[IC] Operation: Dead Man's Hand

[Rilla]

Asheville - City Limits

Dressed in a beaten up Jos. A. Banks suit, a former big wig from the Raeym Corporation, rushed towards the Asheville city limits as though his life depended on it. Fortunately, or perhaps the opposite, for him - he really needed to run. No sooner than he took fifteen steps, five humans with bloodlust in their eyes burst from the brush behind him. Tossing a look over his shoulder, he cuts a sharp left into a medium sized parking lot, and ducks behind one of the cars. Just a second later, the humans stained in blood shot past the car he was hiding behind.

Jack rubbed down the front of his face, his hand drenched in swear. “God damn it, what did we do?! What did we do?! IT definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this!” After a moment, he poked his head out from behind the cars and checked if the coast was clear. He leaned back into his hide away and caught his breath.

Jack Johnson, a native of nearby Whittier, North Carolina, practically grew up taking trips to Asheville several times a week, and even attended UNC Asheville. But in the past twenty years, the now forty five year old man hadn’t been home but a handful of times, the last time being five years ago when his father Derrick Johnson passed away from a sudden heart attack while out hunting. He wasn’t found until a couple of days after, but by then he was already dead. Raeym Corp., the company he worked for and the manufacturer of his current predicament were kind enough to handle all the funeral arrangements. He spent a week here, and then began working overtime at the company that had, quite literally, kept his family from going bankrupt from all the funeral expenses.

Waiting another ten minutes, Jack stepped from behind the safety of his car and headed in the direction of the UNC. He knew the library would be as safe a place as any. He didn’t exactly know why he chose to come back to his town, but he knew that his mom had gone missing and the rest of his family was out of contact as well. He heard from down in Whittier, when he tried to hide in the family house, that the library in UNC was taking in refugees.

Jack kept his head down and moved through the empty streets, well the ones he spotted were empty and wondered how things went wrong. The microchips, the bacteria, the assemblers they were all supposed to be kept contained. He knew there were talks of an eventual release, and from the reports he got from his rather lofty position, it had been. But further still, it was only supposed to turn those infected into the ultimate security force to defend the nation in case of an eventual attack on the land. Politicians contracted big corporations, including Raeym, to make different parts and used Raeym’s far reach to distribute it without the public’s knowledge.

He was told that the workers of the companies wouldn’t be infected, but the scene at the underground bunkers was crazy. When they finally managed to get out, those who were outside of the sturdy metal doors were roaming the halls, battling each other and turning into literal cannibals. The screams still haunted his dreams, and all the blood… all the blood made him cringe every time he thought about it.

UNC-Asheville Campus

Royal Blue and White were the predominant colors worn by the ravaging people, all affected by the virus that none of those who weren’t turned could understand. Blood smeared the ground, but there were few, if any dead bodies. Any that had survived the initial activation of the microchips, which had seemingly become sentient enough to form their own form of self-replication and preservation, were quickly snuffed out by those who weren’t as lucky. The library, which wasn’t as heavily populated, seemed to be one of the safest bets and many were trying to get there - though for the most part, they wouldn’t be able to reach it.

The rest of the campus was much worse off - the ‘Zombies’ as many people had taken to calling it in passing circles of survivors, had taken over all over. Word from other countries were they weren’t experiencing much of a side effect, but that wasn’t the case for places situated around US military installations. The problem was quickly spreading, but unlike the US that had continental exposure, it was easier to contain with countries military forces forming a blockade and shooting any seemingly affected person down. At first, it was non-lethal bean bag shots designed to put them down and deter them, but the micro chipped humans were picking themselves back up when they could and carrying forward, forcing the men on the barricades to unload their lethal payloads.

Johnson rushed through the several of the two hundred sixty five acres, before he came to the Hidan Ramsey Library, and quickly made his way in.

UNC Library

Johnson leans against the doors, keeping the beating zombies from getting in behind him. His suit shirt was ruined with sweat. His tie was loose enough to fall off. His chest heaved up and down, up and down. After another ten minutes of rest, he stood up and took his tie off. Maybe someone else would be here, maybe someone that would know more than him. A thought occurred, he was part of this new plague. If anyone found out he surely wouldn’t make it out alive, he’d definitely be blamed and would definitely.

It wasn’t but a year ago when the Ramsey Library was renovated and made into a three story monstrosity. Johnson stepped into a bathroom and peered into a mirror.

“My name is Erik Watson. I was headed to a job interview when things went to a shit. That’s my story.”

Jack sighed, and exited the bathroom, making his way to the second floor. He stopped by one of the windows - and stared out at the sea of infected and wondered where things went wrong.

---

Summary: Jack Johnson, part of the problem, makes it to Asheville and the library. He changes his name, in private, to avoid any future suspicion.

[MelonHead]

Asheville, Barnard Avenue
Card

It wasn’t really hard to explain what he, Card the part time drug-dealer part time swindler of only 19 years of age, was doing crouching nervously in the upper story of an average sized blue house a spitting distance from UNC. Students made excellent targets for all forms of debauchery he was happy to provide, and that was just what he was doing right up until all hell predictably had to break loose. Morbidly, he figured it was probably for the best, he was starting to get a pretty nasty reputation!

Regardless, Card found himself peering anxiously down Barnard Avenue, only a few streets away from the general green which ran into campus. The area around him was crawling with the crazies, which he had, as a genre savvy young gentleman, taken to calling zombies. His supplies had run down to a packet of crisps and two bottles of water in a small rucksack he carried, along with the clothes on his back, which consisted of generally chavvy but comfortable and functional attire. The thought reminded him that his hoodie was scrunched up in the backpack because it was damn warm, especially when running for one’s life.

Which was exactly what he had been doing up until earlier that day, he had ran all the way to this house and found it occupied, which was up there on his worst nightmares list. Somehow he had snuck upstairs without being spotted, and was now hunkered down in some kid’s room, listening to the heavy breathing of some zombies downstairs and the general hubbub of a swarm just outside his window. It was seriously shit.

Anxiously, he shuffled through a deck of cards with one hand, and squinted, blinking rapidly. Sleep deprivation was starting to take its toll on the small man, if he could even be called that, small youth even. He wiped the sweat from his brow and slicked back his saturated muddy-blonde and particularly scraggy looking hair.

“Alright… alright, gotta get somewhere nice and big, nice and secure. Somewhere official right, somewhere I can expec’ to get saved yeah.” He nodded his head down in thought and allowed the small corner of curtain he had been holding aloft to peer out into the street to drop suddenly, plunging the room into semi-darkness again. “Where the fuck am I goin’ to find a place like that?”

--- Summary ---

Card, having likely been dealing drugs or doing something similarly unscrupulous in the general vicinity of the University, has been marooned in a house a few streets from the Library.

[Punishment]

Asheville, Downtown, fifteen blocks from UNC-Asheville Campus

The day started off so well, wake up, shower, eat breakfast, take a jog, that's where everything went wrong. Nelia couldn't believe her eyes when everyone threw a panic and spun like crazy in circles, falling to the ground only to get up and stare at everyone who didn't fall like they were a pork rye steak and haven't ate for three weeks straight. Within moments it went from a calm, normal day in Asheville to a cluster of crazed people trying to seemingly eat everyone not like them, as if in a popularity club where only few were invited. Blood-splattered and practically batshit insane by any hardened down mental wards standards, being such a nice day nearly everyone was outside, and that was the problem.

Nelia reacted like most did, run like hell away from the danger. Survival was something she knew fairly well, and how to run away from danger even more well. She had to get back to her apartment before the majority managed to break in, though, wouldn't they be inside the apartment as-well? She didn't stop to think, too much of a head on rush just to get back to even consider if that was a bad idea or not to even enter the apartment complex again. It didn't take long to go back, as she only went a block by the time she noticed the outbreak fling into motion on nearly everyone in Asheville, by what she could see.

Flinging herself through the double doors of the complex bottom floor she quickly looked around, there were twelve of the crazies just staring about, until they spotted her, as if lone sheep to the pack of hungry wolves, they launched at her immediately, and she launched herself over the checking counter and then over it again in order to loop around the majority of them before they all crashed upon her, each so hell bent on getting to her that they simply hit each other in a collision course or fell over the counter when they went to grab at her legs. Before they could turn and properly start at her again, she was bounded up the stairs as many steps as she could take in a single go. Once on the second floor she swung herself, pulling out her keys in a fumble and unlocking the door, pushing herself inside, and shutting it in one motion before finally adding the touch of locking to be sure. She took a moment to compose herself, taking slow breaths before gathering her leather jacket, some packes of beef jerky and two water bottles, the first thing she really saw in first glance, stuffing them into her brown duffle bag, slinging it on her shoulder and then exiting out her door once more and down the hallway-pursued by five of the crazies who managed to somehow find their way up the stairs.

