---

In the early morning of the first of March, the church stood empty. It was a small thing, out of place as it sat nestled between two towering buildings, the white wood fading and chipping from years of elemental stimulation. As people walked through freshly laid snow, they paid it no mind, and perhaps only the most devout would notice that the black iron gate was shut firmly today. Father Richard McCarthy was out.

It wouldn't be much longer before the Father was hurrying down the street, pushing and pulling two shopping carts worth of canned food, with a pit of heavy guilt in the bottom of his stomach. The food bank had given him all he had asked for - non-perishable food that he so desperately needed. In his mind it was for the best. If his dreams hadn't come true, he could host a food drive, give it to the people who truly needed it. After all, the homeless population of Chicago was nothing to scoff at. And if his dream did come true...

The fear sparked again, and the Father took a deep breath before he looked around warily. Fives years now, of living with the knowledge of his dream. Five years of silence, and torment and nightmares. Five years of praying to God everyday that his dreams weren't real. It was the day of reckoning though, and only time would tell if the omen he had been given was true.

Transferring the contents of the shopping carts took him a solid thirty minutes. Heading up and down the small flight of stairs wore him out more than he wanted to admit, so he sat himself down on the creaking wood to watch the morning unfold. It was normal, so far. People were going about their business outside of his gates, the birds were singing their songs. The peace radiated around him, and for a moment, he had forgotten all that he had prepared for these five years.

A cop car speeding down the street pulled him from his thoughts. Siren's blaring, Father McCarthy felt his heart drop for a moment, before the stillness set in. Letting out the breath he had been holding, the older man stood, hand on the wooden banister to turn towards the church, before he stopped. Another cop shot by. Then another. And...Another? Sucking in a shaking breath, the Father hurried into the church.

Walking past the rows of pews, moving into the door that was behind the altar, Father McCarthy stepped into the sacristy. To the left, the most sacred items of his Church, tucked away and almost out of sight, while the rest of the room had been transformed into a make-shift bedroom. A cot tucked away to the side, the blankets a mess on it, and a small crt tv sitting across from it on a rocking table. Fiddling with the buttons, the TV flashed on, a quiet buzzing humming from it as the man found the first News channel.

"March madness is almost upon us, folks--"
"The weather today will be slightly cloudy with ch--"
"Three are dead in the bizarre attack that left Chicago citizens shocked."

The words caught the Father's attention. Sitting on the bed, eyes trained at the television, a hard lump began forming in his throat.

"Chicago residents are told to be on guard as a wave of attacks spread through the city. Officials are saying that they are not connected, but citizens are still being warned to stay in their homes for now. What can you tell us about these attacks, Mitch?"

"Well, from what we know so far, they seem to be random. We're not sure when they started, but they're becoming more frequent as the day goes on. Reports are saying that the civilian's have a crazed look in their eyes and aren't responding to any sort of communication or actions from the victims. Even children are being attacked!"

"Now that's pretty scary. Who would attack a child?"

"A crazy person," the on air personality shook his head. "Officials are saying to stay away from any contact with a person who's been attacked, as well. It's like the crazy gene is being spread through contact, so stay inside, folks."

The TV flicked off, and Richard sat there for a moment, staring at the black screen. So it was all true, then…

Legs shaking as he stood up, a numbness flowed through him as he moved to his phone. Grabbing the small piece of technology, he stepped towards the drawer that sat beside his bed, and reached inside. A 9mm pistol sat, looking the same as the day he bought it. Hands shaking, the Father stared at it for a moment longer, before picking it up into his hands and cradling it. This was the beginning of the end.

Steeling himself, he wasted no more time. Moving himself back through the church, he stepped out into the now melting snow, and stood by the gate. Months of storing contacts in his phone, of people in a fifty mile radius of his church, he began with the first one.

“This is Father Richard McCarthy. I know you don’t know me, but please, I implore you. My church is located on Fifth Street and Durum. I have food and water, and a safe place to be for these trying times to come. Everyone is welcome. If you can make your way here, you will be safe.”

---

"Hey, Judas, I just got a weird phone call."

He could feel something shaking his shoulder.

"It was from some guy who called himself Father Richard McCarthy. I think he was crazy."

Another shake. He groaned.

"Come on Judas, get up. I'm bored, it's like, ten in the morning."

"Oh my fucking God, Jules, go away," the face of the older brother buried itself into a pillow as a loud groan left his mouth. He could almost feel Jules roll his eyes as he scoffed, standing up from the bed.

