Young Writers Society

K.J.:

The only thing I could really notice was the smell. It stank like ammonia back here and bleach. Of course, at least it covered the smell of death that came from the waiting room. I'd been lucky. When the first person had gotten bitten, I'd been in the back room--with all the rescued cats, dogs, and the family of raccoons we'd recently taken in. This was lucky because of the cages and the fact there was only one door to get in here and one small window. I'd managed to stack some of the cages against the door and in front of the window and put those big bags of dog food that were prescription stuff in said cages.
I was safe. Well, more or less.

The bad news was, I was also stuck--with about eight dogs, six cats, and several raccoons that were very noisy and kept attracting the attention of the turned people in the waiting room.

The good news was, this was where the grooming station was, too. Well, it had been one at one time. I'd dumped bleach out of barrels and washed 'em out, then filled them with water. I was pretty sure that was a very, very bad idea. But I hadn't died of dehydration.
I'd also been eating dog food. I was pretty sure that wasn't a good idea, either. But, hey, the stuff had, like, beef, potatoes, carrots, and stuff in it. It was like dried stew or something. It couldn't be that harmful.

But, none of this would last forever. I glanced up momentarily at the ceiling again, wondering if there was a crawl space up there at least. I was pretty sure there wasn't; this building was old. And the tiles looked flimsy enough to fall under pressure.

I sigh and just rest my forehead on my drawn in knees.

I'd had a...well, plan for a bit. I hadn't wanted to do it. But I was beginning to think I had to. It was disturbing on many levels, but it wasn't like I was going to get arrested for animal cruelty, right?
I was running out of water. I needed out.

With that thought in mind and the fact the animals had quieted down for a moment, I got up and took my pocket knife out. My Dad had given it to me when I was eight, so I could protect myself. He said white boys were targets.

Yeah...turns out I was now a target again. It just wasn't race specified this time.

I glanced around the room, at the dogs in the cages, and gulped. Time to party.

"Come here, sugar," I cooed, creeping closer and unlocking the cage. "That's it..." I say, as the collie mix in the cage moved a bit closer. I felt like I was going to be sick I was so, well, anxious.
I take the knife out and grab her by her scruff at the same time, wanting to jerk away right as I do. I don't, though, I just skim the knife down her back, drawing blood.

She yelps and tries to get away. I just let her go.

I don't need to describe the fact I do this to all the animals, or that I move the almost empty bags of food (which wouldn't keep the door closed much longer) and crates.

Moans start up again and I swallow hard, starting to sweat. I pull out the other sharp tools in my pocket knife and then pull open the door, hard. One of the zombies or whatever they are falls in and they seem to have trouble getting up; probably because their spine is snapped in half. Two other of the dead fix their eyes on me. I shiver, but the animals wander out, not understanding. The eyes move to them, the blood.

I'm sprinting out through the waiting room's door in an instant. It slams behind me and I wince, hoping not to draw attention. I hear yowling and growls behind me and I just can't do it. I find a rock quickly and leave the door open a crack with it, before jogging as fast as I can with my leg towards my car, an old Toyota. Luckily the clinic had a lot of property, as it set on the edge of a reserve.

There weren't any outside--the others, the dead ones.

I take a deep breath and am at my car in minutes.

Then I realize something else. The tires are slashed. Who the heck would do that?!?!

"Frick," I hiss, then I look around again.

Animals are racing out of the clinic, the zombies following them (some of them holding what seem to be "left overs").

Curse words replay again and again in my head. This wasn't going how I had planned it.

((He may be on his own for a bit, until he finds one of the other characters (didn't want to post anymore stuff)...but you may stumble upon him if you wish.))

Lucy Elizabeth

The shot rang out with a deafening crack, seemingly louder in the silence of the abandoned street. The creature fell with an anti-climatic little thud. I gathered myself for a moment before looking at the fallen thing. Fear spiked through me like a sudden tangible force inside. What if they could hear me? I decided it was probably best to not stick around to find out.

I slung Mel back onto my shoulder and moved my way through the back of the houses. Something told me that finding myself in an open area would be a bad idea. I climbed my way over a fence, hitting the ground with a satisfying plop before setting off at a fast pace.

The path I decided to take seemed to take far longer than I had imagined it would, by the time I made it to my street it was mid day and my stomach was roaring. I kept my back to the wall as often as I could as I made my way through stalled cars, debris, and an assortment of corpses. The combination of hunger and my gag reflex made me unbearably woozy. My hands shook as I clutched Melvin so hard I felt cuts starting to form in my palms, but all that did was make me cling harder.

I swallowed hard when I saw three more of them ahead of me, swaying and staggering about. From this distance, they could have simply been extremely drunk men. One of them was smaller than the others, and I realized in horror that it was only a child. I gasped out a breath I did not know that I had been holding in, and hit my back to the wall once more. Tears squeezed themselves from my eyes one after the other, before I finally got my bearings back and took aim. It was too easy to line my sights and fire. The first one dropped easily, not expecting a thing. The other two jerked up, clumsily starting my way, trying to find where the shot came from. I cocked Melvin, the all too familiar sound of a shell whizzing by my ear bringing me back to my task. The second adult was starting to speed it's pace, but I gave it no time for real progress and I fired again.