She had to get to a safer area, but where was safe in this sudden hellhole that used to be Asheville? She had to find out soon, before darkness crept on and she'd be lost to the massed horde in darkness, not the best option. Not to mention her hearing wasn't the greatest, and being so distracted thinking up random plans she nearly ran head on to another crazy lurking around the corner, reflex's saving her more than anything and with that, she spun at the last moment , shouldering the crazed man out of the way and into the wall and then down the emergency exit, these flight of stairs were rarely used, but now they were going to have to be; it was the only real option left, after all.

After making it back outside she peered around, looking for any further threats before gazing down the road at the campus in the distance, mostly a blur at this distance but it was large enough to notice easily as-well, and make out the features. She thought a moment about that, perhaps the Library would be good, not many people go there, so perhaps it was the best option at current, then again, she tended to make pretty poor choices, especially the one where she wanted to move to Ashevile. She regretted that one right now. Without further ado, she made her way through the back alleys of the buildings, using the mass confusion of the horde to slip as much as she could un-noticed through the alleyways, letting the horde of literal cannibals raze through the streets looking for prey, it was a chilling thought that kept her walking just a tad bit faster.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Summary- After taking a mid morning jog down the streets, a suddenly confused Nelia finds the crazied hordes of the outbreak filing in to claim new members of it's 'order', without any real thought, she made her way into her Apartment, grabbed her gear and decided to make her way toward the usually limited populace Library down by the Campus, making her way through the alleyways firstly.

[Avery Calhoun]

A look of disgust stretched across Vincent’s worn face as he walked away from the window he had just tumbled from and over to the only motorcycle in sight. Standing over the bike in the employee’s parking lot of Craggy Correctional Institute he thought for a moment that he would rather be dead than ride this thing. Today’s events seemed willing to make good on that thought if he was willing to test it. He stood next to the bright yellow Ducati and considered for a brief moment just walking out of Asheville instead of riding away on a Ducati but common sense took over and before long he was rummaging through the tank bag where he found the rider's personal weapon, a map, and two bottles of water. Vincent growled to himself as he rolled under the adjacent sedan and stripped a wire out from underneath it, “Over one hundred and forty staff...” he grumbled “…and only one C.O. was decent enough to ride and he had to ride this piece of shit.”

When Vincent crawled out from under the car next to the bike his moment of reflection and disgust was interrupted by the manic shouting just inside the prison's fences. Every ten feet or so a dozen or more of the infected crashed through the tangle of razor wire at the foot of the fence as if it were nothing, unaffected. Their collective weight and frantic beating against the fence was beginning to force the aged chain link to bow outward towards the parking lot. Vincent’s disgust at riding anything other than a Harley Davidson was soon overpowered by the realization that that fence would not hold that crowd for more than another hour he guessed. With practiced ease Vincent followed the wires from the motorcycles ignition down to the connector that fed into the starter, he disconnected the plastic ends, bridged the wire across the two open ports on the starter motor side, and started the bike just as if had possessed the keys. After one final look back at old Craggy, which thankfully had not been his home for too long, Vincent directed the bike out of the employee’s lot and onto Riverside Drive along the French Broad River towards interstate 26 and what he hoped would be some distance from what he thought was a local outbreak of high grade insanity.

On a normal day it would have taken ten minutes to make the interstate from Craggy, right at exit 25, but today was anything but normal. Vincent spent the better part of twenty minutes in first or second gear weaving between the abandoned cars along Riverside Drive and trying to avoid the infected that were like so many mice worming their way through the gridlock. His luck ended right at the 25 on-ramp at UNC Asheville. He had just managed to avoid an oil slick from a pile up wreck under the highway overpass when a pair of infected bolted into his path. The front wheel and forks of the bike took the lead infected straight on crushing its pelvis, ribs, and then skull while the sudden stop in motion sent Vincent’s considerable bulk high end over the handle bars. He came down hard in the on-ramp median, the force of the fall driving the wind from his lungs and twisting his left arm under his body at an awkward angle.

After a moment he lifted his head from the grass and dirt and brushed the debris from his beard with his right hand. Shakily he stood, gaining his feet slowly and testing his torqued left arm, it wasn't broken but it wasn't right either something was pulled or out of place. Haltingly he hobbled back over to the bike and observed that the first infected person’s skull had been cracked by the impact, the other was now pinned between the mangled bike and the overpass abutment. As he reached for his tank bag the pinned person gnashed its broken face at him, trying to make use of a jaw that was a dislocated mess. Without getting more than a bloody tongue lashing on his right leather glove Vincent managed to pull the tank bag away and throw it over his good shoulder. He patted the pocket of his T-shirt and looked to the heavens thankfully, withdrawing a lucky strike and lighting it as he moved away from the highway and toward the UNC Asheville Campus. “Hell if I am lucky…” He coughed after taking a deep inhalation “…maybe there’s some whiz kid here that knows what the hell is going on.” He thought for a moment, looking over his shoulder and picking up his pace as best he could after noticing the gathering group of infected scrambling over the cars, drawn by the racket of his wreck. “Better yet, some ROTC nut jobs with guns protecting a sorority.” Vincent tossed the cigarette and broke out in a dead run onto the campus not knowing what was motivating him more, the sorority idea or the growing mob of fast moving infected that was gaining on his old ass.

---

Summary: Free from prison our favorite outlaw biker gets a bike and then wrecks it, buggering up his left arm but disabling two infected in the process. His small triumph and dirty old man thoughts about campus life are soon interrupted by the growing horde of infected that now chase him as he runs onto the campus.

[Meth Quokka]

His hand trembled uncontrollably as he nervously peeked outside the window of the house he’d so recently seen as a good resting place before he committed to traversing the last few blocks to the library. He thought the house was empty based off the simple fact that he couldn’t hear any of those bloodthirsty monsters that had once been humans. Both luckily and unluckily the former suburban homeowner remained upstairs but locked locked upstairs and Corey had been the lucky recipient of an hour long period of listening to those bone-chilling noises and the uncontrollable fear that it instilled. How he’d managed to make it this far, he had no shred of an idea; so far riding his luck seemed to be it. He’d been lucky enough to be in the parking garage of his apartment complex with his key when those things had breached his apartment. He’d grabbed his keys, hoping someone else would’ve come down before the creatures but all he’d heard was their inhuman growls. He’d nearly made it out of the garage, his V8 Mustang challenging it’s foes to a growling match when Ashleigh, that cute blonde girl from his floor had come running out.

He’d swung back around but by the time he got there, a wave of death and evil had overwhelmed her and so Corey fled the scene. He wasn’t a man built for this, not a man who had it in him to rescue the girl and overwhelm the monsters yet he’d been the one that’d made it out. Fate it seemed had a twisted sense of humour, a mantra that only seemed more valid with every passing hour. He’d had no clue of where he was driving either, all of the terrain seemed to be the same to him yet there was a repeating message played in his head; back at the apartment one of the police had said an emergency announcement was telling survivors to hole up and wait for military assistance. Survivors, that was the term that they were using now, to Corey and his overactive mind that showed the depth of the strife he found himself in now. He wasn’t one of the normal people, nor one of the uninfected but he was one of the survivors. Were there truly so few left now, that we were survivors?

He shook himself out of his melancholic state, snapping himself back to reality and the current dangers he was facing. “Okay you’ve made it this far mate, it’s just a little bit further” he said to himself, trying to pep himself up for the next leg of this journey which would surely be one of the more dangerous. “Now what does the big action guy do in the movies? What did they do in the Walking Dead apart from massacre zombies with hammers?” The casual nature of his line of questioning was a world apart from the nervous storm that crashed around his body, threatening utter paralysis yet it was working. Slowly the gears in his mind began ticking over as he focused less on dying and more on how he could avoid it. He needed some form of transport that he could easily outpace these things but silent enough to avoid drawing a horde of them. The thought of another car had tempted him but once he made it to the library, he’d be bringing a horde of the mindless creatures with him. That wouldn’t be a very good move for his future health.

A bicycle. That was the answer he was searching for. In his moment of triumph he punched the air and immediately felt like a complete dork for it. “Not like there’s anyone around to notice” he muttered to himself, again taking the more jovial path of snapping himself into gear. He moved through to the already ransacked kitchen, swearing when the best weapon he could find was a pan, good for blunt force trauma but rather unwieldy to the hand. Yet he still gripped it in his hand like it was a weapon of mythical destruction, capable of defeating any foe with one carefree swing. His hand hovered over the pommel of his pistol for a second before he decided against using it. The last time he’d shot it not only had he completely missed his target but he’d brought a horde onto him. Again playing to his seemingly unbeatable luck, he’d tried to be all macho action hero while he still had fuel in his long-abandoned car. It’d nearly killed him leaving his beautiful ‘stang behind a few hours later but there was little point in taking it without fuel.

