started to fidget a bit. Her palms were sweaty.

“Don't be nervous. Just go ahead.” She sounded young. It was odd to hear at this time of day, or even at all. Confused, he just wished the woman would hurry up. Maybe he could sneak out early and take a nap.

“Well, I've never done this before. I've never been to this church before. I wanted to--”

“Why are you here then?” Daniel cut her off, trying to get her to the point quickly. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back once more.

“Well, I live kind of nearby. I'm wondering... is it possible for a person like me to be forgiven?” His tone and short temper did nothing to calm her nerves, but she tried to stay strong. She had passed by the church several times before, always wanting to come in, but never had. Her family wasn't religious and what little she had heard from her friends over the years made the whole faith-thing sound ridiculous.

Dan rolled his eyes. She wasn't giving him much to go on. “Well, that all depends. Why don't you just go ahead and tell me what's bothering you? We'll worry about the forgiveness part after.” It was the best answer he could come up with at the time. The woman reminded him of his sister, always slightly unsure of herself, always afraid of what people thought of her.

She sat in silence trying to summon her courage for a few moments. She looked around the church. It was dead silent. The only others in there were both at the back kneeling before the votives in prayer. Surely they would not be able to hear her. She made an audible gulp before continuing. “I had an abortion. Can I be forgiven for something like that?”

Daniel finally shut up. He heard her sniffle. Just before he opened his mouth to give her some monotonous speech about how Anglicans felt about abortion, she started again.

“It was my step father's. He attacked me. I tried. I really tried to feel differently about it. To make myself bring it to term... but I was only sixteen. I didn't know what to do. And the thought of...” Her voice was cracking. She anxiously wiped away any tears that fell, slightly frustrated that she was crying this many years later. She'd been through therapy for all of this.

Daniel froze at the words this time. His heart started racing and he felt as if it wanted to pop out of his chest Aliens style. It suddenly got unbearably hot. He tugged at his starched collar. He was truly speechless now. Thoughtless, even.

“The thought of... I hated it. It was a parasite. The shame. It was eating me alive. Sucking away at my life force. Now I just wonder. I wonder every time I see a mother and child in the street or at the park. Should I have kept it?” She shook her head and slowly brought it down to rest between her forearms.

Daniel just stayed silent. He'd never taken a confession like this before. He'd never heard of anything like this before. Growing up in Kentucky, he lived a fairly sheltered life. Once he got to college he of course got more sexual experience. And no one left college without learning about date rape or hearing stories.

“So, is it possible for someone like me to be forgiven?” She waited a few moments for an answer. A few moments turned into a minute. She started to get ancy and began fidgeting again. “Well, can I?!” She raised her voice, but not so loud as to echo throughout the sanctuary.

Daniel snapped himself out of it despite all of the thoughts and emotions going through his head. He answered quickly.“Yes! You're forgiven! God is with you!” Somehow he had found his way to his feet and into a standing position. He put his index and middle fingertips to the corners of his right eye. It felt wet and sticky. He looked forward and his vision was blurry. Am I crying?

“Thank you, Father.” His words, though quick and to the point gave her some comfort. She wiped her tears and even smiled slightly as she stood. She was feeling hopeful. Her boot heels echoed on the floor as she made her way back to the entrance.

Daniel's head was still caught in the clouds, somewhere way up high. He listened as the sound of her heels got further and further away. He broke anonymity and came out from behind the screen in just enough time to see her back as she walked through the door frame. Long brown hair and an auburn wool coat. WAIT, he wanted to scream, but something held him back. Perhaps his priestly vows, or perhaps something else...

The experience stuck with him the rest of the day. He wondered how many others were out there like her. It made him sad, but also angry. But what was he supposed to do? Later that night he got a text from one of his seminary buddies.

Open mic night at Fox's. Bring your guitar. Ladies luv that. He half chuckled.

Not really feeling it tonight. Long day. Maybe tmrw.

Come on bro! It'll get your mind off school.

All right. What time?

9. Don't be late & don't wear ur collar.

Maybe his friend was right. If Dan needed anything at the moment, it was to get that woman and her past off of his mind.
_____

“Drrriiiinnkkk iiittt!” Nothing like peer pressure to get you drunk. This was the fourth shot that had been shoved in his face. He put the tiny glass up to his lips, threw his head back and downed it with a grimace. His two buddies, Jim and Dave, gave him a slap on the back. It wasn't hard to tell when Daniel was down. He wore the depressed look well.

“Who the hell does shots of scotch?” Yes, Daniel knew it was the preferred drink of Episcopal priests, but it was meant to be enjoyed slowly, and preferably on the rocks.

“We do!” Said Jim. “And do us a favor. Keep up the broody attitude, will ya? You're getting a lot of attention!” He tilted his head back over his shoulder at a table of women who had been trying to make eye contact. Daniel had been ignoring them, but Jim and Dave were determined to get laid. Women like that weren't his type.

“Come on. Let's go over!” When Dave smiled you could see both rows of his teeth. “Let's go!” Jim chimed in. They each took one of Dan's sleeves and tried to get him up off of the bar stool.

“Nah. Not in the mood. You guys go. I'll play somethin'. Get some good vibes goin'.” He tried to smile back at them, but it was obviously fake.

“All right. Good idea!” They both chuckled before turning and heading off. Daniel sighed. That seemed almost too easy. He took his guitar from it's case and stood slowly. He knew he was going to feel the effects of the alcohol soon. Dan tried his best to walk a straight line to the 'stage,' which was really nothing more than a small area cleared of tables and chairs with a bar stool and stand up mic. He sat down and began tuning his guitar.

“This goes out to a very special lady.”
_____

Five minutes later he was back at the bar waving down the tender. “Do y’all have cherry tree? Original Sin?” It was a favorite cider of his. He turned his attention back to his friends, watching them laugh and flirt from afar. When the cider came he didn't hesitate and downed half the pint without even thinking. He was starting to feel warm and gooey. His eyelids got slightly heavier. He felt good. Relaxed. Finally able to start taking his mind off of the days events. He crossed both forearms over the bar in between he and his cider and sat his chin atop his hands. He watched the bubbles rise.

“You have a really great voice. Where's that accent from?” A woman had taken a seat next to him.

He furled his eyebrows. That voice sounded familiar. His eyes moved to the left corners of his sockets as he tried to sneak a peak with his periphery. Wait a tick... it's her! He shot up and turned to face her straight on. Long brown hair. Auburn wool coat draped over the bar next to her beer. He stared at her a few moments, taking in the view. She had a beautiful face and nice curves. Was it possible she could be here? Now that he thought back to her confession, he did remember her saying she lived in the neighborhood. It wasn't totally inconceivable that she would be here. He put his right hand to the back of his head and rubbed a few times. It was a nervous habit.

