Young Writers Society

This is the first part in the Storybooks, Revived series.

Welcome, old and new Storybookers, to the revived version of the Walking Dead Storybook, revived edition. This time, I'm hoping, will be better than the last.

This Storybook is based on the world of the Walking Dead Series, Games, and Comics. We are set in Maine at the beginning of the Zombie Outbreak, but this isn't just any normal outbreak, there are some rules to how this works:

If a Zombie bites you or scratches you, you get sick and die.

If you die for any reason, you will come back as a Zombie, unless...

The only way to take out a Zombie is to sever the brain or damage the brain. If you do this to a dead person before they die or reanimate, they will not come back to eat your brains or anything.

However, that's the easy part.

Not only must you survive in a zombie infested world, you must survive in a place where food isn't handed to you on a silver platter on the grocery stores anymore. You have to fight for food now.

The plot:



Now this is where it gets a little bit experimental. I will keep this closed, so we don't have random people posting this, but that doesn't mean you can't join.

You know where to make your profiles on the right? Well even so, here's a template for you to use:

Code: Select all

*Make sure to put what group your character's in next to his/her name*

[b]Age:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]

[b]Personality:[/b]

[b]History:[/b]

[b]How you came across the Group:[/b]

[b]Relations towards others:[/b]

[b]Other:[/b]

Slots:


This is a work in progress, seeing as all of the changes, but I will keep you informed.

Kara Ovel - Group B

Benny ran into the tent, with Tim duck-walking behind him, looking like he was trying to stay standing. "Camp E is down. They're getting farther into the woods, looking for people."

I rolled up the map of Maine and rubbed my temples. Video games didn't prepare me for the simple tasks of keeping other people alive that took up so much of my life. "How many of us are left?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the truth, but needing to.

"Four fell in the evacuation. We weren't able to grab much." Tim started whistling and cleared his throat after receiving a glare from me.

"I'll uh, I'll be out. Um, yeah, there's a flower somewhere." He winked at the tent wall and almost tripped on his way out.

"That leaves two camps and less than ten people here." That headache just got a lot worse. "That was our armory. We can't lose it that easily."

"When there's a wave of undead after us, it's hard not to."

I pulled out my tomahawk and wiped off some grime from it. "Get a team ready. We need those weapons, otherwise we'll be impacted for the long run about this. And I don't really think these camps are gonna suit us anymore. We'll go into town one more time, then we're moving." I strapped on my backpack and stuff the map into it. "There's another town that seems mostly intact about 20 miles from here that we should be able to get into without any problem."

I patted him on the back and handed him a key. "Keep this with you all times. There's a safe there that contains . . . well you'll find out when you find it. I have an appointment with Kevin and his mom."

With that, we walked out of the tent with our missions.

Grace Porter- Group A

“Grace.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“But I can help!”
“I have all the people I need. Right now, I need you to stay here.
“But…”
Grace narrowed her eyes at Felix. She didn’t need bickering right now. Right now, they needed to be unified if this mission was going to work.
“Felix, we can’t have all our best fighters leaving. That leaves our base vulnerable and the last thing we need is vulnerability. You came out on the last mission and I left Kid behind and did he complain? Not once.”
“He never talks anyway…” He grumbled but Grace knew he was done arguing.
“Hold the fort while we’re gone, we’re counting on you.”
His face brightened a bit at the responsibility. Of course she would leave some of the senior members as well but she wouldn’t let him know that. She sighed. Leading men was one thing, leading a bunch of children on a possible suicide mission was another. The base needed food reserves though, and as leader, the job fell to her. A good leader never gave orders unless they were willing to complete them themselves; Grace was a good leader.
“We’re going to do a precautionary check on all the defenses so we won’t be back until late. We also have to check the JC Penny gate, top and bottom floor. Relay that to the others. If we’re not back by sunrise…well, let’s just hope we’re back by sunrise. “
Grace swiped the end of her knife one last time with the whetstone before sheathing it at her hip.
“Take care Kiddo. Watch after Aya while I’m gone.”
“Gotcha. Good luck and come back safe. We need you.”
“We’ll try our best.”