Then the child, still dressed in a too darling pink dress that was ripped and torn and covered in what I did not what to think about. I got her in my sights, and her hollow eyes seemed to find mine. I steadied myself with a shaky breath and fired. The girl crumpled to the ground in a broken mess, and a cry escaped my lips before I could help it.

If I had eaten anything in the last three days, I would have vomited it now. Instead I felt my stomach convulse, but there was nothing to expel.

I gasped, gripping the wall to give myself some kind of balance. It took a moment for me to gather myself again, but I pulled myself forward anyways. I had a mission, and it was one that I could not forget.

My apartment building was still in tact, a few windows were smashed, and I thought I saw what looked like an arm handing off of a patio on the third floor... I turned away, knowing all too well that these were people I had known. People I had said the friendly greetings to in passing, people that made the thumps in the middle of the night. The fact that they were people at all made me feel ill.

I made my way up the steps to my fourth floor studio apartment slowly. Unlocking the door felt too normal, something I would have done before all of this. I heard the quiet mewling of my Patches before the door even opened. As soon as it swung free she rushed at me, clawing at my pant legs until I lifted her into my arms. I closed the door behind me and threw in the dead bolt, an old habit that might serve me better now than it ever had before. I took in the surroundings, just days ago this was my home, but somehow it seemed wrong. Like it was naive to the world that had changed so much. It seemed unfair that this place would remain untouched, but I couldn't. No one else could.

Patches had clawed a hole in the bottom of her food bag, and I was pleased to see that one of us had eaten over the last few days. The thought of food made my stomach yell in protest. I kissed Patches on the head once and placed her on the floor before I poured her a bowl of water, which she lapped at happily.

I opened the fridge and was immediately assaulted by the smell of rotting meat and milk gone bad. It hadn't occurred to me that the lack of electricity traveled to the fridge too. I stifled a groan and closed it quickly, opting for something that didn't involve cooking instead. I found a can of my favorite chicken and wild rice soup, and gulped it down quickly, not bothering to try to find a way to heat it. My stomach seemed to sigh in relief, and it wasn't long before the tremors in my fingers stopped and my hunger was quelled.

The sun would be fading soon, and I didn't like the idea of being out at night, so I started packing up my things. First I got Patches' carrier ready, gathered her food into the backpack and roamed the closet for some practical clothes. It didn't take me long to gather the rest of my things, including the small propane stove my father had gotten me years ago, still in the original box, and the two canisters of propane it came with. It was light weight, designed for hiking, and I figured it would probably be coming in handy at some point. Patches put up a small protest when I tried to get her into the carrier, but soon enough she was tucked away safely, and we were ready to leave.

I gave my apartment one last farewell look, leaving before the nostalgia could really kick in, and headed towards the grocery store down the street. I was almost there when I heard something coming, and with shock I realized that it was people.. I had lived in silence for the last several days, and while the sound of people was refreshing, it spiked a little fear through me. I ducked myself behind a stalled out car, listening intently to the shouts of laughter. They were making their way closer and closer, the scrapping of their shoes getting louder as they drew near.

When I saw them, I felt myself grow more excited than ever. Six or seven men, all dressed in black and carrying assault rifles in their hands... they were military! I started to move from my place behind the car, eager to get to the men that would save me.

They would be my salvation.

I started to run, and then out of no where something seized me from behind. A hand clasped over my mouth, stifling my screams as strong arms yanked me backwards into a small building. I thrashed wildly, fearing the worst; one of them had gotten me before I could reach them. I prepared myself for the feel of teeth ripping into my flesh, but they never came.

Instead, I heard a deep voice in my ear.

“Shhh, you have to trust me.” He whispered.

K.J.:

The good news was I was in my truck, doors locked--safe. The bad news was, I was, once again, stuck. The dead clawed at my windows, trying to get in at me. The animals had either ran off or been, well, eaten. There were only two left here, alive, which was because of me. A smoky tabby kitten and a calico one. They hadn't run, just come and stood by my legs--as they had many times before (I was/had been their care-taker after all). So, now I had two cats. That I also had to feed, eventually, or let them die. Wonderful.

Why'd I have to be such a softie? I wondered.

In other news, the number of dead had lessened, as some had chased after the animals. There were still about five here, though.

I counted them slowly, looking out my window, doing another head count. Okay, so there were four.

I sighed and just let my head fall on the steering wheel, as another, a wrinkly old woman with a oozing arm, started pounding on my window.

I then lifted my head up a bit and looked down. A drop. Right, there was a drop from here to the road below...