“Is everything ok?” She tilted her head to the side and smiled.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sorry.” To see her here, smiling, was strange to him. If it really was her. “Kentucky. Paducah, Kentucky... is where I'm from.”

“Ah. I have some relatives in Tennessee. The accent is pretty similar!”

“Just don't say that to anyone ELSE from Kentucky. They might take offense.” He mustered the most charming smile he could.

“Oh, is that a fact?” She laughed before brushing her hair behind her ears.

“Yeah, but don't worry. I won't tell anyone you said so. Secret's safe with me.” The voice was definitely a match.
_____

They continued their conversation to closing time at which point Dan asked if he could walk her home. He was worried about her going alone this late. She refused saying it was only a few blocks away, but he took her anyway. When they got to her building Daniel stood at the bottom of the steps and watched her walk up. After she turned the key she looked back at him.

“Well, it was nice getting to know you. Will I see you around?” Her eyes told him she was tired, but her smile told him she was excited about the possibility.

“Yeah. I'll be around. I live close.” He bounced on his toes a bit.

“All right. See you.” She waved at him before turning and walking in. She closed the door slowly, keeping her face in the crack so she could see him until the last second. She had butterflies in her stomach. She hadn't felt that in a long time.

The feeling was mutual. He stood there staring at the door for a few minutes before he finally turned and began walking back to the dormitory. He realized a block later that he hadn't even gotten her name.

He remembered some words his preacher had given him while he tried to cope with the death of his grandparents as a teen. Gods wisdom is infinite and unknown. Daniel became a regular at the bar.

Waynesville, Missouri, 2:23pm, Dominic's Gas An' Go

The chill afternoon air nibbled its way into his bones. A light snowfall had settled in and the sky showed signs that it would worsten by nightfall. The man's mood had dampened since setting out early that morning. Supplies were becoming harder and harder to come by, and with winter settling in, the stress of fighting for survival was beginning to wear him. He knew that there were other stashes of food in the city, but almost everyone was either infested by the undead, or crawling with raiders. As if the zed weren't bad enough, even fellow humans had turned against them. Dylan gritted his teeth in frusteration, "Fucking Christ!" He exclaimed in frusteration, kicking a stray can that had been nestling calmly in the snow bed with his right foot.

As he neared the gas station, his eyes were greeted by a lone figure in rough winter clothing. Ivy, she had an intuition for keeping track of him, it was uncanny really, how she was always waiting outside when he returned. She seemed more pumped than ussual. Most days he would be greeted by no more than a simple nod and a short word of greeting. He could tell something was off, she seemed, chipper... It was strange. The snow storm picked up as he stepped neared the station, it was almost a damned blizzard. He cursed silently to himself, growing ever closer to the HQ.

He through a furrowed brow at Ivy, who responded by punching him in the arm. "Why the long face kiddo? We got good news."
"Well aren't you talkative today? You catch the happy bug or summin? Alot of strange infections be floating around these days, I might be forced to put you down." He replied with a clever smirk.

"Ha ha.. Look who suddenly got a sense of humor.. could have used that a few days back," She smacked his back and opened the door for him "Your throne awaits milord." She gestured in a rather unneccessary matter, it had been months since she had let him in with that smile, hell the last time she had done that was back at the pet store.. He raised a suspicious brow at her and stepped in.

"We both could have," He retorted, shooting her a curious look. She was acting strange, and he wanted to know why. "So what has you so chipper? I seem to recall that winter has a tendancy to put you into a slump."

"It does," she replied with a smile, "but a little somthing has gotten me out of that slump."

"Don't tell me...."

"That's right Dylan, we got ourselves a bug.." Dylan couldn't help but smile at this, perhaps things were turning in there favor...

[[Note: 'Bugs' Are human survivors that are still considered 'civil' by Dylan and Ivy, meaning that they are trustworthy enough to take on as companions, or young enough to be saved from depravity. 'Roaches' are hostile human's, mostly raider's, that have completely given into their animalistic needs and have become no better than the living dead. That is, in Ivy's eyes at least.]]

Missouri, Unmarked CDC Facility, 1:05pm.

Freedom...

It was so close..

And yet...

Marrie turned to the voice that had called out too her. It was a kind, soft voice. A voice that at one time may have comforted her, but now all the young girl saw was an obstacle. Another obstacle between her and freedom. She looked into the eyes of the woman with her own, once bright but now dead, eyes. The gaze she shot her was one of desperation, of loneliness and lost faith. All she wanted to do was scream, but for the life of her the words would not form. A lump the size of a mountain sat in her throat and refused to budge. Her mouth simply open, and out came silence...

She seemed to grasp for the words like a widow would for her broken home. Her mouth convulsing slightly each time she tried to emit some sort of sound. Eventually she simply stopped, and so did everything else. She lost herself in that void of emptiness she had come so close to escaping from once more. Why? There it was.. the question that had haunted her for three whole months. Why.. Why.. WHY!!??

Her entire world became one word, the meaningless endings she had attached to it absent, all she could do was focus on it. She couldn't help but turn all of her focus towards it. She was broken, broken by a world that had forced her into hiding. Never before had she felt this despair. It was akin to losing ones' self, and that is what she did. She lost herself to her own turmoil. Deep within an ocean of swirling emotions and a singular, repetitive question, she was lost, and at this moment there was no way to retrieve her.

So the empty shell that was once Marrianne Ellenheart grieved, tears welled up from deep within her soul and poured out of her body. She ran, unthinking toward the woman who had innocently reached out to her in concern and buried herself their. The warmth envelopped her and after a long while her wails become cries, and even those fell too whimpers, until there was nothing but silence..

And the beating chest of the woman before her....

(2nd Collab between Darkraven and AnriuSB Part 1)

November 3rd, 2017, 7:54pm, Waynesville, Southwest Missouri

"Dad..." Valentina mumbled in her sleep even as the door into her room opened, and in came something that had become almost unheard of. Home-cooked food. The real kind. Living in a biohazard disaster zone had a way of making even the sleepiest infants insomniacs, and Valentina was one of them. The smell of the sweet nectar that was a bowl of hot, steaming soup tickled her nose, but even her subconscious knew that it was too good to be true.