With his invincible pan of death pointed out in front of him, he did his best action hero impersonation as he descended into the garage, relying more on his hearing then his eyes in the gloomy darkness. He swore as he kicked a metallic object across the floor, it bounced loudly across the floor and clanged loudly into some other metal object as Corey froze in fear. After a few seconds of no audible change other than a doubling in the frenzied noise coming from above, his eyes began adjusting to the light, or lack thereof in the garage. Nestled in the corner, much to his chagrin and pleasure, was a slightly undersized pink bike. Swallowing his pride he grabbed the bike, trying his best to still project masculinity to the empty room and carried it out into the living room of the house. A quick, fretful peek out of the front window revealed a road full of shambling husks, a rather unappealing avenue of travel.

He moved across to the back door, bike in tow and sent a silent prayer as he peeked out the frosted back window. A slightly blurred and slightly unreliable view of the back lawn greeted him and just as he went to check through another window he heard an unmistakable crash from upstairs. The door had given way. He forced his way through the back door, dropping the pan in abject fear and rush, yet he was greeted with the most welcome of sites, an empty back yard and an open gate to the alley. He hopped onto the bike, slightly wobbling as his he was far too big for it and began frantically pedalling. In his frantic rush, his outwardly protruding knees knocked his arms away and he did the most inappropriate thing for the situation; a face-first landing off the bike. His second attempt bore fruit as he managed to get out of the backyard and pedalled down the alley, escaping from the rampant creature behind him.

A few minutes later of the most awkward pedalling witnessed by man or rather lack of man, along with some nervous moments waiting for the things to pass, he made into the library car park which was blissfully free from danger for the moment. Coming to Asheville probably hadn’t been the smartest decision as there would’ve been closer options but this was the only decent library he knew of, having heard of it from a UNC graduate he’d been interviewing for his job application. He ditched the bike with consummate ease, separating from that infernal machine that had tried to kill him wasn’t a decision as he stealthily stalked his away across the car park. A dive behind a car there, a crouched run across another car over there filled his repertoire of stealthy movement as he hoped for an easy entrance into the library. As he reached the last car before an open stretch to the library he took a few deep breathes, calming his body down and attempting to instil himself with confidence. His legs began freezing with uncertainty as he desperately whispered to himself, “no, no, no, you need to get across there” before he did the only thing he could think of to get his reluctant body moving; he fell forward into the open. He scrambled back to his feet, his bag swinging wildly as he instantly regretting not bringing the pan with him. He un-holstered his pistol, with a whole three bullets, as he promise himself he’d find another weapon of some sort in the library.

Blissfully a fire door yielded an entry with no inhuman barriers betwixt him and his salvation, a result that played a broad grin across his face. A few seconds later that broad grin was shattered as the turn of the handle revealed naught but a soft click. The door was locked. He wanted to hit something out of anger but that’d solve very little so he shelved that rage for the next creature he found. Pistol raised, he moved across the external base of the building, attempting to cover every nook and cranny like the hero always does in the movie. He heard the faintest of groans and growls and he paused, peeking nervously around the corner to see five zombies shuffling away from another door to the library which would hopefully be open. His breath quickened and shallowed, his pulse lifted and his hand became slick with sweat as he begged fate to be kind to him this day. One of the former human’s head shot up, a bloodied middle aged woman dressed in what used to constitute the office worker’s attire. Corey’s heart seemed so loud in his own hears, the blood seemed to pump so furiously his mind played on the thought that he could well burst due to the pressure.

He almost sniggered at the thought of it, only to catch himself on the verge of noise. The seconds felt like eternity before the stumbling body shrieked loudly and set off in the other direction, chasing anything but him. He felt for whoever they were going after but for now he didn’t care, the library would hopefully be a safe haven for now. The handle thankfully yielded to his touch and the door fell away revealing an almost too neat arrangement; it seemed blissfully unaware of the chaos that reigned supreme outdoors. A few seconds of careful listening yielded no results as to anyone being inside, so he mustered his courage, raised his pistol and trudged into the library, eyes up and ears listening.

---

Summary: Corey makes it into the library, body intact but pride somewhat dented.

[Scribbles]

Sweat Peas Hostel, 23 Rankin Avenue, Asheville, North Carolina.

It was quaint - or, more apropos, a hole. Not unlike the whole of Asheville, in David's opinion... but then he never was fond of the States, opting instead to ply his trade in Great Britain and mainland Europe. Hunting down Eliza Stetson and her inexplicable fortune was, however, a bit of a championship case; Crown Estates was paying out the arse for its speedy resolution, and - to be frank - the mystery tickled David to no end. It was fascinating.

Without a prod from the Crown and Eliza, however, David Fischer had no immediate plans to visit the United States, but... here he was. Six days into his man hunt, figuratively balls deep in the investigation, he had turned up an impressive load of absolutely fucking naught. The trail on Mrs. Stetson ran cold in Asheville, North Carolina, and no matter how hard the old boy dug, he could turn up nothing that pointed him in any fresh directions. The night before, in fact, he had been indulging in his first cigarette in eighteen years on a bench outside Pritchard Park when he'd come to the conclusion that fuck it.

Now, however, he was rethinking that move; the lovely folks at Crown Estates, after David had expressed his intent to return to London and declare the case "as solved it could ever be, really," had insisted that he find Mrs. Stetson - and offered an extra 15% of his fee as incentive. To be brief, it was a lot of money.

So David found himself forcing down a cup of not-so-wonderful black coffee in the sitting room at Sweet Peas, glancing at his watch with a frown. "A'right, love," he said, offering the woman at the counter a nod before rising from his seat, shrugging into his overcoat, and heading out onto the street. Fischer pound pavement for a few blocks before settling on Carmel's Kitchen & Bar on Page for lunch. He drifted absent minded through a turkey panini and a bowl of the soup du jour - French Onion, as it happened - working out his next step whilst glancing listlessly through the Asheville Citizen-Times. UNCA remodeled Ramsey library opens its doors, the Citizen-Times insisted.

Who bloody cared?

"Anything else, hon?"
"No, love, just the check."

David made his way back to Sweat Peas, taking his time, paying no mind to the increasingly absent streets - where had the traffic gone to? Standing outside of the hostel, the old man grimaced and rubbed his temples with calloused finger-tips, glancing out at the BB&T building on Rankin rearing its ugly forehead out into the skyline of Asheville. What a hideous town.

Waltzing back into the hostel, David halted before reaching the first step leading to the lofts upstairs; his eyes scanned the front counter curiously - where had the attendant gone?

"'lo?" he called out, slowly moving from his perch towards the counter. "Anybody about? It's no time to be sleeping on the job, y'know," he joked, never cracking even a faint grin. Steadily, Fischer made his way around the counter and towards the back of the hostel, where he could hear movement and muffled voices - the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he hadn't the foggiest why.

"Christ!" he declared upon examining the back room; blood quite literally stained the floor, walls, and ceiling, and in varying states of torn-the-hell-apart, several hostel employees lay sprawled across the hardwood floor and the bits of mismatched furniture dotting the room. "Nggh?" grunted the sole survivor of this massacre, a slight and portly woman a bit older than David, wearing a blood red blouse - wait, sorry, a once white blouse - and a torn blazer.

"What - what's going on - what happened?" he stammered, agape, staring like some damned fool into the room and making no move to flee.

"Rggharrgh!" she declared, pouncing to her feet and heaving herself with alarming swiftness across the room and straight into David, sending the pair sprawling backwards. David yelped in surprise, tumbling so far back that he upended himself and was deposited neatly on the other end of the counter, which provided some separation between himself and the mad woman bent on nibbling his bits.

It didn't stop her for very long, of course, and David found himself scurrying backwards on his rear end to escape the crawling Mrs. Sillycunt.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he proclaimed, his voice ringing of a youthful falsetto inspired by sheer panic.

Soon David found himself back against the street-side wall of Sweet Peas, all out of room with a loony hostel employee dragging herself towards him with nearly impressive fury. In desperation, Fischer whipped his leg out, a booted heel connecting with the bridge of her nose; the Mrs. was distracted, briefly, as her face crumpled and her shattered nose began to spurt blood. Doing his best to ignore the sight - and quietly muttering "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" - David leaped to his feet and blasted out of the front room onto the sidewalk.

His car - a rental Prius hybrid - was parked in the Rankin Avenue garage. David decided now was as good a time as any to return the fucking car.