I gulped and glanced at the two kittens curled up in the pocket of my hoodie, which rested on the seat. One looked up at me and blinked its blurry blue eyes.

"Um, so, yeah. Hang on in a second, maybe?" I suggest.

I quickly did a search of my car, coming up with a handful of change (pointless now, but I took it, anyway), another t-shirt (dirty), and two old, hard-feeling protein bars that were in my glove box that I must have kept around since 'Seph used to ride around with me (he had low blood sugar or something freaky like that).

I put these assorted items in whatever pockets I have wherever I can, then start the car hesitantly. I then put my foot on the gas, slamming it down. Nothing happens.

I curse and punch the steering wheel. I should have known! It hadn't moved be...

The whole truck rocks.

One of the cats mew but I'm too interested in this new development. I throw my weight forward a few times and the truck creeps a little bit, my foot still on the gas.

Then we roll. It's mostly blurry, as we crash through the far-too-old-and-rotten fence on the edge of the parking lot and down into the thick kudzoo and mess of stunted trees below.

I seem to be unharmed. The now squished zombie is not. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, then put on my sweatshirt, before climbing out of the car, the best I can. I avoid the zombie and any blood, then jog out onto the street.

They're moaning up above and I doubt it will take long for them to figure out where I am. I need to get away, and quick.

***

My leg aches as I keep on walking, along the road. The sun is sinking and I curse my bad luck. We've gone about a mile or two, I think.
And, heck, those kits are lucky *. Sort of like I'm a lucky * that my truck was the ruin it was and light (from extreme rust).

I just take out one of the protein bars, make sure my hands are void of blood, and rip it open, before eating it (and even if they taste like cardboard--it's delicious chocolate-y cardboard).

The two kittens are curled up against my stomach, I think okay, and I'm good.

Well, Dr. W would be happy I was able to save a few of the animals, right? You know, if I ignored the fact some had become meals.

I sigh and glance around, hoping to see some sign of life besides myself. Okay. I just really needed to get a handle on myself and find a place to sleep tonight--you know, and stop shaking like a leaf.

I gulp and just discard the trash on the ground, before wheeling around in a circle. There's nothing here. Nothing. Well... I squint. There's a yellow building up ahead, closer to town. Maybe I could find something there?

I wasn't sure I wanted to go to town, though. Ashville was a large place. Who knew how many...were still alive, but turned?

((I think this is better; not any (or many, at least) differing tenses...))

Hannah

Hannah had just fallen asleep when the guards had awoken her and informed her that they had taken in a little eleven-year old girl who had just lost her parents. The girl, named Kisa, was unconscious, but apparently dreaming as she was muttering soft and incoherent things to herself. Hannah was very tired and in no fit mood to treat her, but she knew that she didn't have a choice. Besides, she pitied the girl; lying on the makeshift hospital bed, she looked so sweet, so innocent. Hannah sighed, finished up the last bit of her coffee, grabbed her first aid kid and went over to where Kisa was lying.

When the guards saw that Hannah was starting to tend to her, they smiled and returned to their other duties. Hannah began to inspect the extent of Kisa's injuries and was careful not to wake her. Her legs were bruised and bleeding badly, and her elbow had been badly dislocated. It looked like some of the zombies had tried to bite her but had failed. Hannah gave the lord a quick, silent prayer for it; it would be a shame if a girl so young had to be reduced to such a miserable existence so soon.

Hannah was able to stop the bleeding and clean up the girl's wounds, but became nervous about fixing her dislocated elbow. Although Hannah had done it many times in the past week, she felt as though now she had to be more careful, more on guard so that she would not hurt Kisa. She was sleeping very peacefully now; occasionally, her eyelids fluttered open, but only for a second. Once, she said something that Hannah didn't quite catch about her father, to which Hannah had simply smiled. The poor little girl must have thought that she was still back at home. Once she snapped out of consciousness, how would she take the news? Eventually Hannah popped Kisa's elbow back in, which set off a slight grunt, but thankfully she didn't wake.

That was when Hannah saw a middle aged man (he looked to be about fifty) sitting in front of the TV standing up and going over to talk to one of the guards. The conversation started out simply, but soon he gotten the attention of nearly everyone in the basement.

"Listen, buddy!" He was saying. "Don't you think we ought to do something instead of sitting around on our lazy butts all day? We're going to run out of supplies soon; what do you expect us to do then? We can't just sit here expecting the zombies to go away! Because they won't. They won't unless we just do something about it. I don't know about you, but I want to return to my normal life."

"Sir-" The guard was trying to remain calm.

"He's right!" called someone from the room, a woman of about thirty-five. "There are people out there right now who are fighting the zombies that we should be helping! We can learn to use guns, can't we?"

"It's not that easy," the guard said. "There are a few guns at the abandoned police hall about a block from here, but there aren't many. Besides, if we send all of you out there, a number of you will probably be turned and that will only make the matter worse. We aren't waiting for this to end, we're just waiting for help to arrive. You folks are safe down here. I would highly advise you not to leave, but if you want to, be my gu-"

He was cut off by the sound of loud, indistinct noise. The lights and the TV flickered on and off rapidly before finally blowing out; there were screams and confused chatter.