"Fine. Asshole. I'm going to Lanore and Jason's place," thumping around the small apartment they shared, it was obvious that Jules was angry, and Judas really could care less at that moment. All he wanted was more sleep, and sleep he was going to get. He wouldn't get up until two hours later, when the clock struck twelve.

When Judas finally did get up, he wandered around an empty apartment. It wouldn't take him long to get ready, being sure to lock up before he left. Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, one was in his mouth and lit before he even left the apartment building. A low whistle caught his attention as he left, Judas looked around until his eyes landed on a familiar face.

"Eeyy Rodrigo!" The man was hispanic, shorter than Judas, but larger still. His hair was held back by a bandana, and his hazel eyes stared at the white man, watching his every move.

"Sup holmes," the two came close, grasping each other's hands, and brought it in for a quick hug. "Got a job I need help with," the two began to walk, Judas following without any question. This man leading him along was one of the only men he had learned to trust in this cold world.

A bat was given to him as they stepped up to Rodrigo's car. A bat that would be used only if the people they were going to speak with didn't comply. It was a simple enough job, really. They were in gang territory, after all, and if the businesses wanted to be left alone, they would have to pay a nice fee. An old tactic, one that Judas was surprised was still employed. The duo wouldn't even make it to the first business.

By the time Judas had woken up, the chaos had already begun to spread around the city, unbeknownst to him.

The pair walked through the city, talking amongst themselves, slowly noticing the mass of people that were wandering the city. Panicked and carrying suitcases, they shouted and screamed. "The fuck is going on?" Judas wondered aloud. Rodrigo shrugged, before motioning for Judas to follow him, and the two made their way down an alley. The blonde haired man couldn't help a shiver that ran down his spine when he saw the scene.

A woman sat on the ground, a man's head in her lap as she cried. Her hands were stained with crimson red. Not far from where the two were, was another body, the hilt of a knife sticking out from it's skull. Judas paused, but Rodrigo hurried to their side, bending down to check the woman.

"I...I just..." The woman was finding it hard to speak. She looked up at them, Judas now joining the scene. There was so much blood, most of it coming from the man's neck. "I-I called an ambulance but...but they said...they said there's too many reports...T-that they...they might not make it...I-I can't carry him..."

"What even happened?" Rodrigo was taking point. This was his area, these were his people. He wasn't going to turn a blind eye. Judas, on the other hand, moved to the body. His stomach churned, and he couldn't even make it all the way to the corpse before he had to turn away and cover his mouth.

"That man...That..." The woman's eyes darted to the dead man. "He jumped my husband, b-bit into his neck...Tore it..." She couldn't finish her sentence. They all heard the final breaths of the man in her lap, a soft groan, before a stillness came over him. "No...No Victor, no, no!" The woman shook the man. "Please. Please oh God please no," it was only a matter of seconds before the man's eyes opened again, a groan coming from him. "Oh!" The woman pulled back, a grin spreading across her face, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

A white hand raised towards the woman, sliding up her cheek, moving to her hair. The strands were clutched and yanked, the woman crying out as her head was brought down to the man’s.

Rodrigo jumped back as blood erupted from the woman’s face. Expletives were shouted, Judas was called for, and the smaller man was jumping on top of the duo that sat on the ground, trying to pull them apart. There was a mass of screaming and confusion, Victor moving from his wife to Rodrigo, sinking his teeth into the man’s arm. Judas stepped over, taking action by slamming the baseball bat into the man’s head, over and over until Victor slumped.

Blood pooled from around the bodies. The woman wasn’t moving, Rodrigo had a hole in his arm from where the man bit him, and Victor was slumped over with a bashed open skull. Judas breathed heavily as he looked them over, jerked up when his partner fell hard against the wall, holding his arm.

“Fucking hell is this shit?” Judas opened his mouth, moving to Rodrigo, but the man shook his head.

“Go get help. Mitch or Jack or someone. I’ll be...I’ll be fine,” he was obviously not fine. Clicking his tongue in his mouth, Judas straightened, before he took a few steps back from the group. A simple nod given to his companion, and the man was heading towards the opposite end they came from. Stepping over the dead body on the ground, he paused a moment, before grabbing the switchblade buried into the man’s skull. None of them were going to be needing this now, were they?