********

“How we looking, Pen?”
“Coast is clear, boss.”
Grace nodded to the men manning the gate. Silently they lifted the well-oiled and the team slipped through. Her team went through hell to find oil to keep their gates silent because even the slightest sounds could have the walkers at their gate. Literally speaking.
“Come back safe.” The guards whispered.
She nodded. Once the team left the confines it was silent. No one talked. The mall was dead silent and any sounds echoed a thousand fold, even their shoes had been silenced with bits of cloth.
The food court had been only a dream in the past but the stock of food they had accumulated from the closest houses had slowly started to dwindle. It was imperative they reached the food court.
Slowly the team made their way west through the empty walkways, keeping close to the walls of the upper floor.
The team came to a corner and Grace motioned to stop; a sound to her left had reached her ear. Grace lowered herself to the floor to peek around the corner. The doors and windows had been smashed and glass littered the inside. The games and game consoles thrown across the floor and the bright neon green and black told her it was Gamestop.
In the middle of the floor lay a boy, probably as old as Felix, and he was being eaten by a Walker. The Walkers back was turned to her but she could see the face of the teen. His bright ginger hair matted with blood and his white face made only whiter by the blood draining from his body. He hadn’t turned yet and somehow he was still alive.
She signaled to her team; the signal of a Walker.
Grace stood cautiously and grabbed the ax strapped to her back. She motioned to the boy to stay quite but she was sure he couldn’t see her now. With a practice vengeance, she raised the ax high above her head and drove it with all her might into the skull of the Walker, splitting the body in two all the way to the shoulders. Without a sound it fell to the side, leaving the boy open to her eyes.
His shirt was ripped at the stomach and a gaping wound bled profusely. His fingers twitched but all her could do was look at her, pleading, his mouth moved but no words came out.
She nodded once, she saw the boy close his eyes and smile before she brought the ax down on his head. Blood spurted onto her pant leg but she just yanked the ax out and walked to her team, the grim job now complete.
She motioned to continue.

Penelope Jones

"Coast is clear boss." I told Grace. She nodded and went back over to the other group. I stayed there looking to see if any walkers were near but I couldn't see a thing. I got a little cold so I put my jacket on. All of this "Walker" talk gives me the heebee jeebees.

I sighed and turned to the group, I seen Grace about to put an ax to a little kids head. I felt as though I was choking. Seeing her do that to a little kid, just made me welt up in tears, I didn't want the group to see me so I turned the other way acting as though I was watching for any signs of more walkers.

"Boss, there is more!" I sort of whispered, she turned to look towards my way and there were about 3 of them coming in on us. "We must attack." she said to a few of the others. I took my gun and shot one in the heart, it fell but was still trying to come at us. Running to it and I shot it in the head.

Grace ran at one with the ax and she cut it good, so disgusting. Another guy of our group took out the other one with a long knife. I went back over to where I had stood and just stood there watching. I thought I was good at what I did, others probably didn't think to much of me, but I was here to survive. Not be friends.

Aya Petrović

Aya jolted awake.

She sat up in her bed, instinctively scanning her bedroom for any signs of danger, fear pulsing through her veins. There was nothing lurking in the shadows of her room, waiting to grab her as soon as her feet touched the floor. But somehow, Aya knew something wasn’t quite right.

Carefully and slowly to not make any sounds, Aya slid out of her bed. She glanced at her digital alarm clock sitting on her bedside table beside her lamp which read 2:31. Aya grabbed her hearing aids from the bedside table, quickly putting them into her ears and turning them on, hearing the familiar soothing beeps that told her they were on once more.

Aya kept her eye on her bedroom door as she slowly reached for the baseball bat that she’d always kept beside her bed in case for situations like this. Knowing that she’d had the bat beside her whilst she slept comforted her and gave her a feeling of safety and secureness. She knew that she’d be able to defend herself whenever an intruder attacked in the middle of the night.

Frowning, Aya couldn’t help but notice the vibrations that ran through the floorboards. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage and her hands trembled as she took slow steps towards her bedroom door, the bat poised in the air, ready to deliver a crushing blow on the intruder.

The vibrations became wilder and wilder with every step Aya took towards the door. Finally, she paused when she was beside the door. Slowly, trembling with the fear that pounded through her body, Aya reached out to grip the doorknob. The door suddenly burst open when her hand was just a few centimetres away from the doorknob. Aya yanked back her hand in time, her heart leaping into her throat.

Her mother stumbled in through the doorway, collapsing at Aya’s feet. She was covered in blood from head to toe and her eyes were wild with terror. Aya’s nerveless fingers let her bat drop to the floor, making a muffled thudding sound.

“Mom…” Aya whispered. Nausea rose inside Aya at the sight of the blood but she fought to keep it down.

“Aya, run!” Her mother screamed, “You have to run!”

Aya stood where she was, her face blank and expressionless as she tried to process the situation. A large explosion sound from outside nearby shook the house, rattling its steel skeleton, telling Aya to run. Animal-like howls from outside prised their ways through the gaps in the window, chilling Aya to the bone.

“Run!” Aya’s mother screamed, “Run now!”

Aya finally bolted. She leaped past her mother and sprinted for the stairs. The wails of the police sirens rang through the air, hitting Aya in her chest. Terror coursed through her veins as she sprinted down the stairs.

She froze in her tracks when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Standing in the doorway to the left just a few metres away stood a man. His features sickened Aya. Clumps of his hair had been ripped out, leaving bloody patches behind. One of his eyes had been gouged out and half his face torn off, exposing the muscle and nerves the skin had once covered. But his eyes were what caught Aya’s attention. His eyes were filled with an almost animal-like hunger without a trace of humanity within them.