"Stay calm!" yelled the guard. "Zombies are coming! And a whole lot of them! Just stay calm!" He walked up the stairs and Hannah heard him fire his machine gun rapidly. Her heart had nearly stopped when she heard the scream of the guard and realized that he had been killed. The other guards rushed to his help; there was more machine gun fire, but it ended with the same result.

That was when everyone realized that they were no longer safer in the basement, as they were unarmed and all of their guards had been killed. Everyone started to get up and just run, and Hannah was nearly trampled. She was about to run herself, but then, in the dim light, she saw the Kisa's face and realized that she could leave her behind. The zombies were starting to come down the stairs, so Hannah needed to think fast. She grabbed the girl and just ran as fast as she could, trying to avoid the zombies. A few pursued her, giving her cuts and bruises and trying to bite her, but she was able to outrun them. She ran and ran and ran as fast as she could, until the apartment was no longer in sight. Even so, she could still hear screams.

Hannah was in a desolate corner of the street, so she sat down and breathed heavily, not wanting to think about what just happened. She was curious as to who all survived, if she would be able to team up with any of them or if she would be on her own. Her biggest problem now was that she was unarmed. But then Hannah remebered what the guard had said; there where guns at the old police station.

Maybe that was where she needed to go. But a for a moment, Hannah just wanted to rest. She was surprised Kisa still hadn't woken up quite yet.

Kisa

Kisa awoke peacefully with searing pain in her left elbow. She thought about screaming, because that always seemed to help when pain exploded on her. But because she had been forced to grow so fast in the past week, she waited until she knew more about her surroundings.

And she knew from a moment of observation that she wasn't in the basement anymore, and her toy, Barkley, was nowhere to be found. However, there was ma'am, laying beside her sleeping like a baby. Kisa stood and hit her head on a cold surface above her. She looked around. To one end of where they were resting were two seats and a steering wheel, to the other side were two windows on two doors. Kisa walked over to the window and for the first time took a look outside.

The people weren't the only things that had changed, the town had, too. The streets seemed darker - obvously they were, it being night and no lights working - but not that kind of dark. One breath of the musty air and one look at the hazy street sent tingles up your spine. Kisa wasn't out at night often, but one occasions such as Halloween and trips to the movies she had seen what streets looked at night, and yes, it was a new kind of dark. It was a dark that you knew could not be cured by light.

Kisa tried to open the van's back door, but it wouldn't budge. She then walked up to the driver's seat and tried both of those doors. They didn't open until Kisa realized that she had to unlock the doors first. She did, and stepped outside. Nothing was moving, not even the leaves of the trees. She looked above and could see no moon, only the dark clouds that seemed to have enveloped the Earth. And the smell was nauseating. Kisa thought there was nothing worse than boiled eggs, but this smell burned the inside of her nose. It was the smell that came when you thought about the dead. It was the smell of aged... something, with a hint of mold. Needless to say, it was a smell that Kisa had hoped would never cross her sense.

"Hey!" Kisa's skin jumped and her hairs rose. She turned around to see bright-eyed ma'am with a worried look on her face. "What do you think you're doing. Get in here!"

Kisa frowned and slowly stepped inside the car and locked the door. A second later, there was a loud thump on one of the sides that not only dented the metal of the van, but also shook it. It reminded her of a ride she had went on in Disneyland.

"Oh no," ma'am said, quietly looking out the window. Her expression didn't change as she looked. Everyone's faces displayed fear no matter what was happening. Except for Kisa's. Her small mouth was open a tad, just enough to fit a Cheerio into without hitting her lips, and her eyes were closed as if tired, but she wasn't. She was actually relaxed, except for her elbow, which was on edge ever since she realized that if something did happen, she wouldn't be able to defend herself.

She then remembered her knife, and her father. She checked her underwear and there it was, the metal of the knife's casing warmed by the heat of her skin. She swallowed hard, trying to give herself more time to think. She decided to hand it to ma'am.

"No, this is yours."

Kisa motioned to her elbow, which made ma'am sigh.

"Alright, just in case."

And the van shook again, this time two separate hits on the one side, making it rock even more.

"They're trying to tip it?" she said, clear panic in her voice.

Kisa nodded in agreement.

When the young woman paused in front of the store, I had a feeling she'd do something stupid. When she took her first step toward the soldiers, I made my move. She struggled against me, one elbow narrowly missing my groin, but I tightened my arm around her body and dragged her, literally kicking and screaming, into the store. I managed to pin one of her arms against her body and covered her mouth firmly but gently.

“For god's sake, listen to me!” I whispered urgently. “If you go to them, they will kill you.”