[Meth Quokka]

Corey moved through the eerily quiet bookcases of the library, pistol raised and heart thumping as his soft padded footsteps sounded deafening in the silent realm of the library interior. A small rattle came from his backpack and he winced, his best guess as to the origin would be his Swiss army knife on that can of spaghetti he had, not that it mattered much. Deciding that he’d clear the area far faster without his pack, he cut a beeline for the reception desk with his eyes wearily scanning the area. He set his pack down behind the desk, with a muffled thud and immediately spun and rechecked the area, seeing if his movement into the centre had drawn any attention.

The distinct lack of anything greeted him, not any signs of other life but there was still two floors to check which after then Corey promised himself he’d sate his growling stomach with that ever so tempting can of spaghetti. Personal deal-making, once a point of luxury back before … well back before whatever had happened, but now it was a matter of survival and almost sadly, interaction. It’d been a few days since he’d even spoken to someone and right now that period of silence weighed on him like heavy blanket; suffocating and crushing. He almost felt like praying there’d be someone else in the library, he’d taken even the most annoying person he’d ever met, one Luke Maccerney now. His once annoying mannerisms and squawk-like voice would be welcome over the crushing silence and desolate isolation that now occupied him. He feared that bone-rending noise of the things that were once human more than anything he’d ever experienced in his life.

He snapped out of his melancholic trance, reminding himself he was still in a building that he had no idea about yet here he was, reminiscing about people he’d hated but still missed. He wearily waved his gun around in an almost desperate motion of despair as he attempted to clear his thoughts and sharpen his focus, turning instead to the matter ahead of the floor above. Luckily the light shone through the large windows, leaving the library rather well illuminated by the sparkling daytime but night would bring another story. He decided to search for the best cubbyhole to find tonight, somewhere safe, warm and cosy then try and have one good night’s sleep. Given the expansive nature of this structure he figured once he bunkered down he’d be pretty safe. Hopefully the hindrance it was proving to him now would also prove a hindrance to the mindless hunks of flesh that now roamed the streets, it’d taken him a few minutes of careful thinking to try and plan out his path through the library.

He ended up deciding against his initial plan of clearing the building first, his stomach was beginning to growl a little and a touch of dizziness was beginning to set in. He settled down behind the desk, grabbing his can of spaghetti and cracked the lid, almost passing out from delight as the delightful scent of food wafted into his nostrils. It’d been a while since he’d last ate and now it was catching up with him. Despite its canned nature, the meal was relatively nice and proved to him what a great choice it’d been buying them those few months ago when he’d planned for a lazy meal. He’d just finished the first quarter of the can when he heard a slight creak which seemed to resonate from upstairs and his heart jumped into his mouth. His first thought that screamed into his head was that there was someone; or something upstairs. He carefully placed the lid of the can back over the top, doing his best to reseal it and set it on the reception desk along with the fork he’d used to eat.

He grabbed his pistol and poked his head out from behind the desk as he tried to catch a glimpse of the next level but the glance revealed naught but bookshelves. He nervously chewed his lips as he contemplated calling out; it’d surely been the sound of a door swinging and he’d yet to see one of those things open a door but library’s generally had push doors. Deciding that calling out would simply invite danger onto himself, he quickly looked around for any potential weapon at the desk but there wasn’t much besides phones, stationery and a large stapler, none of which would prove overly potent as a weapon. He felt like swearing at his misfortune but that kind of action wouldn’t do much to aid his cause.

He climbed back behind the desk, clutching his pistol desperately with an almost unbreakable grip and he rocked back and forth a little, attempting to muster the courage to ascend the stairs. His mind whirred at an incredible rate as he tried to determine an alternative but he eventually decided that not knowing what was up there was far worse than going to find out, after all what if it was one of those things and it came for him in his sleep?

He stealthily crawled out from behind the desk and began to ascend the stairs, each step heavily and reluctant, bringing with it an extra load of nerves and worry. His hands were almost shaking by the time he reached the top; beads of sweat were forming and rolling off his brow not from exertion but from shear emotional stress. A few quick, jagged wipes with his wrist did a reasonable job of clearing his brow before he set off from the top of the stairs and he immediately spun right to see the door to some toilets. He headed towards them, deciding to start with the right and try to clear this huge structures in some kind of logical fashion. He made it halfway across to the doors when he felt something hard crack against the back of his head and a subsequent flare of pain flashed across his head. The red-hot pain, sharp and stabbing felt like it was going to burst his eyes out from the back as he stumbled and felt to one knee as all manner of lights broke out in his vision. He feebly tried to rise again and turn to face the direction he’d been hit from but once he rose from his knee he simply crashed to the ground where naught but an overwhelming darkness was there to greet him.

---

Summary: As Corey tries to clear the library, he leaves his supplies down the near the reception desk but is knocked out by an unknown assailant on the second floor.

[Punishment]

UNC- Campus

The journey through the alleyways proved simple enough, Nelia trecked her way through each block, managing to loop around the worst of the horde as they where distracted by their quest to run in every direction during this first stage of the outbreak, from she could gather in any case. Finding her way onto the campus grounds of the large college, she paused, crouching down behind an abandoned car tail end, peeking over so that only her fingerless gloves would be visible and just a slight bit of her head. What she saw was as what anyone would expect- more of the cannibalistic society roaming around, not in as much numbers as before, it seemed they all wanted to roam outward, get to every point of the city as quick as possible.

Nelia took a glance up at the sky, checking the sunlight in the area, it was still noon. She let out a silent breath, "Just keep movin' Nelia, you can make it." She whispered lightly to herself, gazing behind her a moment before quickly switching and going right, down the side of the road and as low as she could behind the cars, just to be extra careful. Then she saw the former Library, which was renovated a short while ago, in all respect, not yet changed into the new building it still was a library, in all glory. Was probably one of the biggest buildings in the area, not hard to miss that thing. Slowly, carefully as could, she made her way to the library, once she did have to knock out one of the cannibals roaming about when it spotted her, ran dead on to her, and hit his face into the flat of her right shoe, out cold in the same moment, leaving her panting from the encounter- why the hell were these guys acting like this?

Not coming to any conclusion in her head, she turned and went for the building, after a quick look around she noticed the front still had a small group of the freaks, shuffling into each other and going different directions, within a split moment of thinking she decided just to simply climb to the second story window instead, one of them seemed to be slightly propped open, good enough for her. Backing up she took off in a head-long run, kicking off a metal large trash bin, gripping with both hands on the garage roof and pulling herself up, even if she made noise, it seemed that she realized these freaks didn't have much advanced motor functions to climb or open doors, nonetheless pull themselves up in this way.

With further gazing she spotted a pipe for releasing air into the open world from within the building, she paused a moment before taking a short jog and running toward the pipe her black athletic styled shoes making gripping onto the pipe easier as she tested to see if it'd fall over or not, thankfully, it didn't. She began her trek up the pipe, holding herself close to it to better manuever herself up each notch until she finally reached the second floor, once there she shifted her weight to the left and released, kicking off the pipe once her feet were clear of anything capable of holding them in the pipe notches, and grabbing the seal of the window. After a slight stuggle to find her balance with dangling two stories up, she placed her left foot against the brick wall, finding it it to be as such she used the rough, spiky surface to boost herself onto the window, open it and after shuffling her duffle bag, her own body soon followed, rolling on the floor to dampen the sound as much as possible, though it was still notable throughout the room she landed in. She paused, attempting to listen and look around in the darkness, but to her, she only heard a slight ticking noise of water-somewhere- but beyond that, nothing. She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and closing the window.

Inside the UNC- Library, second floor.