Aya knew she had to get to the front door in order to escape to safety.

The man charged and Aya saw her opportunity to run.

Aya ran. She ducked the man’s swinging arms as he snarled, his teeth a mere few centimetres away from her throat. As the man stumbled in his tracks, Aya grabbed the doorknob of the front door and twisted it, yanking open the door. The midnight air, sweet and sharp engulfed Aya. She ran into the darkness of the night and the sound overwhelmed her…


****

Aya woke from her dreams covered in icy cold sweat with a scream tearing through her throat. She bolted upright, her eyes wide with terror as she frantically leaped from her bed, only to realise she was safe and sound in Grace’s camp. Aya closed her eyes and a sob burst through her lips as she relived the night of the outbreak.

Why did I have to live?

The words rang through Aya’s mind as she collapsed to the floor, curling up and hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

Why did I have to live?

I watched as Grace led the small group away and clenched my fists. I hated being treated like a kid. I was nineteen already, blast it. And I didn’t need to be baby-sat by the conveniently placed “senior group members” either. Sure I had just joined the troop, but I could handle myself.

About a half hour later, I started to get antsy. I needed to do something, move around, scope things out… just something to keep my own mind from chewing at me.

“Come on Kid.” I said. “Let’s go check on the guards at the east gate.” Kid nodded and followed me silently. As we got closer to the outer edge of the old mall, I started to get weird feeling, like I was sensing some kind of danger. I stopped off at the place where I had stashed my stuff and strapped on my fighting gear. I grabbed my knife and kept it loose on my belt.

It was a good thing I did too.

When we were almost at the gate I heard a dull thud, which echoed in through the dead-quiet halls. I motioned Kid to stay put behind a pillar and crept towards a protruding wall. I stopped, and peered around the corner. One of the guards was lying face down on the worn tile floor with his blood pooling around his head. The other guard was nowhere in sight.

“Kid.” I whispered behind my shoulder. There was no response. What the…

I turned around and found myself face to face with a Walker. It screeched, thrusting its claw-like fingers toward my throat. I recoiled and drew my knife at the same time. The Walker lunged again, but this time I was ready. I drove my knife deep into its throat, then pulled it through its neck. Its head rolled off onto the floor.

I ran back to where I had last seen Kid.

“Kid!” I shouted, not caring if the Walkers heard me or not. “Kid are you there?” the only sound was my own voice bouncing back at me. There was no other sound. I had lost Kid, possibly for good.

Trevor ran, pulling his somewhat dull blade off his belt.

Three walkers followed him at a steady clip. Trevor knew there was no way he could take all three at once, all he could do was run. His tennis shoes slapped against the ground. He desperately hoped that he would run into no other walkers, then there was no chance. He glanced ahead. There was a fist sized piece of marble on the floor that looked like it had been chipped off the wall. Running past, he scooped it up. He turned for a second, throwing the chunk of rock as hard as he could at one of the walkers. It hit it square in the head, knocking it to the floor, hopefully for good, but it was doubtful, and either way there were two left to deal with. He glanced forward again. He was nearing a wall. Time was running out. He couldn't believe that Felix had talked him into this. Then again, it wasn't as if he had put up an argument. In a last effort, Trevor scooped up a long piece of pipe that looked as if it had fallen from the ceiling. He finally got his back against the wall, the two ghastly figures making their way towards him. When they got close enough he spun the pole, hitting one walker with one end. Then, spinning the rest of the bar around he skewered one of the walker's head and pinned it to the wall with the makeshift weapon. Taking his knife, he stabbed the other recovering creature in the head.

He leaned against the wall for a second, took a deep breathe and jogged his way back to where he left Felix, hoping he was still alive. On his way back he found that the walker he had hit in the head had make it back to his feet. With a single movement of his knife, Trevor dispatched the walker and made his way back to the pillar. There, with slight surprise, he found Felix alive.

"Where the Hell have you been? I almost died, and you weren't anywhere to be seen."

Trevor didn't say anything, as usual, hiding that fact that he was probably even closer to death just moments ago.

"Come on Kid, let's go back to camp."

The pair silently and warily made their way back to the rest of the group.

Here goes....

Benny “Lefty” Fontana

As a kid, my daddy never got me no baseball mitt. He said, kid, we’re not rich here. I can’t afford to just buy you a freakin’ baseball glove for no reason other than for playin’ around with. You want milk in the fridge, huh? I admitted to him in my snotty little seven-year-old voice, that yeah, I wanted milk in the fridge. He says to me, okay, now we’re understanding each other.

So then we get to here and I’m twenty and I’m going to meet with the Don Raphael for the first time. So we go down to the docks and go into his office near the crane area of the Bromaldi warehouse, and there he is, sittin’ like a king, feet on his desk, jacket on his chair, holdin’ a cigar like it’s a beautiful freakin’ woman. And he looks at me and he frowns and he says, so this Lefty?