She stopped struggling and fell limp in my arms, seemingly more resigned to a horrible fate than acknowledging of the certain doom she could have faced. I felt her sobs coming out against my hand. I didn't let her go quite yet.

“Just...watch.” I didn't want her to, but it was the only way she would understand.

Out the window and down the street, the man the soldiers saved was standing still among the corpses at his feet, his arms raised high above his head. His hands were shaking. The leader of the soldiers barked an order at him, and he a confused look passed over his face. He shook his head and yelled out to the squad, “I'm not sick! Please, help me!”

He took a shaky step forward and the leader roared at him to stay where he was. All the soldiers raised their rifles and he hesitated.

“Please! Please! I just want to get--” His final plea was cut off by a roar of gunfire, the hollow-points tearing holes in his head, chest, and neck. His confused look remained even as he crumpled to the ground, his dying breaths trying in vain to keep his ruined lungs alive. He lay on the ground squirming for a moment before the leader stepped froward and fired three times into his body.

The young woman cried out into my hand and jumped at the shots, and I held her close until it was over.

They continued on until we could no longer see them, passing the store and disappearing around the next corner. The girl slumped against me, her sobs coming out harder. I felt her tears dripping onto my fingers, and I finally released her.

“They're gone.” I muttered.

“They killed him,” she said blandly. “They shot him dead for no reason at all. He wasn't sick. They just killed him.” Her tear streaked face bore so much shock and horror. She had had so much faith in the world. She seemed so very frail.

“I know,” I told her. “They're not here for survivors.”

“H-h-how could they do that? That was the military! Those people were sworn to protect us, but they just shot that man! He was innocent!”

“I know,” I repeated. We sat for a moment in silence, and I realized that something needed to be said in order for her to be in any condition to get to safety. I stuck my finger through the grill of the cat carrier she'd dropped on the ground and heard soft purring coming from within. “What's his name?” I asked mildly.

K.J.:

I was woken up out of sleep by shotgun fire. It was a sound I had heard a lot growing up, on the Fourth of July (or random nights) at my old home and when my Granddad used to take me hunting.

I glanced around, worriedly, glancing out the windows of the car I'd gotten into. I'd been lucky enough to find that said car's doors were unlocked, but unfortunate enough to find this car's tires were slashed, too.

Who was going around slashing tires, anyway? Were they totally off their rockers? Were zombies doing it? I didn't know anything, it was just pissing me off to no end.

But, back to the present. The coast was clear and everything just seemed pretty dark. The moon was out a sliver, but it barely lit the empty stretch of road I was on.

But I had found a wind-up flashlight in the glove compartment. Thank goodness. So if I was ever forced out of a hiding spot in the dark I'd at least be able to see a little.

I took it out now and wound it up for a moment, before shining it out the windows, checking. A few forms moved past, but I couldn't make them out. They seemed to be jogging, unlike the dead--who could just shuffle (but most of Dr. W's patients had been elderly, so that might not be true).

Other survivors?

I turn off the light and scoot down in my seat, staying silent. I'm not sure whether other survivors would be friendly, or if they'd just rob me for whatever I had (which didn't consist of much, but yeah).
And, well, my leg might make me look like a shuffling zombie.

***

I was pretty sure I'd passed out at some point, because I was still in the car and it was now daylight. So, yeah. I'd slept. It didn't feel like it, though, and my back and necked ached from sleeping upright.

I yawn and look around. The coast is still clear (thank goodness). I need to keep moving, though. I got lucky none of the zombies had come by and tried to smash open the windows. I'm pretty sure they could break glass.

I glance around the car and gather my things, putting back on my hoodie a second later. I grab the pair of kittens and place them back in my front pocket, even as they complain. Sure, they weren't the best asset (or even an asset), but I was still human. And, well, I wasn't even sure if I wasn't truly the last person alive. I'd need companionship, anyway.

***

I was now a good way down the road, much closer to town. An apartment building, a smattering of cars, and other, lower buildings were everywhere.
The creepy thing was that it was dead quiet--no people, no zombies, no nothing. Well, that was a lie. Some crows were eating at a dead body to my right, in the apartment building parking lot.

One of the kittens then decided to let out a loud, curious mewl. I freeze and glance around. Nothing.

Gosh, this was getting effin' creepy. It was like a ghost town! Everything was empty--from the office buildings to the grocery store down the way.

How had I thought there were any survivors? I couldn't even see any dead! ...But that might be a good thing.

Dana Morris

Chris didn't know where Dana's appartment was. Of course he wouldn't. He wouldn't know how to find the library in Ashville, a place he had perhaps visited four times in his life. So Dana had been forced to take the lead, running with little Alice clutching her neck. Her back ached from carrying the child, but she knew she couldn't let up.

"Come on, Chris," she said softly, hoping he would hear her as he ran. "A left up ahead."

They turned the corner from one empty road onto another. Only, this road wasn't empty. A figure walked down the road, stopping every once and a while to mess with something in his pocket.