In her daily nightmare, she was still trying to nurse the graze wound on her left shoulder when darkness relieved her once again, pulling her out of the horrid past. Her eyes fluttered open, and sight returned, but only to her left eye, each moment of awakening a reminder of her loss. The first thing she saw was a pair of legs, dangerously close. The shocking sight made Valentina jump into a sitting position with her knees to her chest, her revolver and knife tumbling out, both of which she quickly secured in panic.

The woman snickered at the small girl as she jumped upright. Her arms stuck to her waist in a commanding position the moment the girl became alert. "Good morning sleepy head! Well, I guess I should say goodnight.." Ivy shook her head, her brown hair now tied up in a ponytail, and a white apron laying loosely over her other clothing. "Either way, dinner is served Dumb Ass, hurry up and hop to it. We got a schedule to keep." With that the woman turned to leave the girl, one hand resting on the door nob before stopping momentarily in preparation for the girls' possible retort.

Valentina kept quiet as the bowl of soup captivated her senses. Had it not been there, she would have been unhappy with the woman's new nickname for her. Yet, the girl could not help but to be afraid of even going near it, fearing that something would happen if she even dared to try it. She kept her one good eye on the witch, who stood at the door, watching her every movement for any signs of danger, the grip on her weapons tightening.

Ivy glanced back momentarily, her eyes locking with the child. She could sense the hesitation and turned away without a word. Moments before closing the door however. "Oh, and I almost forgot! Eat up all of your soup, or I'll steal your soul or something" She announced and shut the door behind her gracefully. Dylan's judgmental gaze met her own as she exited the room.

"Dumbass huh?" He shook his head, "seems like you two sure hit it off.." He chuckled absently at his own joke as he took a swig of his fresh coffee. "Who knows? Maybe I'll have better luck with her."

Ivy smiled at him, her eyes showing her true emotions regarding the child. "Who knows.. Maybe you will.." The Woman then set about the task of prepping her own gear. Tonight would be a long night, and hopefully it would be worth it..

The bowl of soup was smoking, the tendril of aroma beckoning Valentina to come closer. As the witch disappeared, the young girl put away her weapons and came closer to the mysterious, wondrous thing. Memories returned to her about the world before, how Mom would cook the best dishes in the world that not even the Russian restaurants Daddy would bring her to could ever beat. Yet, the nightmare she had before was doggedly haunting her, forcing her to remember. The last time this happened, a woman and man wanted to make love to her, but Valentina could not resist the bowl of soup any longer. Lifting it up, she started drinking the soup from the rim, ignoring the spoon by the bowl, deciding that she could drink the soup and deal with whatever consequences later. With the witch, it was a tough one, as she was too strong, but Valentina thought the soup she made was good.

The soup was drained within minutes.

Ivy finished prepping the needed gear as Dylan sat across from her, cleaning his rifle. "Looks like I'll be the one on guard duty tonight huh?" he chuckled to himself as he cleaned the barrel of his rifle carefully. He checked the barrel and then shot a thumbs up in Ivy's direction. "All good here kiddo, what about your end."

Ivy smiled, this was the first time she had really felt anything aside from frustration and anger in quite a while, despite this child's distrust, she was having an untold affect on them both. Perhaps happiness would be possible in this empty waste.. perhaps, even, a family would be born. Ivy fastened her rifle to her shoulder and shot Dylan a single look, that was all he needed to be certain, she was revved up. "What do you think chief?" she asked, doing a three hundred and sixty degree spin infront of him.

"Hell, if we could kill those damned zed with looks alone.." He laughed throatily and nodded, "your one magazine short of a mobile arsenal Kiddo, give em' hell."

"I will sir." She replied, turning to knock on the Child's door. "Get out here kid, it's your lucky day, you get too meet the chief."

When Valentina heard the witch calling for her to leave the room, she was reluctant, afraid of what might come next. The game she talked about might just be a way to get her to stay after all, just like how she was lead to believe that things would be better, that she would be safe and that she would make new friends, just like how Marilyn lead her to believe... Yet the girl knew that when the witch calls, she had to answer. Resigned to her fate, she gets off her cot and skitters across the room, her palms sweaty as she got ready mentally to draw her revolver quickly. Opening the door slightly to peer through the crack, Valentina saw not just the woman, but a man as well, which confirms her suspicion. Yet she knew that she had to play their game - they had guns, and she had a single bullet for the three of them.

Opening the door fully, the girl came out, her eyes on the floor as she was afraid to look at them or meet their gaze, as she was afraid that they might do things to her...

"You." Dylan's gruff voice called out too the child. "What manner of dress is this?" Dylan stared directly at the child with stony eyes, studying every orifice. The scars, the eyepatch, the worn clothing, the poorly concealed weapons. The way she pitifully averted her eyes from them both. "This won't do..." He sighed and set his rifle at the side of his chair, standing up and approaching the child. He took but three single steps, barely closing the distance between them. "You sure this is the girl you told me about Kiddo? She seems pretty pathetic too me. Unless that is, there is more too her than meets the eye.

The girl still had not looked up too him. "You! Look at me when I speak!" His voice boomed, echoing throughout the store like the roar of a lion, all of his energy was targeted at the girl, he willed her to look at him.

Valentina seemed to shrink even smaller when the man spoke in his rough and rude manner. Nervous, she balled her hands and shivered, and jumped when the man shouted at her, commanding her to look at him. After a moment's hesitation, Valentina peered upwards, meeting the twin eyes of the bad man with her single, lonely, solitary eye, which was already beginning to water, her lips turning downwards in misery, the scar on her cheek emphasizing it.

The moment the girl's eye locked with his own, the man's gruff face underwent a change. His eyes softened, and a warm, welcoming smile came from his lips. "Now, now young one, there is no need to fear me." His voice poured like liquid honey from a fountain of gold. "You know," He said softly. "Long ago, it was said that a warrior's worth was judged by the scars they held proudly on their faces. You my dear have gained a powerful weapon, one that a scarless man like myself cannot hope to face. The face of a warrior my child, it is a weapon more powerful than any rifle in the land." The old man smiled, Dylan was hitting fifty six soon, but he still showed the strength of his youth, all he lacked from that time was arrogance, in its stead was a kindness that knew no bounds. A kindness that aimed to fix this world so shrouded in darkness...

Valentina could not meet the man's gaze for very long, and she had to look away every once in a while, as if her only working eye would go blind if she didn't do what she did. As the man spoke, gradually becoming less fierce but more and more eerily kind, uncannily resembling something from back before the dead started standing up and walking, Valentina found it hard to understand what he was trying to say, as she never had the need to listen to long talks ever since Marilyn and Manson, which was months ago - which in the land of the dead might as well be centuries, as every second would seem like a minute. When the man stopped, and things went silent again, Valentina recalled that it meant that she had to reply, yet she wasn't sure how to do it anymore.