With one last look towards Rodrigo, Judas made his way down the street, disappearing into the throngs of people that were fleeing from the West. Heart hammering in his chest, he took a breath to steady himself, his mind drifting far away from helping Rodrigo by finding Mitch or Jack. His mind strayed to his brother, the first thought being that he had to find him. Something was going on. Something was making people flee and be scared. That man attacked his wife, drew blood.

Heading towards Saint’s street, Judas kept his head down, his goal clear in his mind.

---

"Cancel your trip. I need you to empty your car."

Zaneta was startled by her mother's voice. She had been sitting on her phone, lazily propped up on the couch. The TV was playing softly in the background, mentioning some recent round of murders. At first, Zane didn't move, unable to fully process her mother's words. That's when she jumped up, eyebrows furrowed.

"What the hell do you mean I can't go on my trip?" Her face was red, getting redder by the second. No one was going to take this road trip from her, and she wanted to scream at her mom.

Her mom's eyes were wild, odd, and almost twitchy. Still, Zelda managed some softness as she spoke. "I don't have time to explain, but I got a call and we need to go."

"From who? Who called?" Zaneta huffed, getting more frustrated. "You know, I'm an adult. I don't have to cancel shit.

Her mom glared at her, putting her hands on her hips. "Zaneta- You just have to trust me on this. I don't have the time to explain." She paused, turning away to walk towards the master bedroom. "I'll explain once we get on the road. Now go unpack your Jeep."

Zaney followed Zelda, stomping her boots on the hardwood floor of their Texan home. Her mom was wearing a cowboy hat, and it took everything in her power not to steal it off her head to get her mother's attention. Unfortunately, she was painfully aware of Zelda's new-found spurs on her boots. Instead, she followed her mom into the bedroom, watching as she pulled a duffle bag out from under the bed. "What the fuck is that? What the fuck is happening?"

That was when her mother opened the duffle bag, revealing an array of guns and knives, even a katana. There was a wide variety to choose from, with some weapons as old as the 21st century. Zelda grabbed a sawed-off and then tossed a rolled up sheath of knives to Zane. "I should've taught you how to shoot years ago, but this should do for now." She paused, studying her daughter's clothes. "Put as many of those knives as you can on your body. The rest you should store in your backpack. Now do as I fuckin' asked Zaneta and unpack the damn car, but leave your clothes."

The look on her mother's face frightened Zaneta. She simply said "Yes ma'am." before walking out to the car, trying to understand what was happening. Why was her mother acting so strange? What was she supposed to do with this shit? She looked at the blow-up floaties and the cooler full of beer. She tried to think straight, figuring out what she should keep and what she should toss. Ultimately, she decided on her suitcase of clothes, the food she packed, and the blanket and pillows. That's when she heard a low growl behind her. Turning to the right, she found Mr. Wittaker staring at her with black blood dried to his shirt. He didn't look right, and something about him made Zaneta's neck hair turn up. She rested her hand on the hilt of the big knife she had in her pocket. That's when Wittaker started running towards Zaney, and she brought the knife out. That's when a bullet shot through his head, splattering brains everywhere, including Zaneta's hair. That's what she screamed.

"Shut the fuck up, Zaney."

She looked back to see Zelda poised with the shot-gun on her hip. She looked like Sarah Connor in the second terminator, which started Zaneta. Where was her mom?

"Get in the car. And stop staring at me."

She didn't stop staring, not even when they got into the Jeep and began driving towards Oklahoma. "You want to tell me why the fuck you shot Mr. Wittaker and why the fuck we're hitting the road?"

Her mother took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel. "I got a call, from an old acquaintance in Chicago, back when I lived there after meeting your father. I always thought this might happen, but I didn't think it would. Hell, he didn't either. At least we hoped." She got a lost look in her eyes, losing her train of thought.

"Mom?" It came out soft and childish.

Zelda shook her head. "Right. Sorry." A pause. "We need to get to Chicago. He's far more prepared than I am."

"Mom, prepared for what? What the fuck is happening?"

That's when her mom looked over at her. "The apocalypse, dear."

Eli yawned for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes, the hum of the slushie machine the only thing keeping him awake. Glancing down at his phone, Eli was pleased to see that his shift ended in a minute. He knew he had done a real solid for his co-worker by taking the early, early, morning shift. Eli hoped that he would remember that if he ever had a need.

With drooping eyes, Eli stared at his phone, waiting for the fifty-nine to become a zero. As he gazed intently at his phone, it began to buzz and play a simple electronic beat, indicating a call was coming in. Eli made note to change his ring tone as it was still set to the default as he clicked on the call.