"Dana, wait," Chris said. Dana stopped and turned back. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and took a few steps backward. "We can't keep going this way, not with whoever that is around."

Dana looked back at the figure. Whoever it was, they didn't look like a zombie. He didn't look like any of the military men who were supposed to be around either. He just looked like a normal guy. "What if he needs help?" she asked.

Chris shook his head. "He could be infected."

"How long does it take for the disease to take hold?" she asked, still looking at the man wandering the street.

"A few days, I've heard," he said. "Maybe more, with the experimental vaccines they were talking about on the radio." They had managed to find an old radio in Dana's parent's basement. They had run through all the stations hundreds of times, always hoping someone, somewhere had gotten a word out. They had eventually run across an underground station that was broadcasting news by survivors hidden in the city somewhere. It was the only way they had gotten news about anything for days.

"I still think we should--"

"Aunt Dana, think about Alice," he said. "Think about me. Think about our family that's all probably dead right now. Can we risk this?"

Dana looked from Chris to the figure. Whoever was in the street wasn't a zombie, she knew that. They didn't look like someone who was infected - or at least how she thought someone who was infected would look. She let Alice down from her back and sat her on the curb. "I'm going to see if he needs help."

She jogged down the road, coming to the man. He jumped and spun around, throwing his fists up as if he could fight down whatever was coming. "S-stay away," he sputtered.

Dana put her hands up. "It's okay," she said. "I'm human. What's your name? Do you need help?"

"I'm KJ," he said. "And yeah, help would be great right about now."

"Come on," Dana said. "I'm with my nephew and my niece, but we have room for one more. We're heading to my apartment above the library. Come one."

Hannah

The whole experience was mind-numbing, and too amusement park like (with the shaking, the lack of light and Kisa's screams) to seem real. But Hannah had to keep reminding herself that this was real, this was actually happening and both her life and the life of Kisa were at stake. Even though she tried not to know show it, Hannah was extremely scared. How long would the zombies keep trying keep trying to tip the van? Would they eventually just give up and leave? With one hand, Hannah clutched the knife tightly, realizing with dread that she had never used a weapon before. The reason she had escaped the zombies earlier was because she could run extraordinarily fast, but now, she didn't think she would be able to just run.

With each passing minute, the shaking became harsher, more apparent. And Hannah struggled to hold onto both the knife and Kisa. She knew that she would have to get out soon and face the zombies.

"M'am," Kisa said, her voice hoarse, "I'm scared."

"You can call me Hannah," she replied. "Don't worry, we'll be alright." She could hear their moans and cries from outside. "You are to stay in here, do you understand? Don't move."

Hannah swung open the door, locked it promptly, and was soon faced with a swarm of six zombies. She was able to stab and kill one with only one blow, then another. But there was still four left, and Hannah found herself growing weaker and finding her surroundings to become blurry.

Hannah knew she couldn't run, as Kisa was waiting for her in the car; if Hannah ditched her, the zombies would most definitely break down the car and kill Kisa. Hannah knew she didn't want that to happen.

But somehow she found the strength to daze one of the zombies with her knife. The rest were momentarily distracted by this, which gave Hannah enough time to go to the van, take Kisa and run, just run as fast as she could.

And for a while she kept running, until she found herself close to a building which she recognized as a police station.

"There are guns in here, Kisa," Hannah whispered. "We can protect ourselves with them. But we have to see if we can find other survivors and stay with them. We aren't going to be able to go on like this by ourselves."

Caspian

Food hadn't been a problem so far. You knocked the glass out of somebody's window and strolled right in. Or rather... you knocked the glass out of somebody's window, went psycho on anything that looked like a corpse and sort of ducked and rolled right in, avoiding getting all cut up on the glass. The problem was cigarettes. While Caspian could guarantee that every human being had an instinctive need to feed and therefore hoarded food in their homes, not everyone was a smoker. In fact, so far it was seeming to him like there were no god damn smokers in this town. Or - which was admittedly more likely - they carried their stash of cigarettes around with them which was exactly what he'd done. Until he ran out.

There was nothing more for it, Cass was just going to have to hit a store. It wasn't like he was addicted or anything, but he smoked when frustrated and all this zombie apocalypse bullshit? Oh boy was that enough to have him frustrated. Caspian threw his head back and emptied the last of the mini cheddars into his mouth. He chewed them, swallowed and tossed the empty packet over his shoulder. Reason number twenty-two to be glad of the apocalypse: no rules against littering.

A store then. Caspian knew the area pretty well, he hadn't moved far in the last week. Just from building to building. The issue with stores though was other people, and none people. They seemed to attract a lot of attention. It was probably all them cigarettes, haha. Maybe zombies had to smoke too. Hmmm. If a smoker went zombie, did they still crave nicotine and did they have the brain capacity or memory reflex to be able to satisfy that urge? Cass was actually quite amazed he hadn't thought of it before, this could be a major break through in his research.