I turn and I says, yeah, I Lefty, and Stan punches me in the stomach so hard that I could feel it every time I crapped into the next week. He says, don’t talk till you’re told to. I shut up real quick. Stan never hit me before. Didn’t think he had the guts. But I guess when the, eh, how do you say it… the “hierarchy” of the mob is in question, his authority outweighs mine about a billion to one. The roles reversed a little from when we played King of the Hill on the rubble piles outside of the new Delaney Projects on the outskirts back in grade school. I push him down every time.

But here I am freakin’ digressing from the story. Truth is, this guy, the Don, I have respect for him already. He ain’t said four words, and he’s already got some professional swagger about him. This is one cool goombah and me being a nobody quasi-McWop, I didn’t have much to put me over him.

He says, what can you do for me, Lefty? Before I can say one stinking word Stan whispers in my ear in contempt, you can talk now, babe. I swear if the freakin’ boss wasn’t right there- I say, well, Don, I can do just about anything.

Incorrect, he says. You can’t do just about anything for me. Now he’s standing up and shouting at me. You think that just because you’re friends with my godson Stan here that I’m gonna let you bleed on the Virgin Mary? You gotta prove yourself, first, wise guy. Can you lift crates?

What?

He says, I say, can you lift crates? Are you deaf? Cause I don’t think we need any deaf guys inducted.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I say quickly. I can lift crates fine. He nods and sits down, more calm. Okay, kid. Sorry I had to yell at ya. Hell you been yelled at plenty, what am I saying, ain’t you Fontana’s kid? I nod. Yeah, you been yelled at plenty. I swear, and I wouldn’t say this unless he disrespected me first, but that man is no good. Your daddy is no good. Like I said, I wouldn’t say that except he disrespected me, but I don’t think you care do you, kid?

I shook my head back and forth. I didn’t think so. He folds his hands. I like you kid, you got a nice face. I think you’re a nice guy. Am I right about that?

How could I say no? Huh?

Alright. He says. He sighs, indifferently. You got the job, kid. Then he shakes my hand. But, he says, eyes locked on mine, remember that this and every conversation we have doesn’t exist. And it only starts to exist when I want it to. He sits fully down and I back up a little.

As Stan escorts me away, the Don calls out. Lefty, what do you do when you ain’t workin the meats? I play pool, I say, and sports. He laughs and points a finger in the air, bending down to open a drawer in his desk. I nailed you for a motherfreaker who likes the sporting life, he tells me and throws me a worn out baseball glove. Here you go, kid, he says.

I never questioned where it came from or what wise guy had it before I got it from Don Raphael himself, and I wasn’t gonna disrespect him by asking anyway. The point is, now I got a glove after two minutes with the man, and that’s something my daddy never did all my life.

“And that’s why we’re really going here,” I tell Tim as we drive out into the boondocks, towards Camp E. “Because Little Miss Sunshine is sorely mistaken if she thinks I give a damn about these freaking guns. I got the glove in a duffel bag back there. There’s millions of guns out here man, and just one that glove.”

“Wow,” says Tim, with slurred speech, “That’s a real sob story right there. I think I was crying for part of it.”

I told him to do something naughty, then I say. “The point is I want the glove. So if it hits the fan while we’re there, I’m getting the bag and going, and I don’t care if I leave behind some stupid guns.”

“Hey, listen, I can respect that,” says Tim. “I just want to know why the hell your eyes are black holes and you have tentacles.”

“Man, Righty,” I say with annoyance. “That definitely is not just weed in your system. Can’t you go one d-“

“Hey, man, I never said it was just weed. And let me tell you, if it hits the fan, I’m personally gonna blow as many of those motherfreakers to hell as I can before we split.”

The scary thing was that he was stinking serious. “Okay,” I said, not feeling like arguing, “But let’s just do what I say until it does, okay?” Righty shrugged, rearranging the submachine gun on his lap. I picked up the barrel and pointed it away from me. I wasn’t gonna let him blow my dummy off before we even reached the freakin’ camp.

We maneuver the quiet, yet beat up pick up truck to right near the camp. It’s late, so the walkers are in a daze, some rotting in disquietude and others roaming around like Righty at Mardi Gras. I climb out of the drivers side and Righty climbs out his side and slams the door. I turn to the guy and shove a hand over my mouth, pointer finger up. “Shut up!” I mouth. He shrugs, seeing that none of the lamebrains seemed to have noticed.

As we started walking towards the tent, me with an axe in my hand, and him with his little chain gun, that I should not’ve let him have, <name> gets out of the truck bed and puts <him/her-self> into the driver’s side. And emergency precaution. If we can, we’re going to take our bikes back anyway, they’re sitting over by the picnic table.