Nelia gazed around the room, thankfully her eyesight was better than her hearing; it was clear, with only a few scattered papers around, a single shelf for books and drawers around the room. Upon further inspection, she found it to be one of the past children's rooms, noting the books on the shelf. She finally exited the door, sweat now staining her black clothing ever so slightly from the hot day that it was outside, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her she went to the edge of the second story, looking over the railing to see if anyone was down below, it seemed far to empty for it's own good. Her patience wasn't the longest either, in most cases, "Hello!? Anyone there?!" She yelled out, her accented tone echoing off some of the walls, not hearing a response immediately after was a bad sing, so she quickly shuffled herself to take cover almost immediately after, who knows what kind of response that'd bring to her, she gazed around the corner of the wall she was behind, knelt down slightly, trying to spot if anyone popped out in the floor below to hear the sound, or if it was filled with hidden freaks, a answer was good enough in this case, she had no clue.
~~~~~
Summary: Nelia makes it to the Library, using the scenic route of traversing to the second floor via the wall piping, after making it inside she finds no one there as she suspected there to be, thus she calls out to find if anyone is there, or if it is too surrounded on the inside by the infected, bold actions indeed.

[MelonHead]

Barnard Avenue
Card

Card felt his weight shift as he allowed himself to collapse clumsily onto his back; fortunately the thick rug adorning the floor in the child’s room cushioned his collision with the ground. It was probably there for that very reason, though he doubted the owners were expected someone like Card to be falling over onto it, then again they were downstairs chewing on the couch so it was a moot point regardless.

His rather pointless musings continued for a good half hour or so, Card could be incredibly lazy when he had something particularly unpleasant to do. Finally however, his rather overactive brain forced him to seek some form of stimulation, and counting the swirls on the ceiling wasn’t going to cut it. With a resigned sigh, Card jumped back up onto his feet in an almost graceful or acrobatic manner, though the illusion was swiftly dispelled when he misjudged the move and almost face-planted the window-sill, only catching himself at the last second.

“Fuck it.” He swore, in the fashion people sometimes do when they almost trip over in the street, and aren’t sure if anyone noticed. With a final glance out the window under the corner of curtain he turned away and crept over to the door. Only opening it a little he peeked out into the upstairs landing of the household, expecting to have an irate homeowner fly towards him at any moment. When none-such terrible circumstances transpired he breathed out suddenly and braced himself, pushing open the door enough to slide his thin frame out he sped towards the opposite side of the house at a half crouch. In his peripheral he caught an upturned face staring at him with madness in its eyes and with a panicked gasp he yanked open another bedroom door, this time the parent’s, and went inside. He closed the door behind him more forcefully then he intended, knowing he was sure to have attracted their attention brought a nervous haste to his actions as he made his way to the window facing towards the back-garden.

He reached it without a second to lose as a cracking noise emanated from the door behind him, followed by repeated thumping and snarling. Sliding the window open he jumped out without a second thought, clutching the windowsill and holding his light frame with all the strength he could muster. Card closed his eyes and with a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in he allowed his grip to release, and waited for impact.

It came sooner than he expected with his feet crashing into an open garbage bin, his momentum absorbed by springy garbage bags. With a startled exclamation he fell back and the bin tipped onto its side, spilling its contents out onto the grass. Barely able to believe that he hadn’t broken a bone the lucky young adult sprang to his feet with only a few grazes to mark his strenuous activity and broke out into a sprint, jumping over the back-fence with an agility born from experience escaping police officers.

UNC campus

Card couldn’t stop for breath as at random intervals on his short journey towards the campus he kept running into the crazies. Despite all the street-skills he employed it seemed like the moment he lost a pursuer another was on his tail, and he was growing more tired every second. Finally, after what felt like hours he crossed University Heights and ran into Mullen Park, keeping as low a profile as possible. The trees were a god-send for cover, making it relatively easy for him to get by aggressors which could more than easily deal with him. Though at one particularly hectic point he was forced to pick up a big stick and crack a rabid young girl on the head with it, apologizing in the same breath as he dropped his impromptu weapon and ran past her unconscious body. He had to stop on the other side of University Heights, his breath wasted, he had at least made it to campus, now all he had to do was survive long enough to find the biggest safest building nearby and wait to be rescued.

He crept along the side of Zeis hall, though he had no idea that was what it was called, and got his first look at the main part of campus. He gulped; it wasn’t going to be easy.

--- Summary ---

Card makes it out of the house by the skin of his teeth and somehow survives the short journey into Campus. Taking a moment to catch his breath by the Zeis building, he realizes the path to the Library, his intended destination for the fairly primitive reasons of general size and security, is filled with infected and without some outside help he could be in trouble.

[Avery Calhoun]

Haggard breaths pounded in Vincent’s head as he pushed himself around, over, and through the few abandoned cars that littered Broadway, the road he franticly ran down in order to escape the growing mass of cannibalistic whack jobs that were now free of the overpass congestion and gaining on him. He was far too old, far too fat, and far too sick for this shit but something primal drove him onward, something about the way the infected he ran by were chewing on a corpse and how they stopped and rose to give chase when he passed by, something about being a buffet choice did not sit well with him. So Vincent ran, heart slamming against his ribcage, good arm pumping wildly as he mindlessly turned onto Weaver Boulevard, came to a small traffic circle and without a second thought broke left and crashed into a copse of trees and brush that was the edge of Mullen Park. He stumbled through the woods and brush at his breakneck pace for only a moment before a root caught his boot and for the second time in twenty minutes he slammed face first into soil and grass.

This was it, he thought as he lay there just twenty feet into the wood covered lot, the pain in his face and left arm a background pulse overpowered by the stomping feet of thirty or forty of those things that were about to fall upon him as soon as they broke into the tree line. The gnashing, guttural growl grew louder, the awkwardly heavy footfalls rang in his ears, and in the span of a heartbeat he expected teeth and nails to be tearing at his clothing, at his flesh… but the noise receded, the mob had not entered the wood. Instead they had continued up the road, failing to see Vincent make the sudden angular course correction shortly after he turned. Slowly Vincent rolled onto his back, squinting and grimacing with a mental curse as the pain that had been background noise moments earlier came forward to assert itself. Sweat ran from his pores and soaked his clothing as he desperately tried to quietly catch his breath, dirt and loam stuck to him like flies to paper coating his street clothing in the pungent scent of moss, dirt, and with his luck dog shit but with each passing moment Vincent’s constitution, what little remained, returned to him. After a half-hour had passed Vincent managed to gather his feet under him and with the aid of a sturdy pine trunk, lift the bulk of his body up to a standing position. Ever so slowly and carefully he began to make his way through the park away from the road, using every bush, hill, tree, and shrub as cover as he crept along out of sight of any of the infected he could spot.

It took him nearly an hour and a half to haltingly cross the little campus park toward University Heights and nearly another half hour to cross the road and post up on a corner of Robinson Hall. He had come this way for two reason, the first was that it was the exact opposite direction that the herd chasing him earlier had gone, in fact he had only come across one body… that of a young girl, bleeding from the back of the head and Vincent soundly believed there was little he could do for her so he moved on. The second reason was that the majority of the sturdy defensible building that would have any form of phone or internet communication or power all looked to be in this direction. When he slinked forward against the corner of Robinson Hall it suddenly didn’t seem like the best place to be after all. Infected crowded against the front of the library and around a few of the other building, there was even a small group battering their fists bloody trying to beat in some maintenance doors on the back of Robinson Hall. Other whack jobs roamed the open ground, moving towards differing groups of infected that had already collected as if drawn by some kind of magnetism or hive mind. Looking around the Campus from his vantage point Vincent wondered how the hell he was going to get anywhere near the library, a building he had decided to go to because it seemed the most solid and probably had a good many offices with phones and computers that he could try to use to figure out what in the holy hell was happening. As he sat there on his haunches a memory of some his prior dirty deeds came to mind and it was an idea that seemed ideally suited to this situation.

In a handful of minutes Vincent had weaseled his way back down towards the heights, never noticing that one of the bodies around Zeis Hall moved a little differently, more deliberately, than the whack jobs. He made it to the road he had crossed where he found three abandoned cars that he had used as cover earlier when he had crossed from the other direction. Before too long he was behind one of the cars, sitting, and pressed up against it like it would be able to stop anything in the world… security in contact he guessed. Stifling a cough he reached into his tank bag, opened the box of handgun shells used his multi-tool to separate the bullet from one of the casings, and pulled the bandana from his rear pocket. He created a neat little pocket with one of the bandana corners, dumped the gun powder into the pocket and tied it up into a tiny little ball resembling a fishing weight. Vincent went to his front left pocket and pulled out a dented flask, half full by the feel of it which made him unreasonably upset because of what he had to do. Without pause he gulped down half the grain style hooch in three searing pulls and then dumped the rest all over the bandana avoiding the powder. Laying the flask on the ground under the car Vincent crouched and faced the car, popped the gas cap cover open, slowly twisted the gas cap off, and with moderate care fed the bandana with the gunpowder into the gas tank like a sinker and fishing line. After the bandana was affixed as good as it would be Vincent took out his lighter and with an outstretched arm lit the exposed corner. Before the zippo had time to shut in his hands Vincent was again running at a dead sprint back towards Robinson Hall. Just as Vincent was tumbling behind a dumpster, pressing himself between the Hall’s wall and the metal of the dumpster the gunpowder ignited, flames caught what gasoline was left in that cars tank and with a gut pounding thump followed by a gust of hot air the car’s gas tank exploded in a ball of flame and scorched metal.