“Hello?” Eli asked sleepily.

The response was a man telling him to come to him. Eli was initially puzzled before deciding that it was a prank. Just as he was ending the call he heard the man’s address. Fifth and Durum, not far from where Eli was right now. But Eli wouldn’t be heading that way as his shift was now down and he wanted to go home and sleep. Right on schedule a heavy-set bald man entered the store, Carl the man whose shift was next.

“Long night, day, or whatever Eli?” Carl chuckled as he approached the counter.

Eli yawned, “Yeah. Pretty dull besides the people leaving the bar at 2 AM and coming here to get doritos.”

“True, true. Hey man, have you heard about these crazy attacks?” Carl asked.

“What crazy attacks?” Eli asked as he made his way out of the shop.

“I don’t know really, but it’s been blowing up all over social media. Like mass murders and crap.”

“Seriously?” Eli turned to him.

“Yeah man. But some people say the police stopped it already, so you’re probably good.”

“Alright man. You be safe as well, okay?”

Carl just nodded as he positioned himself behind the counter. Eli then left the store, instinctively checking that he had his switchblade on him still. While Eli was not one to believe internet craziness, Carl’s account had unnerved him. With a quickened pace, Eli made his way back toward his apartment. While he didn’t like walking these streets so much, as he was without a car and the transit service was very sparse in this part of town, he had no choice.

“How ya’ doing Eli?” asked an old man.

Eli looked over and saw Tommy, a haggard looking homeless veteran, and his dog Clint. “You know, same crap different day.”

Tommy laughed in response, followed by a bout of coughing caused by too many cigarettes and years living on the cold streets. The coughing was cut short by the growling of Clint. Both Tommy and Eli turned to see what he was growling at. About where Eli had been a minute ago stood a man in a suit, walking with a limp and blood dropping out of his nose. As the man got closer, Clint began to bark loudly, pulling on his leash.

“Woah, boy. It’s probably just a drunk,” laughed Tommy.

But Clint continued to bark, eventually pulling his leash from Tommy’s hands. Clint then bounded down the street, before diving into the man, knocking him to the ground. Shouting an expletive, Tommy launched after his dog, Eli following close behind. As the drew near the man they could see that Clint was tearing into him, drawing blood.

“Bad dog! Damn it!” Tommy said as he pulled his dog off the man, “Sorry sir. He didn’t mean no harm. He jus-”

Tommy was interrupted as the man grabbed his arm and then bit down into it. Tommy screamed as the flesh was ripped from his arm. Eli froze as the man continued to eat Tommy’s arm. But then Clint jumped into the way, breaking the man’s hold on Tommy. Eli then regained control of his body and managed to pry Tommy away from his attacker.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!” hollered Eli as he pulled Tommy to his feet.

Wincing in pain, Tommy began to run from his attacker, Clint now following behind him. Back behind Eli kicked the man in the face, causing him to fall fully onto the ground, before sprinting after Tommy. As Eli ran he quickly looked back just to see that more of the mysterious attackers had shown up, seeing two people huddled over another person laying prone.

“Shit!” Eli caught up with Tommy, “We need someone to check out that arm.”

Tommy grimaced, “Hospital’s too far. Is there a drug store?”

Eli glanced at Tommy’s wound, “There’s a pharmacy a block from where I live. It’s just down Durum. Can you manage till then?”

“Yeah,” Tommy mumbled.

Eli was covered in sweat, caused not by exercise but by fear, as they ran down the street. As they put distance from Tommy’s attacker, people screaming and the occasional gunshot began to fill the streets. Eli took his switchblade, praying that between that and a guard dog, would be enough to get through this chaos.

---

Aran's day started out with his arm being nearly torn off by his best friend.

The night before, he had hosted a sesh with his friends, introducing them to his home-grown cannabis. It wasn't the best, but everyone enjoyed themselves. That is, until Harris left to get everyone coffee this morning and came back a murderous freak with a lust for blood. Unfortunately, Harris had gotten everyone except Aran, who happened to wake up just in time before he got bitten. However, it was an unequal fight with four zombies against one. Not to mention Aran has minimum defense skills. Perhaps his three years of karate when he was a kid will come in handy now? He didn't know, but he jumped away, ripping his arm out of Harris' grasp. Looking around and feeling cornered, he took stock of the room and realize how painfully outnumbered he is.

"Hey, come on Harris... Penny... you don't have to do this!"