After some difficulty, Valentina managed to pull something from the distant past, unsure if it was even correct or appropriate. "Y-yes, mister." Valentina said, forcing herself to meet his gaze again, remembering that it was something polite a kid should do when talking to an adult.

Dylan smiled at the girl and walked back to his chair. "She's a good girl Kiddo," He shot a look at Ivy "you treat her right ya hear?"

Ivy smiled, and turned to the girl, her gaze immediately turning back too stone. "Alright Dumbass" She announced unraveling a map that had, up until now, rested at the edge of the store counter.

"Here's the plan."

Trinity Episcopal Church, Southwest Missouri
Approximately five months after the Rising
Part I

Daniel paused in his duties to wipe the sweat from his brow and onto the back of his forearm. He bent backward to stretch his back, his bare stomach pushing out in front of him. His shirt was off, and it was a struggle to keep his pants on too, in this heat. With less than five inches of rainfall so far this summer, he had taken to tying plastic bags around the leafy tree limbs that hung over the roof. This way he could collect condensation, however little there was to be had. When he had gathered up every last drop from the smaller containers into a larger one for his last haul back to the sink, he picked it up with little effort and lugged it down the stairs. Before depositing it, he splashed some on his face and sighed. It might have been slightly wasteful, but he still had a pretty good amount of bottled water in the basement, at least enough to get him through to the winter months when he could start collecting snow.

After that he went back to his makeshift apartment to change, clean up, and shave. It had only been two weeks since his last visitors, a family of four on their way to Canada, and he expected some more stragglers would pop in at some point. Despite the seemingly hopeless situation out there, people were still making it. Families, unlike his own, were still sticking together. If there was a shred of hope to be found, Daniel found it. It had always been his way to stay positive and encouraging. That had gotten difficult, but he managed.
____

“God damn, Andrew. We've been sitting out here watching this dude for six days now! The only one in there is the priest! And we could take him easily. I'm fucking hungry. What we got from that family a week ago wasn't enough to last. ” The woman was sitting just behind the tree line with two men to either side of her. Andrew was a menacing hulk of a man, while Cole was about her height and size. Andrew had about six inches and fifty pounds on them both.

The big man was on his knees holding binoculars up to his eyes. He had the church in his sights. “All right. We do it tonight. Just after sun down.” He paused and looked at them both. “Cole, make sure the pistol is loaded and ready to go.”

Cole nodded. “We only have three bullets left, so if we use it, we'll have to make it count.”
____

Occasionally, at night, Daniel liked to wind down by playing and drinking wine. He came from a family with established traditions that he still stuck to, to this day. He had even made a few of his own since the Rising. He lit both of the altar candles before sinking down to the carpet. He propped his back up against the wall, put his guitar in his lap, and made sure his wine was within his reach. First he started with tuning, then moved on to some of his simpler favorites. By the time he had a little buzz on he was plucking away furiously. All the songs ran together.

When the first set of frantic knocks came to one of the side entrances, he hadn't heard it over his playing. It wasn't until he heard the screams that he paused and put his guitar on the floor beside him.

“PLEASE! Help us! We've got an injured man and the shufflers are closing in!”

Daniel's eyes widened in surprise. He rushed to the door and unlocked it. Blame it on the wine, his innocent nature, or the fact that he believed that women were trustworthy, but not a second thought was given to the fact that these people might not be friendly. Dan swung the door back and watched as they filed in. A smaller man, hunched over was draped over the shoulders of a woman and another rather large man. He gulped as they lowered the man down onto the carpet right in the center of the aisle. The larger man and woman then stood and looked to the priest with scared eyes. She put her hands on her head and squeezed out some tears. The man on the floor rolled into the fetal position, arms clenching his stomach.

“Can you help him?! Please! We don't... we don't know what to do!”

Daniel's mouth hung open. A few moments later, he slammed the door back, locked it then rushed to the hurt man's side. His hands moved around the man to try and find the wound and also force him to lay back flat on his back so he could take a better look. When his fingers accidentally touched the gun tucked in the mans belt he was taken aback for a few seconds.

While Dan had his back turned, Andrew slowly pulled out a lead pipe he had tucked into his backpack.

Daniel's brows furled. “Wait... you're not--” Why had it taken him so long to see? He had played right into their scheme. Dan flipped around to look at the larger man just as the pipe collided with his right temple. The last thing he heard was that awful 'cling,' when the pipe connected with his skull.
_____

Dan's brown eyes slowly blinked open. They darted left to right. Where am I? He winced. He had a splitting headache. What happened? He pulled his hand up to his head and upon discovering just how tender it was... “Fuck!” He brought himself to all fours, then eventually into a standing stagger. When he started to fall, he was caught by the altar. The priest turned to face it and partially used it to keep himself up. He remembered shortly after what had transpired. He put one of his hands over his mouth in shock.

A few minutes later Daniel heard the two males exchanging words in the working sacristy.

“Who knew he was hiding all of that food down there? God, we really made it good this time! The others will bow down to us now.”

“Sooo, what are we going to do with him?”

“Well, we'll talk to him. See if we can't get him to come around to our side. Four is better than three. At least for the trip back to the group. If anything, he'll be a nice distraction for the dead.” The guy laughed.

“That's going to be difficult though right? The guy's a priest, after all.”

“Nah. He's a priest and the world ended. There's nothing left for him. He'll give up. He'll have to if he wants to live.”

The words triggered something in him, something he hadn't felt for a long time. Rage? These people tricked him. They came into his church. They knocked him out. They were stealing his food. Now they expected him to roll over in defeat. Daniel made a decision then that would later surprise him. He decided to fight. He plunged his hand into his pocket to retrieve his knife... but discovered it wasn't there. They must have taken it off me.

Dan crouched and went over to the altar rail. Among the several iron rods that held the thing up, he knew just where to find a loose one that should have been repaired ages ago. He yanked it free then silently made his way back to the vesting sacristy. The priest almost walked straight through the door when he saw a shadow moving in his apartment. He then heard the woman in there scrounging around through his things. With his back to the wall, he edged closer to the door frame and took a quick peek around. She started to pluck at one of the strings on his banjo, her back to him now. Without hesitation, he took two long bounds toward her and brought the rod down directly onto her head. She went down, taking one of the banjos with her.