It only took the whack jobs the span of one breath to turn away from all the bashing and crashing they were doing against the buildings and take off running towards the sound and light of the briefly lived but uproarious explosion. Vincent huddled between the wall and the dumpster watched their ragged feet pass by as they all ran towards the sudden change in the environment. First a few feet, then groups of feet, so many feet and legs as to be indistinguishable passed by but soon the passing of shadowy limbs tapered off, and Vincent slowly counted a full minute without one passing by before he again peaked out from his hiding place. The campus grounds were, as far as he could tell, clear and he couldn’t see any more whack jobs around the library. Looking over his shoulder he could see the flames and the flickering play of light caused by the accumulating bodies around the fire but he couldn’t see over the hill to the actual wreak in order to gauge if it was keeping their attention. He determined that now was as good a time as any though and made his way, at an easy jog, across the open campus to the library.

In less than a minute he was inching his way around the library, gun drawn as he tested each door and window for an opening. Moving along the back side Vincent came to an office window that had been closed but not latched and locked. With a little forceful prying and a good bit of awkward climbing Vincent managed to open the window, press the screen in, essentially tearing it from the screwed in frame, and worm his way into what appeared to be some sort of backroom secretarial office. Closing the window behind him and engaging the throw lever locks, Vincent sank down against the wall, ass to the ground, gun on his knees pointed at the door as a hacking fit overtook him and all the pain and injuries he had gathered in his trip to the library fell upon him at once, the adrenaline seeping out of his system. As Vincent coughed he used the back of his forearm to wipe away the blood from his mouth and beard, looking at the scab colored mess and telling himself, lying to himself, that it was caused by his earlier falls.

---

Summary: Vincent avoids the highway horde, creeps through Mullen Park coming across Card's ill fated encounter with a young woman, and finally spots the library. Requiring a distraction Vincent sacrifices some gear and most importantly his last alcohol stash in order to detonate the gas tank of a car. With all the whack jobs gathering for a kumbaya moment around the car fire Vincent makes it to the library, sneaks in through a window, and is overcome by is illness, injuries, and general lack of health.

[Rilla]

UNC-Library

Clack.
Clack.

The heavy stick hit the ground moments after the unknown, possibly infected, man did. Jack stood there and shook, looking at the man after he dropped to the ground. That was the first time he had been in something related to a fight, and in this world, it was fight or die now. Lucky him, he got the drop on the man. He didn't know whether or not he was infected, or whether or not the man was friend or for and he had no intention of running the risk to find out.

He paused for a moment and slapped himself, bringing him back to his senses. Hr grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and drug him into the room, depositing him in the corner. Jack would turn out to be many things during this survival period, but a killer... well, he didn't know if he had that in him.

Before he could turn back to the window and watch out for potential survivors, he heard a feminine voice chime.

"Helllo! Anyone here?!

His head turned towards the direction of the sound, it had to be from down the hall. He hadn't fully explored this place and wasn't much in the market for running that particular risk. Instead, he shuffled towards the door and grabbed the heavy stick again. With a tight grip, he leaned his head out of the doorway, and answered, "Yeah! I assume you aren't one of them if you're talking!

He ducked his head back in quickly, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Somewhere outside, not too far away, something exploded and shook the building a bit. He hustled to the floor, and pressed back against the wall. He didn't know what was going on outside, but he damn sure wasn't going to rush out there to find out. Hell, perhaps it even killed some of the damned things that were rushing around outside.

He resolved to stay where he was. He knew someone else was in here, but she could have very easily been one of those people he had heard were capturing them for experiments. Could that have been her reason for being here? Was there a base nearby? Jack shook his head and held his stick close to his chest. He had to stay focused on the objective at hand. Survive. If they wanted those weird things outside, or even the gentlemen he had knocked out, then he'd let them have them. It was no concern of his.

Phone Call to the New Orleans Base

"Mr. Wallor, we have a status update for you," said a mysterious man, sitting in a mysterious lab beneath the UNC-Asheville. He rotated his chair around and looked through the glass partition at the savage beast of a man his troops had captured.

"Do go on," said a sly voice from the reciever.

"Well, sir - while we have yet to ascertain the reason for the sudden change and why some are affected and why some are not. But we have learned that, with a little poking and prodding the extent of their physical capabilities. Many people have referred to them as Living Zombies, and they are certainly correct. Like the zombies in the cinema, they seem to have an unnatural need to feast on the flesh of their victims, if only for one bite. No one knows why, but it seems like only one bite is all that it takes - even if you made it past the sudden onset of Living Zombies."

The man stopped for a breath and listened to the feedback from his benefactor. Around him, men and women - some of which were in various stages of riot gear or doctors coats. They had rigged up some type of generator to help perform their experiments. Some were monitoring the vitals of their captive, and others were busy looking at computer screens at the information that was coming across from them.

They knew the outside world was cut off, except in select areas, and that benefitted them greatly. They had been told their goal was to look for ways to potentially harness the mind-addled humans, or a way to turn them back. Their boss, whose name many of them did not know, looked out over them and waited until Mr. Wallor was finished.

"Understood Sir. I am sending a convoy out to gather more for experimentation. We have been getting some abnormal readings, as though there was something in the bodies of subjects that wasn't meant to be there. Our next experiments will focus on that in the next round of Living Zombies that we collect, if that is okay with you, Sir."

Again, the man waited for his benefactor to finish speaking, before they said their goodbyes. As he hung up the phone, he lit a half of a cigarette, and stepped out of his glass room. "UNits 4, and 6, it's time for another round up, Bring in three each." With a collected, "Yes, Sir," his troops were off and he walked towards the room with their current experiment. He looked in on the man and then towards the doctor inside, nodding his head.

He whispered, "Soon, Marissa, I will save you." On his heels he turned, and walked right back into his office - where the shrill grunts of a young girl came from behind a hidden door.

---

Summary: Jack knocks out a man, hears a woman, and an explosion. He doesn't exit his room. A mysterious man sends out his units to catch more of the Living Zombies.

[Scribbles]

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” David murmured, a low undercurrent of profanity standing in as the soundtrack to this nonsensical, straight-out-of-Hollywood nightmare that he was inhabiting. He was, conservatively, ‘old’; he had never seen 28 Days Later or its sequels, nor had he played any of the Resident Evil or Silent Hill video games. David Fischer had seen George Romero’s defining pictures when he wore a younger man’s clothes, but that time had passed, and a combination of literature, talk radio, and his career occupied David’s life.

So, naturally, he was a bit skeptical that this was widespread - and furthermore, he was unprepared to grasp the scope of this situation as a whole.

“You’re going t’get in the Prius, you’re going t’call the police, and they’re going to sort this mess out most ricky tick, mate, don’t you worry - you’ll see, it’s going to be A-OK.”

Fischer continued to babble to himself as he hurried across the abandoned street and into the Rankin Avenue garage. He was cut short as glance at the other side of the ground floor revealed a tiny mob of very frenzied looking folks staring at him intently, perhaps caught in the twilight of deciding whether or not he was one of them or another piece of meat.

“Fuck!”

Turning to his right, David ascended the stairs to the second floor of the parking structure at top speed; he could hear the low footfalls of the lunatics beneath him, scurrying as quickly as they could to mount the stairs, eager to get ahold of the old boy. At the top of the flight he rushed forward, taking the next set of steps two at a time to the top floor of the garage.

Out in the open, David could see for miles; smoke in places, fire in others, a general audial cacophony billowing out across Asheville. What was going on, exactly?

Nothing good, David decided, remembering his current dire predicament and hurrying across the lot to C7, where a simple silver Prius hybrid was parked. Removing his keys from his coat pocket - and fumbling with them briefly, just to put a cliché spin on the whole affair - he deftly thumbed the symbol of an open lock: the Prius unlatched all four of its doors in agreement.

Wrenching open the passenger’s door and staring down at the wheelless dashboard, it took David several costly minutes to realize that this was an American car, and that the steering wheel was on entirely the wrong side of the damned thing.

“Fuck’s sake.”

At precisely that moment, a front runner managed to catch up with the Englishman; David whirled about just in time to see the bastard hurtling towards him. On sheer survival instinct, Fischer took a step back and held the door ajar, allowing the man to collide with the side of the car, denting it with his knee. David then threw his shoulder into the passenger door, causing it to crash into his crazed assailant.