We didn’t choose the best place for this camp. Puttin’ in the middle of the freakin’ hood isn’t going to be much protection against the living. At the time we thought it would be easy to proctect, what with the buildings and all.

When we realized that our fortification on the East Highway of town was weaker than Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, it was too late, and the zombies were already on their merry stinking way. We didn’t fire a shot at them, though, didn’t want to attract any more from the nearby Hills. By Hills I mean suburbs of course, the place you go to have warmth in the night. Damn that comfort you don’t get till the power companies already ceased to breathe.

Me and Righty were basically on our tiptoes, creeping through narrow streets, sliding past the occasional resting, rotting braindead and valuing our breath like Tim values a hit.

When we got to the mouth of the mostly clear tent, we had to stop as a Walker who couldn’t walk no more wriggled on the ground. Reminded me of the good ol’ days on the docks. Little zombie fishy it was.

Tim raised his arm, his freaking huge piece with the silencer screwed on in hand, but I shook him off it, raised my axe and gave the zombie a skull flower. Silently.

We walk into the tent. It’s not too big, but it’s tall enough to stand up in. In the back is our armory, a pile of rocks so high you can’t see over. I grab two duffel bags and start jamming stuff in. I get one full up and am packing a pair of combat shotguns into the other sack along with a multitude of shells when I the back wall of the tent starts coming towards me, blowing out the sides. What I’m seeing here is a Walker pressing up against the tent wall, pushing the fabric. I carefully sidestep and use the barrel of a smaller hunting rifle to pull aside a corner of the tent.

Behind it I see one of the scariest things in my freaking life. At least half a hundred lamebrains are standing behind the curtain like a demented Oz, and even though I’m only seeing this through the corner of fabric, the zombie who was makin’ love to the tent wall a second ago sees. And the rest smell. I back up suddenly, and immediately start throwing things around silently in the tent, rummaging. “Sh… shi…..”

“What’s up, man?” Tim calls from right outside the tent.

Now the zombies now, and the tent wall is tearing.

“Oh, crap- No! I need more freaking time!” I keep rummaging, looking looking.

The Walkers are coming through the walls now in a horde, kicking aside weapons and bullets that we carefully lined up in grates. I didn’t have time.

“Damn it!”

But Tim just calmly takes another drag out of his cigarette, then starts to chew and swallow, not even caring about the smoldering end. “Take this, ya undead sons of bitches,” he says, tobacco clogging his mouth, then unloads on them with the machine gun we had in the corner, the one with the chain.

I nearly keel over when the roar of gunfire permeates my stinking eardrums, but I quickly recover and throw over one more bag as Tim starts stepping back, continuing to blow away zombies.

Victory. I grab the glove, which wasn’t where I left it, and stand up quickly, making sure to stay out of the line of fire. The world feels like it’s freakin’ exploding around me.

Then Tim runs out of chain. He looks at the gun somewhat disappointedly and is about to say something when I roughly grab his shoulder and force him out of the tent, firing my piece a couple times at the dead, whose number still remained many.

We run to the bikes, and I hand off one of the stuffed duffel bags to Righty. “Remember man,” I say holding up a hand in front of his face to attract his wandering eyes. “It’s gonna be really easy to lose balance in the state you’re in man, with that depressant hally crap in your system. So imagine you’re on a plate of earth man. It’s gonna feel like a tight rope, but just imagine that plane of ground, okay. Focus.”

“Okay, broseph,” Tim says and mounts his bike. I do the same and we roar off, followed by a veritable labor union of Walkers.

We had to leave behind a crap-ton of stopping power. I cursed myself for not packing the napalm bombs first. We also left a bunch of guns and ammo, along with an RPG back at the tent. In the end though, I didn’t give a flying freak. I got my glove. I got my freakin’ baseball mitt.

Ross

August 7,

If there is one thing I’ve discovered about Walkers in four months, it is that they tend to avoid stalking about in the middle of the day. I’m not sure why this is, perhaps the heat of midday speeds the rate of decay? At any rate, it is the time that I make the most use of. The visibility helps me too, shadows can hide things, but these are scarce around noon.

I put all that down because I am going out today. The food supply is running low. I am continually forced to search farther for my needs as the more local “go-to’s” gradually become depleted.

According to the maps there should be more stores on the north side of town. There was even once a shopping center there. I’ll try my luck.

If there is nothing written after this, I did not survive.
-CR


Ross finally pried his eyelids open and watched as the world swam in front of him. He had slumped over in his chair, face lying against an open book, and had apparently fallen asleep there.
“Damn.” He muttered as he pushed himself up. There was an ache in his neck and shoulders, and his head felt swollen. He stretched himself as he reached for his glasses. Yellow light was spilling across the floor from the window, and when he moved dust kicked up and drifted through the air. There was no sound besides his muffled footsteps as he walked over to the window and peered out.

The old hospital had three floors, and he was on the top. From here there was a straight drop down to the courtyard, where he could get a clear view of the street and buildings lying beyond. There was no sign of any Walkers about. If he was going to move, he needed to move now.