Daniel stood over her a few brief moments. She groaned, her chest still rising and falling with each breath. Something changed in him then. He didn't feel like himself. He looked down at his own hands and body, but he didn't recognize them. It was like he had become a robot replica of himself and a miniature him was controlling his actions from a console in his brain. The rod was then brought down on her head again.... and again... and again until a bloody crater formed and inevitably caved in.

The priests body had taken to acting on its own. He found himself back at the entrance to his room. He looked around the corner to see if the men had come out of the working sacristy yet, but they hadn't. He crouched and made his way over to the pews. He hid himself behind the third one and slid to the end nearest the center aisle.

“Oh fuck! Andrew! He's gone,” Cole called out. Daniel hadn't noticed the man come out, but the man hadn't seen him yet.

The big man came running out. He looked out over the church. “Fuck. Jillian! Get out here!” He paused a few seconds waiting for her to come out. “God damn it. Where did that girl get herself off to?” He shook his head and started walking toward Dan's room. “Cole, get out there and check the pews. This fucker couldn't have gotten far.” Cole brought a out a knife from his pocket, Daniel's knife.

The priest felt a hideous smile creep across his lips as the unsuspecting man walked out toward him. He went pew by pew first looking to the right then the left. This gave Daniel the advantage as he would be looking to the pew across from the one he was hiding behind first. Again, Daniel didn't flinch. When the man was within reach, Danny lunged at him with a growl and brought the rod down between his shoulder blades. The man dropped the knife and fell to all fours. The priest picked up the knife. He knew it well and it felt comfortable in his grip.

“Fuckin' shit!” Cole staggered to his feet and reached for his pistol. He got it out of his belt and took the safety off, but it was too late. Dan used his left arm to push the gun aside and plunged the knife right into the mans chest. He pulled it out and repeated once more before the man crumpled down onto the floor in one bloody heap and proceeded to bleed out. He gasped for air, his punctured left lung deflating and flooding.

Andrew, who had run back out panicked from seeing Jillian murdered in the vesting sacristy, got there just in time to see the display. He stopped in front of the altar. “What the fuck kind of priest are you?” He hadn't yelled, but it carried far enough.

Daniel ignored the question and knelt down to grab the gun. He returned the knife to his pocket. When Danny stood back up, he faced the guy and held the gun out. He was shaking from the adrenaline. He had fired a gun once or twice in his life, but never quite liked it. The first shot was way off and the bullet was stopped by the back wall. Andrew dove to his right just as Dan fired the second shot, which left a deep graze across his calf, before planting itself in the marble altar.

The priest didn't want to miss the next shot, so he started making his way toward the altar. Andrew had scrambled behind it for cover.

“Hey man, listen! I'm sorry for what we did! I don't have any weapons on me! Just let me go and I promise I'll never come back here! Please!” Daniel sensed the desperation in his voice, but he felt nothing. Hearing the footsteps getting closer and closer, Andrew laid down on his stomach, trying to think of what he could do to stop this crazy fucker.

Dan walked up the right side of the altar. When he turned to point the gun he felt something grasp his ankle. Andrew managed to yank his leg out from under him. As Daniel was falling he fired the gun a third time. Then he hit the slate floor hard. The back of his head smacked into it so hard, he thought he might pass out again. He shook his head back and forth a few times in an attempt recover quickly.

Andrew, stunned that his plan had actually worked took those crucial few seconds to get to his hands and knees. He found himself a few seconds later face to face with the barrel of the pistol, but he knew something Dan didn't. He smiled as Daniel pulled the trigger. The priest, expecting all sorts of brain matter to fly out of the back of the mans head was shocked when no bullet came out. He turned the gun to the side and stared at it in awe. A second later a heavy weight lowered itself atop his hips. Andrew knocked the gun from his hand and laughed, turning his face up toward the roof.

Daniel started to struggle. He writhed underneath the weight, but it was just too much for him. His out of body experience was coming to a close and fear was setting in. He had done so well, and now he was fucked. Utter dread filled his heart. He was done for.

“OH.... boy. I'm going to enjoy this.” Andrew said, cracking his knuckles. He put his left hand on Daniel's chest to try and keep him still. He pulled his right elbow all the way back, formed a fist, then brought it down with all of his force to Daniel's left cheek. Dan screamed out as the pain surged through his face. He tasted blood. Andrew repeated again, but this time switching arms. Then twice more before he stopped to flex his fingers.

Andrew stood up and looked down at the man. He smiled, much like Dan had before killing Cole. Daniel had rolled onto his side and tried to lift himself up but was stopped by a kick to the ribs. Then another to the chest. It knocked the wind out of him and he coughed desperately, trying to get it back.

“Stand the fuck up, priest.” Daniel couldn't stand, much less move. He stayed in a ball on the floor. Eventually Andrew reached down, grabbed a tuft of Daniel's hair and yanked him up. The priests hands went to weakly tug at the mans fingers to try and get him to release. Andrew dragged him before the altar before letting him go. Daniel fell to his knees as if he was going to pray. Perhaps it was time to pray. God, save my soul. He reeled in tiny circles. Everything was starting to go blurry and he was seeing black spots. Then he remembered. Dad's knife... He gently slid his hand into his pocket and put the knife in his fist.

“What's wrong? Feeling down? Where's your god now? Who's going to save you?” Daniel could barely hear what the man was taunting. A few moments later he felt a pain between his shoulders. Andrew had kicked him to the floor once more, but it enabled him to pull the knife out without being noticed. He hid it under his stomach and turned his head to the side to watch Andrew out of his periphery. The guy was coming back down at him. Daniel turned as quick as he could onto his back, bent at the waist, outstretched his arm and plunged the knife into the mans stomach.

Andrew looked down in surprise. Daniel didn't even get a chance to pull the knife out. The man just fell off of it and onto his back.

This time it was the priests turn to have some fun. Daniel only mimicked the mans previous actions. He crawled on top of him.

Daniel looked down at the man. Fear was in his eyes. “How did you put it earlier?” The priest smiled. “This is going to be fun?” He took the knife in both hands and pulled it up above his head. He looked to the christus rex on the back wall and licked his lips. Is this what you wanted? Is this the sacrifice you spoke of? He brought the knife down into the mans chest over and over again until his arms became numb.

Dan rolled off of the body and onto his back. He laid there for several minutes trying to catch his breath. His whole body hurt. He felt something poking at his side which he knew must have been a broken rib. His eyes were so swollen up he could barely see. Despite everything that had happened, he managed to pull himself up to a seated position. He looked down at his body, covered in blood. He looked around him. When he realized what he had done, he started wailing uncontrollably. Eventually, like a child, the tantrum wore him out and he went to sleep right where he was.