The man’s leg broke, with a sickening snap, crack, and David yanked the door open, allowing him to crumple in a heap on the asphalt. He shut the door and proceeded quickly to the wrong side of the car, climbing in and shutting the door behind him. With a quick jab, twist motion, the Prius hummed to life - yes, hummed, not roared, it’s a Hybrid - and David snapped his seat belt into place. Safety first, gents.

Throwing the Prius in reverse, the Brit swiveled about and brought the car around in a J-turn fashion, shifting into OD just in time to whir past the horde of enraged pedestrians sprinting towards him.

“Eat it, you bloody cunts!” he roared, hauling ass around the two half-circles that took him down to the bottom floor. It was then that he realized that the orange-and-white entrance block was down - and he gunned it without a second thought, shattering the wooden blockade to pieces.

Simultaneously, a rather craft woman in sweats missing her left hand flung herself onto his hood, grappling with his windshield wipers and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“MOTHER OF GOD,” David yelped, tires squealing as he burned rubber against the pavement, picking up speed. The woman refused to relent, winding up and slamming her knuckles into the windshield. After two or three blows, the skin on her hand was giving way to raw red tendons and scraped bone beneath, but she continued, indefatigable, insistent that she shatter this windshield and perhaps kill this man.

David whipped the wheel back and forth, swerving across an empty street and slinging the woman onto the left side of the hood, where she found her grasp on an engine vent at the top of the hood, her lower body dangling and grinding against the street, blood spraying against the sidewalk.

Maneuvering the Prius into the left-hand lane, David nearly side-swiped a parked sedan, and the woman was struck, flipping up over the hood of the sedan and smashing through the windshield of the innocent vehicle.

“Jesus Christ,” David muttered, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

---

SUMMARY: Fischer gets his hybrid, runs over some punk ass bitch, and cruises into the sunset like a true player. Still hasn't reached the library. Get on my level, I'll be there on post 550, boys.

[MelonHead]

Card may have gone unnoticed in different ways by the two very different threats around him, but peeking out from behind a low wall his eyes tracked every movement of the gnarly older white man who had every look of an old school biker. It wasn’t hard to guess why Card was paying special attention to the first human he had seen in at least forty eight hours which showed some semblance of thought. Better yet, he saw an opportunity, and was happy to take it, when he inevitable alerted the horde outside to his presence he was sure to get killed.

Card’s happy musings were cut short by an earth-shaking explosion, which caused him to literally leap out of his skin. Having little to no familiarity with such things, Card shook uncontrollably for about a minute before he braved looking over his cover again, spotting the smoke on the road ahead and the man from before making a beeline for –his- library, using the brief confusion he had caused as the perfect distraction.

“Fuck.” Card spat, diving over the wall in a moment of brief, un-considered bravery. He landed in a run, following his older companion’s footsteps as best as he could by making his way to the Library while the coast was relatively clear.

Card was a lot more cautious on entering, because there was no telling what a man starting explosions off on the road would do to him if they crossed paths. Hopefully, considering the size of the place, he wouldn’t have to find out. Pushing through plush doors he shimmied a rucksack off his back and pulled out his stun gun, clutching it shakily as he returned the backpack to its rightful place and scuttled off into the depths, hoping to lose himself in stacks of literature, figuratively of course, Card didn’t like reading.

--- Summary ---

Card lucks out and leeches off Vincent's distraction to enter the library about half a minute behind him, he sets off on his own personal adventure, hoping to avoid trouble as only he can.

[Avery Calhoun]

The slow repetitive sound of dripping water came to Vincent’s ears but mentally, he was unaware of the faint sound. Consciousness had left him shortly after his tumble into the library’s back office. A violent coughing fit hit him as he had gasped for oxygen after his desperate flight and sitting on his haunches against the wall in that dark office was the first relief he had had in hours. As pain and realization came back to him the revolver he carried fell from his limp aching fingers and the toxic nature of his body, brought on by his failing liver, overwhelmed his weakened and battered immune system and mind. The passage of time left him as his narrow little world blacked out and the taste of metallic bile filled his mouth and nose.

Later, the falling droplets of water became louder, awareness returned to Vincent and with a weary push he managed to get himself to his feet, grasping the revolver in his right hand as he did. Sight was slow to return to his rattled mind, the edges of things blurred and faded into indistinct blobs at first. The concussion of the blast still rang in his ears which, coupled with the meager amount of fading daylight working through the shuttered office window, told him no too much time had passed since he blacked out, chronic drunks like Vincent were good at gauging blackout times. He stumbled for a moment in the dimming light, balance failing him before he was able to catch his balance on a desk chair and standing straight, attempted to shake the fatigue and general malaise from his bones. “Get a fucking grip man.” He told himself, using the back of his arm to wipe away some of the beaded sweat from his furrowed brow. Vincent’s eyes began to adjust to the rooms poor light, the ambient light being just enough to focus, allowing him to appraise the office. A couple of desks, chairs, file cabinets, and all the accoutrements of clerical duty surrounded him including phones and computers. With steps that were becoming more confident he went from desk to desk, toggling power switches on computers and lifting receivers to phones. Nothing worked. His whole reasoning for moving to the library was because he thought there would be some ability to contact someone from within its walls. That had now turned out to be a false hope. As he tested the last phone Vincent again registered the sound of dripping water and realized just how parched his throat was. The big man pushed his way through the office space and into a small workplace restroom where a faucet slowly dripped into a porcelain bowl. Vincent moved towards the sink, setting the revolver on the sink's edge and turning the faucet’s cold knob over, opening the valve to some cool water. Quickly he cupped his good hand under the running water and brought it to his mouth slurping noisily, droplets of water running down his long white beard. He shoved his hand under the sink again and got a second handful of water before a violent rattle of the pipes, worked its way along the walls and burst from the open faucet with a rush of air, heralding the last of the water from that line.

Retrieving his weapon and moving from the small restroom Vincent stopped for a moment, leaning against the door frame and allowing a shock of pain in his side to pass. As he waited he became more frustrated with the lack of any success in contacting the outside world. Once the pain subsided Vincent moved across the office and to the door that opened to the library’s main lobby. The door was slightly ajar and he squinted through the crack attempting to see out into the vast lobby area with little real effect. With a small degree of difficulty and a sharp twinging of nerve pain Vincent grasped the door knob in his left hand and slowly eased the door open, using the frame and door as concealment from one side, he kept the barrel of the revolver low and swept the other side of the open lobby. Seeing that the lobby was empty, as far as he could tell, he lowered his gun and walked over to the reception desk and as he moved up beside it he heard a muffled thump come from the upstairs area, the stairs of which were just behind the desk. Vincent hefted the barrel of the gun towards the stairs, expecting to see some of those things, whack jobs, come trundling down the stairs but nothing moved, and for a moment no sound followed. Slowly he moved along the edge of the desk bracing his hip against the side for support and balance as he watched the stairs, eyes flitting back and forth from the stairs to the lobby. For a moment nothing else moved or made a sound and just as Vincent’s nerves and paranoia were starting to calm his eye caught something that started him worrying again. A can of food sat on the reception desk, opened. Vincent moved over and inspected the cold canned pasta and sauce and subsequently spotted the bag tucked away behind the reception desk. Frustrated again, in pain, and really needing a drink to calm his nerves Vincent was becoming irrational, anger starting to boil over.

“If there is someone in here that would rather eat fucking spaghettis than my face then why don’t you say something instead of creeping around damn it!” He nearly bellowed.

Vincent hefted his bulk onto the reception desk next to the can of food, set the revolver on his lap, and scooped the can up, peeling the lid back again and downing half of what was left in two mouthfuls, some of which he would need to brush from his beard later. In truth Vincent didn’t know if anyone was there, the thumping sound could have been the wind, boards settling, books falling, living people, or more whack jobs. The food was cold and canned and could have been the receptionist’s lunch before shit hit the fan, Vincent knew nothing about who or what he shared this library with but he was getting tiered of creeping around like some mouse in a room full of traps waiting for things to happen. “Be my luck anyway…” he shouted between mouthfuls, “…stuck in a library where nothing works with a bunch of whacked out twits outside trying to fucking eat me and who the hell knows what in here!” He shook his head, setting the now almost empty can down and searching for his flask which he found to be empty due to his earlier escapades.

“Should have found a bar instead of a damn library.” he mumbled.

---

Summary: Vincent gets up, gets some water, gets some free food, and begins to rant and rave at no one in particular; on one hand he wants to vent some pent up stress, on the other hand he may be aiming to see if there are people that will answer.

[Punishment]

"Yeah! I assume you aren't one of them if you're talking!" Came the response that Nelia froze in her movements to, did someone actually just answer her or did she just imagine that. No, she couldn't have imagined it, that'd be too good to be true. Nonetheless she propped herself up, angling to see around the bin that the voice came from; silence and nothingness. Whoever it was didn't like to show their face, and she couldn't blame them with this shithole everyone was in, but it was another survivor in the least. What else could it be? Nelia should her head at the thought of anything else people would be trying instead of surviving.