He received no response, only grunts from a few of the friends of friends that showed up last night. Picking up his backpack, Aran kicked Penny in the stomach, giving a small apology as he ran out of the apartment. He trotted down the stairs, hearing the echo of extra footsteps. He picked up the pace, jumping the last five steps. Pushing out the door, he slammed into another person, causing blood to splatter all over the glass. There was a groan, but Aran didn't stop to find out if it was human or murderous human noises.

"Sorry!" was all he said as he ran away, sprinting for several blocks before hiding himself in an alley to catch his breath.

That's when he got a phone call from his mother.

"Mom?" His voice sounded panicked and out of breath. He felt like a child again.

"Honey, I need you to go to the church on Fifth street and Durum. You remember Father McCarthy, right?" Moon's voice came out soft and sweet, even though there was distant screaming in the background.

"Why? We aren't even Christian... Mom, where are you?"

"Florida, but that doesn't matter. We need you and your siblings to go there, okay? We are going to drive up from here. We'll be there in a few days, okay?" She was gentle, coaxing Aran through the conversation.

"What? Why are you guys there? What's happening?"

"I don't know, but it's something Father McCarthy prepared for. We'll be there soon, honey. Just get to the church."

Something about his mom's voice scared him, like she was telling a lie. It was the same voice she used to talk about Santa with. This realization forced Aran to digest his mom's wishes, and after a beat or two, he finally spoke.

"Okay. I will."

"Good, honey. I'm going to call your sister, now, so I have to go. She's supposed to be landing in Chicago today, so expect her soon. Okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Tell Dad I love him."

"He knew, honey. Okay, I got to go."

"Wait, Mom, what do you mean 'knew'? Mom-" That's when the phone clicked. Aran felt tears start to crawl into his eyes. He swallowed his words and his tears. He knew there wasn't time.

Throwing off his backpack, he rifled through it until he found his pepper spray and a full can of Arizona. It was better than nothing, he supposed. Zipping the backpack back up, he started running towards his old house.

”Fifth and Durum,” she whispered to herself repeatedly so she could remember to write those down . Her phone's battery had so just happened to die after receiving the message, and she wasn’t going to rely on her faulty memory, not when it was a matter of life and death. Milana searched around for something to write with, and eventually she was successful. Now all she needed to do was get there. Of course, that was easier said than done. The young woman headed to the kitchen to grab a knife. Possibly a questionable choice of weapon, but that was all that was currently available to her. The rest of the belongings she would take with her were already packed in her bag.

Finally stepping out, Milana looked down the street in both directions. It was mostly deserted, which was quite the relief for her. With the piece of paper in her hand, she briskly walked towards her car parked across the street. She reached for the key in her back pocket when she noticed a man peering into her vehicle through the passenger side front window.

”Excuse me, may I help you?” She approached him cautiously, making sure to keep her distance. ”That’s my car.”

James heard someone calling him out, then looked up from the vehicle. ”I was admiring your ride,” he grinned, resting his forearms on top of the car.

”Well, I need it now.” She looked around, growing a bit nervous. She wasn’t planning on this.

”That’s too bad…” he added, though not in a threatening matter. ”Where are ya headed?”

Milana stopped, she was mere inches from the vehicle.”I, um…I just need to get somewhere.”

He in turn didn’t respond, but simply stared at her. James was well aware of the fact that he was making the girl nervous, but that's what he sought to do. He wouldn’t shove his gun in her face and force her to give him a ride per se, but if she were to willingly offer it to him, well then that would be another story. ”Sounds important.”

She couldn’t wait any longer. Milana reached for the knife tucked away in her waistband. James noticed and reacted accordingly, though his glock was concealed in the front. She saw his gun and quickly showed him the knife.

”Please, I just want to go.”

”And I’m just defending myself.”

He was right, to a degree. Milana weighed the odds. The man hadn’t carjacked her up to that point, so that was a good sign. And he had a gun. If his destination wasn’t too far out of the way for her, then she supposed she could give him a ride. ”Fine, get in then.”

James smiled, waiting for her to unlock the car for him to be able to get in. It was his lucky day after all.

She screwed up. Her entire life, as of yet, had been full of mistakes and bad decisions. But in between those she made some really good choices and great memories, which had her believe that when it came to it she would make the right move. In the end, what she had left behind was more than just a bad decision. She had screwed up. Lu'Ella didn't listen to her, she didn't go home, and like always, was late. 