Ross grabbed his rifle and checked the magazine and barrel before snapping in a clip. The AR-15, with its sleek black working parts and high-powered scope, had got him out of a tight spot more than once. He always made sure it was clean and in smooth condition before taking it out. Ross slung a shoulder bag that had been converted to carry extra ammo across his chest. There were six spare magazines lying just inside its front flap, and he was comforted by the familiar weight.

He went over to the food locker before he left to see how much he really had left. Peering inside the narrow space he discovered a package of Saltines and a can of tuna. He swore and added the last of his food to his bag. He glanced around the room, at the books piled on the desks and microscope slides scattered about, and wondered how he had got so carried away with his work. On a sudden whim he decided to gather up all the fragile equipment---the microscopes and meters, and carefully placed them in the empty food locker. It was the best he could do to prevent damage. He never knew when he was coming back, if at all.

Ross grabbed the four foot steel pipe that he had been using as a club and stepped out into the hall. Some days the building was so quiet it nearly drove him insane. But not today. Today he could hear a distant clanging coming from one of the floors below him, possibly made by Walkers. He had no fear of them reaching the third floor. Call it arrogance perhaps, or maybe he was just certain that he had accounted for any possible invasion or error. He had sealed off the stairwells and barred the elevator, throwing any debris he could gather down into them. If the Walkers somehow figured out how to open doors, they would then need to learn how to lift and dig. The only other way they could reach him was by climbing up the outside of the building or hang-gliding onto the roof, which required a level of coordination no Walker possessed. Ross wasn’t arrogant, he was meticulous.

He climbed the stairs that led to the roof. Here, he got a clear view of the town’s skyline. There was a slight breeze coming from the east that brought a faint taste of salt with it. But everywhere he looked things were still and silent in the hazy late afternoon. He went over to the ladder that led down to the ground. It was part of the fire escape, and Ross used it simply because it was on a side of the building where it was out of sight---and reach---of the windows. No rotting arms grabbing at him while he climbed down, thank you very much.

He reached the end of the ladder and dangled from his arms before dropping the ten feet to the ground. He quickly moved away from the hospital, creeping along until he was out of sight of the windows on the first two floors. He would have to be more careful coming back, he might have attracted unwanted attention despite his caution.

Ross kept to the more open areas as he quickly moved through the streets. He might be spotted, but it was better than sticking to corners and shadows and being jumped on. He had that happen before, and did not wish to repeat the experience. His grip tightened around the pipe as he headed deeper and deeper into unfamiliar territory.

These were the suburbs, an older section of town. One-story houses with tangled yards and grid like streets were littered with trash and unidentifiable organic matter. Old cars with busted windows and tires were pushed up against both sides of the street like dead sentinels, and he warily moved past them.

Ross tried to follow the plot he had made using the map, but it was difficult at ground level. He felt that he was getting closer though, the face of the town was changing, less houses and more businesses. He crossed over a bridge, pausing a moment to stare down at the murky gray water, and immediately stopped.

There were Walkers up ahead, a small pack of them. He wondered, briefly, why they always wandered about it groups as he reached for the strap of his gun. But the Walkers weren’t moving, and Ross realized that he had not been spotted yet. He crept along the edge of the river until he reached the line of buildings again. He darted behind them and moved away from the Walkers. But he stopped when he noted that the building the Walkers were in front of was a grocery store.

Ross circled around back and found the small access door in the side of the brick building. He could get in here, couldn’t he? But there were too many of them. The moment he stepped inside he would be swarmed, trapped, and eaten. He thought for a moment before cautiously making his way back around to the front of the store. If he could just distract them… Ross wondered how long he could get them to stay away from the store. Glancing around Ross spotted a chunk of brick lying next to a garbage can. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand, gauging how far he could throw it. A moment later and he chucked it as fast and as far away as he possibly could. It landed with a sharp, echoing crack and Walkers poured out of the building, stumbling toward the noise. He found another brick and threw it in the same direction, hoping that would keep them busy for a bit.

This was his only chance. Ross dashed inside and pressed himself up against the wall as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There was food in here, surprisingly. He caught sight of the cans and boxes along the shelves. He wondered why it had been left alone by the human scavengers. Maybe it had something to do with the large Walker population in the vicinity.

Ross moved quickly. Deft fingers picking out the food that would be best for travel and not stale or rotten. There was a lot here, at least for one person. He stuffed everything he could into his pack and started to make his way back out. The shelves were narrow, pressing up close together and dark. He could see the front window and had almost reached the door when a Walker suddenly attacked him. It must have been lurking behind one of the shelves. It rushed at him and Ross was barely able to stop it with the lead pipe. He could hardly maneuver in the small space. He had to get out of here. Ross pushed his way through the store and burst outside.