Caspian checked his bullets. There were just two left. He'd not had a lot to start with and he'd wasted a fair few while he was trying to figure out how the thing worked. Well. He needed some form of alternative weapon then. He moved carefully through the house, gun held at the ready and his eyes checked every room before he moved into it. Standing lamp? Naw, not heavy enough. Table leg? Ironing board. Baseball bat. That made him smile, probably some kid's tenth year birthday present. He picked it up and took a good swing with it but put it back down. That was all very well for the films but he wasn't sure about real life. Real life, heh. That was rich. Maybe he ought to just - thud.

Before he was even thinking, the bat was in his hand and he'd turned toward the sound of the noise. Oh man, he'd been making too much noise, must have alerted the neighbourhood creeps. And sure enough, the tell-tale stench of the zombie preceded it and then there it was, climbing through the broken window in its awkward lumbering way. It looked as though its right leg was on backwards but didn't seem to care and its shirt was torn open to reveal a rotting absense of chest. Aim for the heads. That was fast becoming a zombie survival rule.

Now. To waste a bullet or try the bat. Cass felt odd holding a weapon in each hand but was loathe to put down the gun in case he needed it. Then the zombie was inside the room and moving toward him with a sickening crunch of bones. He put the gun down on the coffee table and held the bat in both hands.

"I'm going to so regret this," Caspian mumbled because sometimes the sound of your own human voice was better than no sound at all. And entirely better than the low moans some of the zombies made. And Caspian charged. He swung the bat back and then brought it forward into the creature's head. There was a loud crunch and the zombie gave him a slightly dazed look. Caspian hit it again and again, not willing to take any chances he didn't have to.

Eventually the zombie didn't have much of a head left. Right. Next stop, the local store and a packet of cigarettes.

Arthur~~

Arthur sat up quickly, bringing the pistol his kept by his "bed" to bear on the room. He did two sweeps before deciding that he was safe and putting the gun in his waist band. He stood up and moved to the window, scanning the streets for whatever had awoken him. Before the Zombies became a big deal he had tried to get as much sleep as possible, so now that he needed to change, he was having problems.

He pushed the curtain back in place and readied his pack, making sure the heavy blanket was at the bottom, followed by the food, and then all of the ammo and other supplies on top. Once everything seemed to be in order with the bag he checked the pistol. The pistol that before the war had been a precaution against getting his bike stolen, that now served as the thing keeping him alive. He had brought the pistol, three clips and a 200 rd. box of ammunition with him on his expedition, despite what his friends had said, and was very glad he hadn't listened. Next came the knife and the hatchet that were strapped in easy to reach places.

He strapped everything down tightly and began to climb the stairs in the old apartment building where he had been living. On the way to the roof he stopped in houses and picked up some food. In one week over 90% of the population dropped dead. That meant that water was still running through the pipes, especially in an old town like this where most buildings were still gravity fed, and some buildings had their own electrical breaker. But what was really important was that very little food had spoiled, or been eaten, because a dead guy can't have an apple right?

He scavenged up an old cliff bar and a some canned fruit for breakfast, which he ate quickly.

He did a quick check of the surrounding area before setting off. The first jump was always the hardest, and with a heavy backpack on his knees took more of a beating. He ran towards the edge of the five story apartment building and jumped, only to land a second later on the roof of the adjacent building. He continued the pattern for the next block before he stopped, on the top of an old BP to get his bearings. In the past week he had been all over the city, from one end of the quarantine to the other, and there was no way out, so all that left was survival.

He sat down on the roof, overwhelmed for a second with enormity of the situation he was in. Of course he was mad he was locked in, but could he blame them? This city had fallen in a week, so how long would it take to travel all across the world?

He unclipped the bag from his back and closed his eyes for a second, only to have them jerk open again by the sound of automatic fire. Was that a cleansing team? That meant other survivors

He stood up without the bag and checked his pistol and knife. He started running, and jumped, landing on the asphalt of the street with a perfect roll to avoid breaking a leg, or straining an ankle. Then he ran, jumping off a trash can to grab the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder. The rooftops took him right to the soldiers, and the boy they had just murdered. He sat on the roof, watching the cleansing squad check the body and checking for any one else who might have also heard the shots.

K.J.:

I was glad to have been offered help by the people--that aunt and her nephew and niece. Well, the niece was asleep...but, yeah. It made me anxious as hell, though.

I kept a certain distance from them as I limped along, trying to seem alive. The nephew kept shooting me suspicious glances after all.

"So, where's this apartment? I have a pretty good sense of direction," I asked in a halted whisper, my gaze now raking the surrounded buildings.

Things were quiet, but that was pretty normal. They were attracted by sound, mostly, and they didn't like the sun too much, I was beginning to think.

Or maybe I just smelled enough like death and sickness from working at a vet clinic they didn't care.

I adjusted my jacket again, feeling awkward, and met the eyes of the kid again. I frowned at him. "What's that about?" I ask, in the same quiet tone. "I'm a cripple. This happened when I was about eight. I'm not infected," I growl, moving away from them a bit more.