Collab between finalcatharsis and Exit
Part I

---

Daniel yawned and rubbed his eyes. Some nights he slept like a baby, others he tossed and turned thinking about his family. His head was filled with memories of their smiling faces. He liked to imagine that somehow these past nine months for them had passed by like any other. That they were safe at the family home inside of some protective bubble. That all of this couldn't touch them. It was wishful thinking at its best. Dan had spent so many days alone he had lost count.

He sighed and watched as a white cloud formed just past his lips. He pulled on his black attire, shoes, white collar, and even attached the black choir hood onto his cassock and pulled it over his head. He went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror to examine his face. See, priests had this need to always look clean and presentable. It was hammered into them at seminary. He wondered if his teachers could overlook the beard growth given the current situation.

Today Danny decided he wanted to take a break from his chores, to have a sort of educational sabbatical of his own. It had been a while since he took a day to blow off steam. Thinking he might go outside, he grabbed Lex, his guitar, put it in its soft case and tossed it over his shoulder. He put his cigarettes and matches in one pocket and grabbed a bottle of wine he had brought to his room. From there he walked to the working sacristy and up the stairs to the roof.

"Buuurrrrrr," he said to himself. Something he always remembered his dad saying when he stepped outside on a cold winter's day. There had been about a half inch of snowfall in the night, which was good for his water stores. However, today he hadn't come up to the roof to collect. He propped his guitar and wine up near the door and walked over to the edge of the roof. Daniel looked out over the landscape just as he had done several times before. He was looking for any sign of change, something to give him hope again, but it was always the same. The dead shuffled along. No one alive came by anymore.

Dan let his mind wander for several minutes as he contemplated his faith, the Bible, and God. The end wasn't supposed to be like this. There was supposed to be a glorious rapture. Saved souls were supposed to float to the heavens and not have to stay behind to endure all of the torment. For all he knew, the souls of these wandering things had gone to heaven and left behind empty shells of sin that became Satan's army. If these dead demons were Satan's army, then shouldn't he be doing something to fight them? He had seen these things attack the living before, and choosing the side of peace had not fought back. Maybe it wasn't his decision anymore. But what could he do?

He pulled the cigarettes and matches from his pocket and carefully examined the pack. Only three left. The supply had finally run out. Screw it. He tucked one neatly between his chapped lips, put the pack back in his pocket, lit a match on the sole of his shoe, put it up to the cigarette and took a deep inhale. Just for today, his off day, he'd let himself have one while not playing, breaking the tradition his grandfather had started.

Abel had been walking for a while now, his pants drenched in melted snow and his boots buried inches under. Each step had been harder than the last and with the cold crisp air sapping at his strength, he'd slowed considerably. His gait was awkward to say the least. As he took another step forward, his foot would bury itself in the ground and he'd have to swing his arms around his body in such a ridiculous fashion only to work the damned leg out. It was both a hideous look and a strenuous work out. Every now and again he'd have to stop to catch his breath. He'd Let his arms hang loose to the side as he craned his uppper half backwards trying to open up his lungs and get more firgid air in. After taking a few, he'd continue again. At this point he was too tired to care about anything else anymore save for the church he'd spotted up ahead. He simply had to get there... touch the walls, sit under it's roof for a moment. Nothing mattered but that. Rest, warmth.. maybe safety. Not to mention what looked like water catchers. Sure there was snow on the ground but at least it was guaranteed to be clean. No possibilities of the dead tarnishing a fresh cold glass. Speaking of which...

Abel turned his head slowly to the left and right, picking out the few shufflers closest to him.

...Fuck it...

He was too tired to even try. He'd be safe in the church regardless.

He crouched down and began shoveling some of the snow into a little mound, fingers quickly starting to shiver. When he had a sizable amount he took the mound in both palms, rose, and started to form a snowball. He took great care in making sure it was smooth, rounded, and pressed together so tightly that it wouldn't fall apart on the way to his target. He took one more drag and pulled the cigarette from his lips. It wasn't long before one of the zombies that had been aimlessly circling the campus caught his eye, and he was lucky that it was just within his range.

"Fuck you, Satan." He put the cigarette back between his lips, squinted his left eye to aim with his right, then threw the snowball as hard as he could. Daniel had always been a fan of the cliche religious movies that portrayed priests as these Angelic forces to be reckoned with. However, he had run out of Holy Water and had left his crucifix in the church.

Poof...

It missed, but hit the ground near the undead soldier drawing its attention and causing it to stop moving.

The sound was unpleasant at first. Annoying even. It broke the rhythm he'd already accustomed to: A simple step... breath... twist... step... It hadn't accounted for anything distracting... especially so damn close. He almost wanted to ignore it, act like he hadn't heard anything at all but curiosity was one of the forces that drove him. Despite his efforts, his eyes flicked left. There, no more than a foot away from him was a disturbed patch of snow, a small oddly shaped crater with fresh patches of the white fluff sitting around it. It was as if something had stepped there... or landed there.

...Had that been there the whole time?...

Daniel repeated the process twice more, missing the second, but getting a head shot on the third. It struck Abel across the eye catching him completely off guard and causing him to stumble backwards into the snow. He landed with a hard plop, throwing snow into the air and shoving the rest in between the seams of his clothing. The cold ice pressed against his skin making him wince in both pain and surprise.

"HAHAHA! Bitch!" He did the old 'gotcha' move shoving both fists up into the air before flipping the thing off with both middle fingers. Of course, if one of his parishioners had seen the display he would have been fired... but none of those tight asses were around AND it was his day off!

The first thing that crossed his mind was the fact that he was on the ground. He was staring at the sun as it punched through thick white clouds... something he wasn't expecting to see. When his brain had finally caught up to him, he realized the skin around his eye burned.. and surprisingly bad. Second... Abel thought he heard a voice, something like laughter followed by an expletive... Bitch was it? His brows furrowed in confusions as he repeated the word over and over in his head. The dead couldn't talk and although he'd been having conversations with himself as of late... he'd never struck himself before. This was something entirely new.

Daniel threw another. This game was getting quite fun. Why had he never thought of this before?

Poof...

There it was again... the same sound. Distracting... and yet...

Abel picked his head up and looked over at the fresh crater. He took in the shape... the glistening ice... felt the pain in his head.

"The fuck?!" His head whipped around, his eyes scanning the field around him. He saw nothing but the dead, mindless and ignorant as ever but not nearly dumb enough to try something like this. He immediately struggled to his feet, the attempt looking a lot more awkward than he intended as he fought against the snow that wanted nothing more than to hold him down.