Walkers surrounded him. There they were, coming down the street, out of the store behind him, up from the bridge. There was no time to think now. He grabbed his AR and raised it to his shoulder. How many were there? Twenty? He had twice that many cartridges in one clip, so as long as he didn’t miss… he picked off the first few who were closest, the bullets shredding through their necks and skulls. He still had time to aim, but thinking about it rationally, he didn’t have time not to aim. Every shot counted.

They were nearly on top of him when Ross readjusted his stance and held down on the trigger all the way. The gun hammered into his shoulder as he swept through and took out the targets that were literally right on top of him. Pieces of rotted flesh and bone were flying everywhere. There was a click as he ran out of bullets. Ross lowered his gun and looked around. He saw the motionless, headless bodies lying all about him and felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a grim smile. But there were still more Walkers, hurrying towards him.
“Screw this.” He scowled. Ross bent down and quickly tried to gather up the spent cartridges. He burned his hand as he shoved the hot metal into his pocket. No time to worry about that now. The Walkers were making rabid groans of excitement. They could see him, smell him, sense the fresh blood that was rushing through his veins. Without another moment of hesitation Ross took off back towards the bridge.

But there was nowhere to run to. He skidded to a stop and gaped. Walkers had swarmed the bridge, dozens of them moving towards him in an impassable wall. He backed up. There were Walkers behind him and Walkers in front of him… where had they all come from? Ross turned back and ran, away from both parties of the flesh hungry Walkers. He headed north, following the river.

He noticed that the shadows had started to grow longer. Had he really come this far? There would be no going back to the hospital today. His main concern now was to find a way to shake of the Walkers that tailed him and find a safe place for the night. And there were only a few hours before dark fall.

The lake. He thought. I’ve got to make it to the lake.

Blake (Group B)

I woke to the birds chirping and the sun shining, but my head hurt like a mother. I ignored the throbbing pain in my temples and heaved myself out of the makeshift cot I was on. Then it hit me. How had I gotten here? Where was here? What had happened? I tried to push these thoughts out of my head. Once my feet hit the floor, my legs buckled and I collapsed. I cursed out loud, and supported myself on the cot, but someone grabbed my arm and lifted me up.

"Woah, not so fast sugar, you're gonna hurt yourself," a voice behind me said. I assumed it was the person that had helped me up. I turned and it was. My eyes met that of a middle age black woman who was smiling at me.

"Where am I?" I groaned. "How did I get here?" She gave me a funny look at first, but then her eyes lit up.

"You must be the new guy! You know honey, you're lucky we found you before they did," her voice darkened when she said they, almost like they were just scum. But then again, who were they? I frowned, which just made my head hurt more. "Oh yeah, I forgot, your head must be hurtin' mighty, by the size of the welt they found on ya. Here, take these, what happened anyway?" She said as she handed me 3 small red pills. I too then and racked my brain for information.

"I. I don't remember," I said with a frown. She gave me another funny look, but then smiled again.

"Well the good news is, you're perfectly healthy and fit, your head may just hurt for a while. Go get yourself some rest, 'k hon?" She smiled once more, and I exited the tent. I wandered around the camp for a little bit until I found a place to rest. And as soon as my head hit the ground, I was out.