She quickly looked around the upstairs pathing she was crouched down in, not much was up there except for books and ornaments on the various small table tops. As she stood, remaining as low as possible, she noticed a interesting book on zombies laying on the small table, that seemed ironic considering what they were experiencing right now. Ignoring it, she slid off her duffle bag and slipped on her leather jacket, anything was better than getting a easily received wound on her exposed arms. Nelia learned a lot of things on the streets, fighting in back alley brawls and underground championships all the same. Wearing good clothing made the deference when it came to weapon defense, and who knew if the person behind the calling voice was dangerous or not, she had to be prepared to handle nutjobs if there was any here. After she pulled on her jacket, she slid her duffle bag over her shoulder and stood fully up, then something else surprised her.

“If there is someone in here that would rather eat fucking spaghettis than my face then why don’t you say something instead of creeping around damn it!” a deep voice echoed off from the floor below her, Nelia's footing missed a step hearing the loud voice spring off. She turned, peering over the guard railing to the man below, or so she thought, she was just following the direction of the voice. "Yeah! I'm guessing you're no more infected than the two of us up here!" She paused a moment, sighing to herself lightly. "Are you alone down there?" She called out after, hiding behind the wall she was near just in case there was a whole band of nutjobs hanging down there ready to spring at the mere mention of more people around the lone guy calling out, it wouldn't be a false accusation, if you compared this to movies that is.
~~
Summary: After hearing the hidden away mans response, Nelia changes her attitude to add her leather jacket on her for added defense, right before hearing and answering the new man to appear a floor below.

[Rilla]

UNC-Asheville: Library

The world had gone to shit, the world had literally gone to shit and people were out in this crazy shit hole trying to eat each other’s faces off for the sheer primal thrill. What was he doing? What was one of the key instigators of all this rash, unmitigated bullshit doing? He was holed up on the second floor of the UNC Asheville Library, with an unconscious man who may or may not have been one of the face eaters outside. He slapped his head several times, before shaking it and inching towards the door.

A new development had come - there was someone else in the building. Judging by the fact they were able to use their voices, they couldn’t have been the zombie men and women that were trying to kill them. This voice came from a woman, whom was also on the second floor. Another inch, and then another. The door was still out of arms length, but with weapon in hand he could touch the knob.

Shakily, his hand reached towards the door. Fingers curled to touch the door knob, perched to pull the door open, when a booming voice startled him.

“If there is someone in here that would rather eat fucking spaghettis than my face then why don’t you say something instead of creeping around damn it!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, and stepped back from the door. He stared at it for a moment, unsure how to answer - but the lady down the hall covered it for him, and questioned if he was alone. Hopefully he was, hopefully there were no freaks in the building coming to eat his face like the man from Florida that had eaten that man’s face after using some bath salts.

Jack turned his attention to the man he had knocked out with the heavy stick. Something was peculiar about him, he didn’t seem like one of the others outside that had completely lost their mind. Had, in an act of self preservation, he injured or potentially killed another sane man? Someone that had avoided the same fate as the others? He shook his head again. Those thoughts would do nothing to help him now, if the man were dead, or worse, injured - there was nothing he could do about it now. He looked towards the door and found new resolve. There was nothing in this room left for him. He had come with nothing, and found a stick. That stick had assaulted a man, and now it was only a matter of time before those freaks outside reversed their situation and came in.

He approached the door with purpose, and gripped the handle, pulling it open. He didn’t brazenly step out into the open, he was not a dumb man. Instead he peeked out of the door, checking the outside environment for any apparent dangers.

“Hey, you two! Up on the second floor, there is a large room filled with Encyclopedias. We can meet up there. Uhm, there is a lady up here and I presume she can hear this. She can go first. It’s closer to her anyway. Then the guy downstairs can make his way up.”

With that he quickly jumped back into the room and slammed the door shut.

In the Bayou

“Things couldn’t be going any better. Whatever those big wigs up north cooked up is working. It’s time for our part of the deal to be completed.” The man at the center of the twelve man table.

“Don’t think I heard anything stupider than that since them blacks and white apologists voted in that Muslim Anti-Christ Barack Obama for a second term.” These words were followed by the familiar sound of a spittoon being put to action. The hillbilly, Michael, looked at his fellow tablemen and smirked. “Couldn’t be any better? If it weren’t for my place being so far out of the way, we’d probably be mincemeat like the other five or six folks that should have been with us today.”

The remaining six men and women, looked around the table and murmured their agreement. It was by pure chance that they hadn’t turned, and there were no assurances that they were free and clear.

“Did that boy from Asheville call back yet? That uppity fella with the degree?” Michael asked.

“Not yet, but I don’t expected another call until after he has made another breakthrough.” Came a voice from the head of the table. “And I would like it if you didn’t patronize your coworkers, Michael, it doesn’t make for a healthy work environment.”

“Son, you’re out here in the middle of the bayou with the gators, crickets, and all sorts of yummy things. This is as unhealthy as we can git.”

The man’s hand came from the shadow and waved everyone away. As dumb as Michael sounded and acted, he had a point. They were only safer due to their location and he had no inclination to leave the safety of the sparsely populated bayou. The marsh and gators would get anything stupid enough to try and trek through here, and that was okay with him.

The man finally rose and headed out of the room, following the rest. They had all went to handle their various duties, on how to weaponize this slowly growing pandemic. He was their benefactor, and had connections everywhere. Asheville was the smallest of his reaches, with places like Los Angeles, New York City, and Austin being among the largest.

---

Summary: Jack told the folks to meet him in the Encyclopedia room. A gathering a men had a little tiff about their safety.

[MelonHead]

UNC Asheville Library
Card was sneaking around the lower floor, nervously peering back towards the doors to ensure none of those crazy people outside had taken an interest in his hasty retreat into the library. It seemed like for a while at least he was safe, but there was at least one person inside, albeit an ordinary one. Still, in some ways he scared Card more than the crazies outside, at least they were stupid and he knew where he stood with them, for all he knew this fellow survivor would rob him and throw him to the wolves.

So when he called out for people to come over, Card was damned if he was going to obey. He lurked between two high-backed chairs, hard to spot in the darkness, and listened to two more unique voices entering the conversation. His eyes closed briefly as he allowed the less than familiar sound of other humans to wash over him, it was a strange sensation, solitude was not for Card.

Still, he wasn’t jumping to it, but if the yet unnamed Vincent decided to make his way upstairs and join the others in this so called ‘encyclopedia room’… well, Card would follow him up and wait for the others to meet. Then he could decide if he wanted to join or not, if they fought he could easily run for it, but if they started up a civilised conversation Card would happily seek the safety of numbers.

--- Summary ---

Card listens in on the conversation between the three survivors, and decides he’ll follow Vincent upstairs if he should go, though he wouldn’t be quick to join the others until he was good and ready.

[Meth Quokka]

Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump.

The sound of his heart beating bounced agonisingly around his head as if some depraved soul had recently taken to using his head as a drum. As he groggily tried to open his eyes, his vision swam in a rictus of pain and the bright light above him assaulted and overwhelmed his sense of sight. He groaned in pain at the new development and flopped onto his side, immediately becoming aware of a large throbbing pain in the back of his head. “Goddamit what happened to me?” he muttered to himself as he attempted to collect himself. He heard voices calling out about face eaters and meeting someone in the encyclopaedia room; with that torrent of sound came the soul crushing realisation that despite his best hopes about his memories of the last few days being a delusional dream. He groaned again, thrusting his elbows and knees in front of himself, pitifully rocking himself over so that his face was now pointed to the mercifully dark floor.

A few seconds of slow, controlled breathing eventually focused himself enough to rise onto his unsteady feet and he just above fell over again as the world rocked on its hinges. The only thing that saved him was a desperate hand grasping onto the corner of a table which allowed a few precious seconds of composure and eventually his vision straightened enough to see his surroundings again. His gun, rather worrying, was nowhere to be seen nor was the source of the voices which called out but one did sound far closer than the others so he decided to do his best to sneak up and survey exactly what was going on. He quickly scanned the shelves and found a rather hefty leather bound book which while a clumsy weapon, would be capable of a fair bit of damage if you hit someone right.

He poked his head out in the open long enough to see a man in a rather formal attire jump back into what he could only assume was the encyclopaedia room. With a quick peek to see if anyone else was following the man which revealed no imminent person he decided to attempt to talk to the man, primarily to work out whether he’d fallen or someone had taken to bonking him on the head. He set out from the book case he was hiding behind and crossed the gap, warily surveying his surroundings. When he reached the door he took a deep breath , his hand trembling slightly on the door handle as his mind strayed as to what was waiting on the other side but he eventually forced himself to turn the handle and the door yielded away its secrets. There was a solitary man inside, the one he’d seen entering before, and a whole load of encyclopaedias which was rather unsurprising for the room. He did his best to appear jovial despite the raging pain in the back of his head and asked “Excuse me, is this room taken?”

Summary: Corey enters the room with the man who’s already knocked him out once, tune in for the next post to see if lightning strikes twice!