"Alright... who the fuck is throwing snowballs at me?... And what the fuck?!" His voice carried across the empty expanse, over soft layers of snow and between the barren branches of lonely trees. It carried, the anger and confusion expressed along with it. Abel meant to open his mouth again but stopped. His jaw hung open and his eyes widened as he realized something else entirely. Someone had just thrown a snowball at his head... a snowball. If it had been anything else, a bullet perhaps.. he'd be dead. His mouth immediately shut itself and he hit the ground where he remained perfectly motionless. His head swiveled left to right to left as he looked for anything.. something to make sense of this idiocy.

You're mine. Daniel had the thing on its back. He smiled mischievously looking down at it. And then.... He did a double take after he heard the words 'the fuck.' Surely it couldn't have been this zombie. Had they learned to talk? Dan looked around in all directions to make sure he was alone. When he finally turned back to his target he heard more words. Angry words. And this time he saw ITS mouth move.

Danny fell to all fours and he grasped his fingertips around the corner of the roof. He pulled himself closer to get a better look and pulled his hood back. When his head had gone over the edge he finally realized what he was seeing. Although this thing had moved like a zombie, it was definitely not a zombie. His eyes widened in surprise and his lips lost their grip on the cigarette. It fell to the ground and began burning a small hole through the snow, sinking slowly. The words were slow to come at first. He hadn't had contact with another human being in months. Somehow he had managed to make this one angry before he even formally met him.

Daniel cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the volume of his voice before yelling down. “Hey man. Oh Christ... I'm so sorry! I thought you were a dead head! Are you ok? Let me come help you up!” The guy looked plum worn out. Danny didn't wait for an answer. He went back inside, down the stairs and to the side entrance that was closest to the man. His cold fingers fumbled as he pulled the keys from his cassock. When he finally pulled the door back he first located the man. He was about twenty feet away. No dumbshows between them, but he still pulled out his pocket knife and gripped it tightly in his right hand. He took a deep breath and started on his trek.

He hadn't gone outside of the church in a while. When the snow hit the skin beneath his pants he cringed. Dan also hadn't imagined how difficult it would be to walk around in his robe.

By then Abel had already clamored to his feet, his hands clawing away at the snow as he tried to put together some semblance of a snowball.

"...Gonna play games huh..." He whispered to himself, half out of breath and half too angry to talk. "...Call me a bitch..." He kept his eyes on Daniel as he approached him, watched his robes flap in the wind, his twisting form pushing through the snow. As soon as he had what he thought to be a good ball, he wound his arm back and tossed it at him with a wild throw. It was way off... too much emotion behind it to fly straight and not enough care to hold it together. The ice began to separate midair and halfway to it's intended target, it fell apart and turned into a cloud. It sprinkled back to the ground harmlessly between the two men.

"...The fuck...?" He was bent over now. The snowball taking more energy out of him than he expected. His fingers were numb, his legs as well. His body felt weak and there was this lightheaded feeling that slowly shadowed him. Although he was too angry to notice it, his body began to lean a little too far to the left, the world before him tilting to the right as he tumbled back into the snow. He landed on his back.

Between shallow breaths of ice air, he would glance at the sun. The cloud had parted just above him allowing a warm ray of light to touch his face. He closed his eyes as he let his body sink into the snow. It felt good to just lay there.. forget that nothing made sense right now... maybe give himself some time to think. He closed his eyes for a little while as his body fought to keep himself awake. His time without ample food or water had been doing a number on his body and despite his enduring fight to ignore his urges, he knew it was about time to call it quites. This last escapade.. whatever you wanted to call it: A snowball fight... a rude awakening... a game in the middle of the apocalypse... Whatever it was had drained him of anything he had left in him. He wasn't going to make it to the church on his own and his only hope was to submit. Whoever it was running at him would be there soon and he swore he heard the man say something... nice... or at least he hoped. He was too tired to care anymore. All he could feel now was the numbing sensation crawling under his skin... up his legs and arms into his spine. He could feel the sting over his eyes... on the tip of his nose... the ice covering his throat... He could feel warmth of the sun.

...That's good...

It felt nice... the warmth. Like a blanket... If he could just lay here for a while longer... maybe sleep.

Then it was cold. Abel opened his eyes to see the man over him... A knife in his hands.

Suddenly everything flooded back to him. His eyes flew open, blood rushed to his arm and hands as he shoved his fingers through the snow and pulled the gun resting on his hip from it's holster. He yanked it into the air between them and pulled the trigger.

Click...

...Fuck...

Adrenaline coursed through his body, pushing through his veins but with nowhere to go and nothing left to do, he simply dropped the gun and let his arms fall to the side in defeat. His eyes closed. Whatever happened next happened. All he knew was that this game of snowball was over.

Daniel saw the man assembling the snowball, but didn't stop walking. He merely put out his hand in an attempt to stop the thing from hitting his face, but it barely made it halfway. “All right man! I deserve that!” He called out, nodding his head. He kept his eye on him and then a few moments later watched as he plummeted into the snow.

“Shit.” Daniel grunted and picked up the pace for the remaining ten feet, pulling up his knees as fast as he could to get his feet up and over the snow. If he had more time, he would have gone back to the church and tried to assemble some sort of sled to get the guy back in doors. He started to pump his free fist to try and get his blood flowing. He was going to need every ounce of strength he could muster if he was going to carry this guy the twenty feet back to the church. Daniel's eyes stayed focused on him. He wasn't moving.

When Danny got there he stood over him for a few seconds to try and see if he was still breathing. He hadn't thought about how the man might perceive a stranger walking up to him with a knife. Daniel was a pretty innocent guy compared to most that would have been around. “Can you move?” The man didn't answer, but did manage to pull his arm free from the heavy snow. Danny started to smile, but his expression quickly turned to horror when he saw what the man was holding. A gun? He didn't even have time to react before he heard a very distinct 'click.'

Daniel fell back onto his ass, hands and forearms plunging into the snow. He looked down to examine his body. He wasn't hurting anywhere. He didn't see any blood. Had the gun misfired? Had it not been loaded? If his adrenaline wasn't pumping before, it was now. Not only that, but he had learned a valuable lesson. Don't approach people with a knife in your hand, idiot. He folded the blade back into the grip and returned it to his pocket.

A minute passed and the initial shock wore off. Daniel pulled himself back up with some effort, his clothes now soaked. He was shivering.