Her toxic green manicured nails, that held together better than her relationships, shined against the dim burn of the cigarette. Lu'Ella stood off and away from the others as she smoked half listening, half lost in thought. She knew what they were all going through. Knew the emotions that are held in each of them. She, even, knew the steps to help everyone's mental state. But her own mind prevented her from being rational. From keeping the same mind set she had before. Working in the psych ward prepares you to react to some crazy shit, but when a hell falls in your lap…. Well, there's no teaching for that. Lu'Ella's eyes close listening to the bravado thrown around by the group consumed with immediate regret as the flashes of memories danced behind her eyelids. Her beautiful silk red hair splayed around her distorted face. It was a twistedly beautiful scene that rotted the mind and infected the soul. Her hair was originally blonde, but so soaked in her own blood if one didn't know her they would have presumed it naturally red. The cigarette falls through her fingers in a shudder as a scream threatens to choke her.  

Looking to the others talking over guns, Lu'Ella stepped on the cigarette quickly and walked to her bag with the tempting clear liquid requesting to be tasted. Fuck. She needed a drink. To distract herself she joined the conversation.

"We're a beacon to the crazies right now. How many of us? Fifteen? Huddled together talking and strategizing. We're a massive group of lucky sons of bitches. If we all head out at once it's a higher chance of being seen. We all have our own family and friends we need to get. With that, I'm-"

pausing momentarily as though to just realize that there was no one for her anymore her friends final words sealed in her next destination, 

"leaving."

Getting up as she talked to discharge any built up emotions Lu'Ella said good bye to the ones she once called coworkers and headed for the one place- to one person - that her friend told her to go. 

Fifth and Durum. Father McCarthy.

---

---

When Aran made it to Fifth and Durum, he took a moment to catch his breath. He was starting to panic, with his heart racing out of his chest. A few blocks back, he started choking on his tears and snot. Aran needed a moment, so he rested his back on the church, content with the fact that he was only a few steps from his desired location. From Father McCarthy, the last emblem of his childhood. It felt wrong, being here under these conditions. He wasn't even Christian, and it felt wrong that the only reason he was seeking a religious location was because people wanted to murder him.

His backpack was heavier now, filled with old mementos and kitchen knives. His clothes from high school were also in his old school backpack, which laid atop his newer, heavier one. He figured that if he was holed up for the foreseeable future, it would be best if he had his own clothes. It was odd, returning to his house. It felt like he had forgotten all of the ins and outs of his home. It was barren without anyone else there, and the last time he had been around was a year or two ago when he briefly stopped by for Thanksgiving. He had left in anger and hadn't spoken to his brother since. He'd barely spoken to any of his family since, barring his mother. He was a stranger in this home, and he felt like a burgler taking the knives from the kitchen and his father's gun from the safe. He should've taken the television while he was at it.

Taking a deep breath, Aran wiped his tears away and covered his face long enough to take a breath in. He tried to think about anything other than his father or his friends.

Standing up, he made his way to the gate of the church. It only took him a few moments to see that it was barricaded, and Aran began to jiggle the gate ferociously.

"Hello? Father McCarthy?" Aran called out, rising on his tiptoes.

The church looked almost abandoned. It was never this quiet. The only thing suggesting that people took care of the building was the state of the garden. He began to survey the premises, walking the perimeter of the fence until he found the back. There was a small opening in the fence, one suggesting some sort of entrance. It was then that he found a latch and opened it, quietly. He was dimly aware of the danger in Fifth and Durum being so quiet, and it made Aran be even gentler with his movements. The gate only shrieked slightly as he opened it. It took him only a few moments before he was at the church door. He knocked, mildly aware that it felt like the only sound on the street even though only a few blocks over it was chaos.

"Father McCarthy?"

"James." he added with a smile, getting comfortable in his seat before fiddling with the AC vents.

She put on her seatbelt with a sigh. Milana simply wanted to get to her destination without issues, yet now she had to be mindful of him, of James. "I'm Milana, it's a real pleasure." The last part of that sentence was oozing with sarcasm, and she heard him chuckle. She put the car and drive and softly tapped the gas pedal, rolling the vehicle forward as she kept her eyes focused on the road.

He turned to her. "So I'm dealing with a Russian? What has the world come to..." James put a hand on his head as if he had just received some bad news.

"Excuse me?" Milana looked at him, offended over his remark. She took pride in her heritage despite the fact that she had been teased about it a couple of times before. "At least I'm not going gray, and that's thanks to my Russian genes which you apparently have a problem with." Milana made a right turn, turning onto a familiar road before the seatbelt warning tone started going off. She looked at him quietly for a second or two. "Do you mind?" she added. "That gets annoying real fast."