Grace: Group A - Leader
Grace dispatched the last Walker and called a halt to the melee. In the silence she strained to hear if they had called any more unwanted attention to themselves.
Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, Grace surveyed the damage. None of her people have been hurt but it would do no harm to check. She had each other the members hold out there arms where she checked for bites, scratches or any other liaisons. It was her duty to protect the people who she gave shelter too so if that meant killing one to protect the rest, well, Grace would shoulder that responsibility.
Having found only minor cuts from the glass she looked at Penelope. She had potential but she was a liability with such loud machinery, especially in a place that echoed.
Grace fished around in her bag then pulled out a long, black cylinder and threw it to Pen.
“That’s a silencer. Make sure you use it next time.” She slung her bag back onto her back. “Try not to lose it. It’s the last we we’ve got.” She noticed Penelope attaching it to the front her gun.
She didn’t have a problem with people using fire arms, it was fast and efficient but we didn’t have to means to keep supplying ammo, so when it was gone--it was gone.
Grace motioned for the group to move out, careful to avoid any of the fallen glass. Quickly, they moved through the rubble of the mall, avoiding anything that could harbor Walkers; open doors and alcoves were the usual suspects.
Grace was always careful when it came to any team she took out. Making sure she always try to return them in one piece, not always possible, but she tried.
Mom! Help me, Mom!
Grace shook her violently to clear her mind. She couldn’t be thinking of that right now; carefully she closed that door to her mind with a firm shove.
They reached the food court, surprisingly, without another incident. After doing a quick sweep of the immediate area she surveyed the shops as she developed a plan of action.
In the center was a walled rectangular eating section, perfect for look-outs. Armed with manual buttons that set off vibrating links, they could alert the rest of the team to get their butts down if they spotted Walkers. She left two members there. She dispatched the rest with points of her hand, allocating two members to the three eateries that had the most potential.
She took Cinnabon with another member of her team. After checking that the font of the store was clear, they expertly jumped the counter. Quickly they crouched down to take shelter.
What was that?
Grace heard a constant muffled sound coming from the next room. The sound would stop for a couple seconds then the muffle would be back. She looked at her companion to see if he had heard it as well.
He nodded in agreement.
Silently they made their way forward until they were crouching just out of sight of the back room. Grace leaned forward and peeked into the next room, staying absolutely still.
Nothing moved but that didn’t mean much in this day and age. Making sure there was nothing behind the door, they moved cautiously into the back room weapons drawn. The sight that greeted them almost made her sigh in relief.
A man leaned up against the freezer door, a Walker at his feet and a bullet through both their brains. The man’s leg had been ravaged by the monster, a woman, or what was left of her. Grace looked from the man to the freezer then back to the man. They would have to move him to get into the storage locker. Together her colleague and her lifted the man out of the Walkers grasp and set him to the side.
Grace could hear the muffled sounds coming from inside the freezer. Standing off to the side she readied for a Walker to spring out from inside when she opened it. It didn’t. She leaned around the massive door.
The sound was coming from a corner straight ahead in a backpack. Her long strides eat up the distance where she opens the bag and almost gasped in surprise. Inside was a radio, obviously working, with a horde of battery packages surrounding it. She popped out the batteries to silence the machine, re-zipped it and handed it over. He placed his hand on her shoulder, when she looked at him quizzically, she followed his look downwards.
Two distinct forms huddled together near the door. Children clutching at a blanket, head bent together trying to keep warm—frozen. Both the children had mops of ginger hair, a boy and a girl. Then it clicked. She looked back at the Walker and at the man they had set aside. Both had ginger hair. In her mind she could see the tragic story unfold:
The family takes refuge in the back of the Cinnabon, hoping for some time before they move on. The mother goes out to check a sound, or maybe she’s already bitten and hasn’t told then. She turns on her family, the father fights off his beloved wife, telling his kids he’ll get them in a moment as he shoves them in the freezer; barring it with his body. He hopes he’ll make it through this but she’s ripping chunks of his leg off and he knows it’s pointless. He takes refuge in the fact that his children will not see her like this. He turns the gun on his wife; he doesn’t miss as she looks up at him with her green, soulless eyes. His children are whimpering, calling out to their daddy but he can’t allow them out. He talks to them as long as he can, comforting them but he feels the infection setting in. He tells them he loves them and he’ll see them soon.
Bang.
The children are left to freeze to death. A death many wish had been their own.
She would have cried if she had had any tears left.
She feels it then, the vibrating in her pocket. She looks at her companion. An acceptance and resoluteness cloud his eyes.

Tim 'Righty' Dean - (Group B)

I hop on the bike ride beside my buddy Lefty, ready to take off and soon as I hear the gunshot. Only problem was, Benny left all his guns back in the tent, and this was no race. So I ended up leaning over my bike waiting for a signal for about ten seconds before Ben realized he never said go. So he came back to, well I thought he was going to apologize for the mistake, but no, I gets a smack across the head and a scream in my ear.

So then I take off full speed down the desolate street, some undead buggers fast on my tail. Thinking they're right up on me, I pull out the heavy artillery. I pull the pin off of one of my favorite grenades, kiss it, tell it I love it one more time, and launch it behind me. Not two seconds later, I heart Mr. Left-O screaming something behind me, probably about how sick that move I just pulled was. I'd have to remember to thank him later.

But this was no time for getting cocky, I had to stay focused. I pulled the only lighter I had left out of my pocket with one hand and a blunt I had saved out of the other pocket. Some of my best stuff too. I lit it up and stuck it in mt mouth, inhaling the grassy goodness that made me feel like I could do anything. I stuck the lighter back in pocket as I wondered about when it would ever go out. It was the first lighter I'd ever had, personally tricked out by myself, the flame twice as high as the lighters size. Yet it never seemed to die out on me. I'd taken it as a sign, it was meant to be. It was made quite obvious what I would have to do when the lighter finally stopped working, get a new one.

But now wasn't the time for that. After a few puffs, I remembered that I wasn't in no motor boat, and I needed a hand on the steering handle. I'd rode about ten minutes, give or take a few hours for the time I don't remember, when something eventful finally happened. I hit something, no, someone tried to screw with me. The road was definitely clear when I'd last been able to see straight. But all of a sudden, I felt the front of the bike make a hard impact, and found myself flipping through the air, almost in slow motion.

I couldn't find the words to say when I found myself on the floor, looking up into a camp of strangers. The expressions on their faces made me think they didn't like, so I decided to introduce myself in the most productive way possible, "Which one of you put that car in front of me?"