I check over the landscape again, then; not liking being out in the open like this, without a real weapon. Sure, I had the Swiss Army Knife I'd gotten as a birthday present eons ago, but it would only work in close enough contact where I could be bitten.

((Yeah, that's all I got for now...))

(Sorry for the late start I'm getting here, I became pretty busy.)

Name: Alexis “Lex” Chaffer (Alex, Lex, Lexis, etc.)

Age: 33

Height: 5'2"

Weight: 115lbs.

Race: Caucasian

Eyes: Green

Hair: Dirty Blonde

Physique: Short and somewhat lean; used to jog.

Education: College graduate.

Profession: Doctor

Pros: Lex has medical skill from being a doctor, is usually diplomatic and can usually run at certain paces for extended periods of time.

Cons: Lex's petite size can often make combat or reaching higher objects difficult for her. Depending upon the situation, she may prove to be untrustworthy or selfish.

Background: Lex grew up in Oregon with her mother and three older sisters. She went to law school at the age of 19 for awhile before dropping out. Two years later, she went into medical school and moved to California one year later to further her education and get a part time job at a gun shop. After she finished her degrees, she moved around the smaller towns in central California before stopping in Ashville and working at a small hospital. Lex lived/lives alone and was dedicated to her job until the zombie outbreak, in which she is focusing on finding any other survivors. She carries around a mid-sized pack with necessary medical supplies and keeps a crowbar on hand.

K.J.:

The guy didn't respond so I just looked opposite of the other people, hunching my shoulders. I just eyed the tall buildings with their gaping dark and/or broken windows. Everything here was just wrong--and too quiet. We passed building after building, all empty and silent, with a scattering of limbs and dried blood. There was no movement.
I didn't like it. It made me feel like I was one of the last people in existence; hopeless.
Of course, I didn't really want to have to deal with zombies, either.

...Speak of the devil...

After five minutes of relative silence with me not talking (thank goodness, or I'm sure I'd have been ditched then), a zombie (the term seemed wrong, but whatever) decided to round the bend, arms reaching out as to grasp and legs moving stiffly as it hobbled towards us. It was moaning, too.

They only did that when they smelled blood (or humans) and it would call others.

"I suggest we move quickly," I tell the other people. The zombie was very focused on them, after all. "Or kill them. But since they're already dead..." I trail off, taking out my pocket knife and walking faster.

'Guess I still smell like death...' I thought. 'Never thought I'd be some imbecile imitating zombies or whatever like Shaun of the Dead, though...'

((...After being a tad bit bored...I finished up a longer post to go with the one above. Yay...))

Name: Phillip Goldman
Age: 22
Height: 6'0
Weight: 153 lbs.
Race White
Eyes: Brown
Appearance: but with shorter hair
Hair: Brown, cut short, but still messy.
Physique: Thin, lanky, very little fat.
Education: High-school, halfway done with college
Profession: Burger-Flipper
Pros: Crack-shot, agile, and can run for long stretches of time
Cons: Edgy, not personable, doesn't trust authority
Background: Phil is a conspiracy theorist. He spends his nights browsing the Internet forums about said conspiracies. He spends most of his time indoors, and is pale. Before the outbreak, he believed the government was going to attack and bring about the apocalypse, so he readied for the coming days by barricading his small house and stocking up on food and water. He hadn't realized it was zombies attacking, and believed it to be over. He is currently in the process of exiting his house, as his food and water have run out, and he needs more if he hopes to survive.


Phil

I exited the carefully barricaded house, prying the two by fours from off the windows. I shivered in my thin jeans and coat and set out off across the street. I've no idea where all the government super-soldiers Heraldo84 was talking about. His posts on the forum weren't always, uh...accurate. Regardless, I still had my Mini-14 (silenced and scoped, of course) ready for any stray agents who might have been milling about the place. Then I heard it. It was this...this weird, low, guttural moaning sound coming from the southern end of the street. I spun and looked through the scope on my little gun. Some weird guy, dressed in rags, with a few thin lines of blood seeping from out of his mouth, eyes, and nose staggered towards me. So they'd gassed the place to wipe out anybody trying to escape the area on foot. Clever bastards. He doggedly continued towards me.

"Sir, I'm a survivor. I knew this was coming all along. I have the medicine to treat the effects of the gas."

Still he came towards me, growling softly. He kept walking towards me.

"Sir! I can help you!"

And then he began running towards me, screaming like an injured animal. I stepped back and fired a round into his knee cap, yet it did little to stop him. Three rounds later, he was still coming. I continued backing away, squeezing off rounds that hit his body like a Nerf dart. Then I stepped on a pebble and rolled my ankle and fell. As I stood, I noticed it was quieter. The man was dead. I'd fired a stray round that hit his head. Interesting. I shouldered my weapon and headed off to forage for supplies.