"As you wish," James responded, reaching for the seatbelt, "I certainly wouldn't want to anger the driver."

Milana bit her lower lip. He absolutely annoyed the living hell out of her, and they had been in the car for what, a whole minute or two? She would kick him out of the car but then she might be worse off, and Milana would much rather be annoyed and alive than any other alternative out there.

"Shit!"

She didn't see him. Some guy was crossing the road and she absolutely did not see him. Thankfully, her instincts kicked in. Milana slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel slightly, causing the vehicle to skid across a couple of lanes and end up on the wrong side of the road after it came to a halt. Her heart was about to burst from her chest, and once she realized she was gripping the wheel a little too tightly, she put her hands down. "Are you okay?"

"Damn girl, you got some talent." that's all James said with a smirk, though in reality, his heart was pounding as well.

Milana stepped out of the vehicle, thankful she hadn't hit anything. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you! Are you alright?" she called out to him.

@Ozzoquen

---

It was almost amazing how calm and serene the street was as he stood on the steps of the church. The sun was shining away, lighting up the fresh snow, melting it into small pools that would only freeze later. Birds went about their business, surprisingly still around in the chaos that had begun to spread throughout the city. Perhaps this was God's way of saying that he was doing the right thing. That this was right.

As if to prove him wrong, the shuffling and groans brought his eyes to the street.

The chain rattled on the gate that sat securely closed in front of his church. Swallowing hard, Richard stared at the dead man, one arm wildly swinging through the fence bars, trying to snatch the man that was too far away from the beast to even matter. Heart pounding in his chest, as the man grew closer, he moved his hand over his chest in a cross motion.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Montgomery," he breathed out as he recognized the man. "I hope you were not looking for solace in this church."

A knife was pulled from a sheath, tucked into the back of the priest's trousers. A soft prayer was spoken softly to himself, before the man tried to lodge it into the skull of the deceased. He missed.

Grunting, he tried again. Then again. Finally, on the fourth downward swipe, the man lodged it firmly into the being formerly known as Mr. Montgomery. The knife was now lost in the man's skull, and the Father slowly backed up, panting as he stared at his hands. Bloodied. ]

"Why is this happening...?" The question was rhetoric. He knew there was no point in asking such a thing, and ultimately knew it to be a punishment thrown down onto them. It had to be.

The next hour would be spent digging a fresh new grave, and burying the body of the man he used to know. A half hour after that, he would be inside of the church, washing away the dirt in the sink of a newly built bathroom, far away from the door. He didn't hear the voice calling for him, and until there was a knock on the door, heard nothing other than that.

The knock caught his attention, causing him to pause and flip the water off. Eyes widening as he finally heard the calling of a person, he ran with a towel to dry his hands, swinging the door open.

"A survivor!" The first to make it to his sanctuary. Perhaps the first, and only, to take his words to heart. "A-ah, sorry," a sheepish smile crossed his face as he looked over the young man. No blood. A good sign. "Come in, my child, come," leaving the door open, he waved a hand into the church, standing as it would normally. "I promise, you are safe here. I am Father Richard McCarthy," he was trying to keep his voice from shaking, trying to stay optimistic as he glanced passed the young man and out to the street.

"What's your name?" A quick glance towards Aran, his smile faltered for a moment.

---

---

There was blood on his hands. How many had come for him at this point? Five, six? He had lost the knife along the way, the aluminum bat also bloodied as he had finally made his way to the apartment. Bounding up the flight of stairs, he screamed for Jules, only to swing the door open to the room that his younger brother's friends rented.

There was no one there. A struggle had obviously taken place, blankets and pillows thrown around, glass on the floor from a broken cup.

He didn't know how long he stood in the apartment once he realized Jules wasn't there. Fifteen minutes? An hour? Time seemed to blur as his mind went crazy with any and all ideas that could have happened to the only person he cared about in this world.

Finally, Judas forced himself to go. He had to. Jules was alive, he told himself. He had to be alive.

Mind foggy, it took Judas everything he had to try to pay attention to his surroundings. Where would be go now? As he moved to step into the street, it was as if time slowed, his head turning upwards as the screeching of tires sounded out around him. Eyes widening, he turned his head towards the car speeding towards him, and it seemed luck was on his side in at least one aspect today.