“I don't want to hurt you, ok? I'm a priest. I want to help you.” Dan put his hands out to the side and flipped them palm up so the man could see they were empty. Daniel was fairly tall and lean, but he knew this was going to be difficult and didn't want to waste his adrenaline. “Let me get you inside, ok?” He crouched to the right side of the man and took his right wrist. He sat him up, bending him at the waist. “Now, I'm gonna need your help.” He tried to talk in a somewhat soothing tone. Maybe the southern accent would help. He put the same arm around his shoulders and rose from his squatted position trying to lift the guy out of the snow. His cheeks ballooned out and his eyes went into a squint. He released his breath when he was standing again.

Daniel looked around to see some of the zombies had moved closer. Still not close enough to do any harm, but they needed to move. He started to move forward, back to the door. “I've got plenty of food and water in there.” He tried to offer the man some incentive to get them inside quicker.

By now everything Abel tried to do seemed automatic. His legs moved on their own, trudging through the snow a little too slow for both their comforts. His arm had found a way around the man's back with his help and now the two of them were walking... or staggering.. in tandem. He almost hadn't heard what was being said to him. Words slipped into his ears, bouncing around in his head with no place to go. Hurt...priest...food...water. The last two stood out. They played back continously. His tin was nearly empty and he'd consumed the last of his supplies hiding away after... He would have shook his head to clear his thoughts but he couldn't even do that. If it wasn't for the man next to him he doubt he'd have gotten back up at all. He'd either been killed outright or eaten. On their way back to the church he too had noticed the dead closing in and although he hadn't said anything aloud, his mind did indeed register that they were there and they were close. Perhaps picking up the pace wasn't a bad idea.

After a few painful steps, the adrenaline that had pushed through his body finally subsided and he could finally think again. He made conscious efforts to move faster and at the same time, craned his head a little to his left to get a better look at who almost stabbed him. He was young looking.. younger than him at least. A hard chin covered in stubble, thick wavy hair, bone framing a handsome face... not the face of a priest or at least the ones he'd imagined. In fact... upon staring at him a while longer, he realized this man wasn't anything he was expecting to see months into surviving the undead. He was far too clean... far too... nice. That snowball should have been a bullet and yet... here he was being dragged inside a church of all places by the priest himself. His weary mind was boggled... and distracted. His empty stomach and weak limbs telling him to shut up and keep moving.

Nearly to the doors of the church, he finally decided to say something... something more so for himself than for the man he was clinging to. He had to make sure he was indeed awake and wasn't in fact being carved into. He parted his dried lips and let slip a single word he hadn't said in a very long time.

"Thanks..." It was an unintentional whisper, the words more of gasp then anything else. Although it was too soon to trust him completely, he was still alive when he could have already been dead.

Daniel was out of breath in no time flat. He huffed the first ten feet back, but was able to keep up a pretty decent pace. This cold air was harder to take in. His lungs were burning. Was the door getting farther away or was it just his imagination? He forced whatever thoughts he had out of his head and kept pushing forward, re-positioning the man across his back as needed.

The Reverend looked at the man when he thought he heard him whisper something, but it was lost to the wind. “We're almost there. Keep pushing. You're doing great.” Daniel forced himself to crack a slight smile. These past few months had been bleak. Often times he had wondered if he himself was turning into one of those things by default, but this changed everything. He felt alive again.

They were under the door frame when Dan felt something tug at the back of his cassock. When he looked back, he saw a zombie clinging to it. It had fallen onto its stomach, barely able to move in the snow. He unlatched the man and gave him a rather violent push inside to get him out of harms way. He was in no condition to fight.

After that, Daniel took to playing tug-of-war with the thing. He became panicked and eventually fell back yet again. However, it put him in a good position to kick the thing in its face, and soon enough its grip loosened and he scrambled on all fours back inside. He slammed the door behind him and quickly locked it. He put his back to the door and slowly sunk down to the floor, taking in deep breaths. Dan pulled his knees up and put his head between them. When he caught his breath he stood with some effort and made his way to the working sacristy where he had the stopped sink filled with water he'd collected. He grabbed his drinking can next to it, dunked it in and walked it back to the man.

Fran was stood there smiling at him, always the same smile, always the same expression and always the same clothes. Thats the downside to photos, they never changed. Ryan lay on one of the many tables in the hotels exquisite dining hall.
The large hotel had been clear when he arrived a month or two ago, perhaps they were aware something was afoot and evacuated? He didnt know and quite frankly didnt give a shit, it was clear now and thats what mattered to him. He folded the photo away and placed it carefully in his pocket and swung himself down off of the table, he headed over to the piano which had once been an elegant, white masterpiece, but was now an out of tune, off-white relic, he perched himself on the stool which he knew to be sturdy and began playing Chopin's 'Valse Brilliante' each slightly out of tune note reverberated around the grand room.

There was little to occupy the mind in this new world, and playing the piano was a great way to pass time and the room was near enough sound proof making it a safe hobby in this dangerous time.
Dinner time was always around eigth oclock for Ryan and he wasnt one to break routine, he pushed the stool back from the grand piano and headed over to back of room, where two large swing doors stood giving on to a large scale kitchen.. there wasnt much of the original stock left but Ryan had his own supply and was now using the kitchen utensils to open a can of soup, he brought a pan to the open flame of the stove and emptied the contents of the can into it.
Mulligatawny soup was one of Ryans favourites and he was glad to have found some, he wolfed it down quickly straight from the pan and headed back into the dining area he sat down at one of the tables and pulled his BAS from its holster, and proceeded to dismantle it and clean the parts.
As he slid the magazine back into the now reassembled weapon, he had he strange feeling that someone else was here. He stopped what he was doing and flicked his eyes over to his right, then to his left, all the while tighten his grip on the pistol in his hands. He steadied his breathing and loosened his muscles, he then flew up out of his seat and turned 180 degrees, weapon raised.
The stand off lasted no longer than a second as a familiar face greeted him, followed by a familiar voice.
Ryan grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"It took you this long to figure that out!" Ryan laughed.

He approached his friend and embraced him lightly, the man, Luke Porter, was the closest thing Ryan had to family these days and he was glad to have him back.
He held out an outstretched arm introducing Luke to the grand dining hall.

"My humble abode, welcome" he said with a grin, Luke followed him further into the room and Ryan gestured for him to have a seat. He himself remained standing.

" I'll go get the cards shall I?" He smirked and headed over to the double swing doors just behind the table they were currently at, Ryans bag was in thr kitchen, the cards were in his bag. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at Luke.

"By the way ... I told you so"