A voice was the only thing that drew him back. A woman. "I'm...Yeah, I'm fine," shaking his head, he brushed it off. "Think I was one of those creeps trying to attack everyone?" His voice came off a lot more snappy than he intended. Shaking his head, he turned. "I don't have time for this, I have to find my brother."

Trigger Warning: Animal Death



Elias, the injured Tommy, and Clint the dog, ran down the street, away from the screams behind them. The group quickly turned a corner on Durum where Eli lived and the pharmacy Tommy needed was located. Tommy grunted in pain as blood ran down his arm from where he was attacked. Eli was surprised at how well Tommy was doing with the pain, but he then remembered that he had been injured far worse back in the war.

Clint barked as they past an alleyway with a group of people ripping into an elderly woman. Eli averted his gaze, not wishing to commit the horrid act to his memory. Years of watching horror movies had not prepared him for the savagery that was going on. Eli steeled himself inside as he kept sprinting down the street.

“Almost there,” Eli whispered to Tommy, hoping to not attract any attackers.

Tommy replied with a grunt as he kept up with Eli. Within a few minutes, Eli could see the pharmacy. However, it had already begun to be looted. Clint dashed ahead, entering the drug store. Tommy ran after him, still clutching his arm. Eli swore as he followed after the two of them.

“Clint! Come back here!” Eli heard Tommy bellow.

Eli followed the noise to the back of the pharmacy, where he found Clint and Tommy standing over the remains of a man. He was dressed in a postman’s uniform, perfectly normal looking, save the massive hole in his head. Eli held in some vomit as he saw the corpse. He was quickly snapped back to reality by Clint’s ferocious barking. Eli spun around to see a man pointing a shotgun at Tommy.

“How did you get hurt?” the man questioned intensely.

“What?” Tommy asked with confusion.

“The wound on your arm. How did you get it?”

“I don’t know. Some guy bit him,” Eli replied.

The man responded by shooting Tommy through the head, spraying blood, brains, and pieces of skull everywhere. Eli mouthed what the fuck and Clint leaped at the man. However, the man let loose the other shell in his gun, hitting Clint right between the eyes.

“What the hell was that?” questioned Eli in shock.

“Once they bite you, you become one of them,” the man said simply.

“What is them?” Eli whispered as he became aware of the blood of Tommy and Clint covering him.

“The dead,” the man laughed eerily, “They ran out of room in hell.”

As the man continued to laugh, Eli began to back away. He noticed that the shotgun was double barrelled, meaning he spent his round and would need to reload. Eli took the opportunity to bolt out of the store. Running as fast as he can, Eli didn’t look at the new corpses littering the street. He just kept running till he saw his apartment building. Dashing toward the front door, Eli paused as he heard a guttural noise.

The door to his building burst open as a bald man covered in bed smashed through. Eli quietly said shit as the man locked eyes with him. Eli spun as fast as he could, turning away from the building, and moved as fast as he could in the opposite direction. The roar of the man told Eli that he was following after him. Eli pumped his legs as he ran for his life. His thoughts quickly raced as he was moving on pure adrenaline. His mind wandered back to that strange phone call this morning, the priest saying he had a safe area.

Realizing that he wasn’t far from Fifth, Eli began to run with a destination in mind. He hoped there would be some kind of help there, as he was pretty sure that there was more than of these things following him, at least based on the noises they were making.

"Hey man, she fucking apologized!" James was visibly upset, not bothering masking his emotions as he also stepped out of the car in a rather brisk manner.

The moment Milana heard him, she turned her head to glance in his direction. "Come on, take it easy will ya?" She was somewhat surprised by his aggressive reaction. The poor kid was spooked, but who could blame him... She would have been just as upset if she too was nearly ran over. Milana addressed the boy once more. "He didn't mean that, don't listen to—"

"The hell I didn't..."

"James!" She looked at the man as if he had two heads. "Give me a minute, please, don't leave" Milana pleaded with the stranger before walking around the front of her car. "The hell is wrong with you, huh?" She was talking low, almost in a whisper. James began to say something but she quickly interrupted him. "You better listen to me real good because I'm only going to say this once. If you want a damn ride in my car, then you need to shut the hell up and let me deal with that guy. Save that exaggerated testosterone of yours for someone who gives a damn."

Milana turned away and walked up to the young man, speeding up to catch up to him. "I"m sorry, really. I'm actually heading to the church if you want to tag along...who knows, maybe your brother is there."

@Ozzoquen