Young Writers Society

Sorry for being rude but I kinda got excited and carried away. And I am a massive fan of the series and I havn't read the last book but I have a very good idea on what happens. Also, Ego, I believe you have chosen teh right name because, sorry if this is a bit rude, by the sounds of it, you have an ego the size of a house and it needs to be down sized dramatically. You really need to losen up and try not to be so mean. I have learnt my leson from the last online arguement I created but please try to think of it from other peoples perspective.
-Maria

You seem to have mistaken this for some other series. Please read the description of the storybook before you decide to clutter my thread further.

Annika Backes~
Ashville - March 3, 2011 - 8-9:00 PM

I checked the sun as I stumbled into what was left of a city. It didn't seem as if anyone had been here awhile though any evidence of the infected seemed to have disappeared. The streets, though run down, looked cleaner and more purposeful than those overrun by the zombies that I had passed on my way East. Those were usually coated with the scent of death and displayed corpses and blood that no one could, or would for that matter, clean up. Sometimes there were signs left by survivors. Other times simply crumpled notes asking forgiveness or redemption. There were none here.

The sun fell farther in the sky, casting shadows over anything and increasing my wariness. I had forgotten how dark it really was without abundant city lights. I gazed down what appeared to be a main street, now littered with small papers and riddled with green weeds that poked up through cracks. I found a large tree surrounded by benches and climbed to the top, dragging my pack that held less than it ever had before, but felt heavier than ever as well. I checked it's contents, something that I would do to calm my nerves. However, this time it didn't lend me the usual sense of ease. I had plenty of water, and even iodine to purify it, but I had only a pack of carefully hoarded trail mix and a half-rotten apple that I had carried with me since I had crossed California border.

I secured myself in the tree with rope, ready to bed down for the night. I felt more tired than I have ever felt before. I could feel my ribs against my arms as I hugged myself to keep warm. I almost drifted off when I heard a rustle on a nearby rooftop.

"So they can climb now too." I muttered to myself, reaching for my crossbow tied to the back of my pack. But, as the sound got closer I realized that it sounded like running feet and carefully regulated breaths. It sounded human.

"Wait, I'm coming." I whispered to myself. This person could run across rooftops and looked like they had a place to go. I hoped that implied that they had food. That was my main objective. I shoved everything into my bag and carefully swung from a branch onto the roof where I had last heard the feet. I could hear them in the distance and ran quietly after them. I could recognise a silhouette of a woman before it disappeared off the building. I paused to listen and heard movement from inside. I dropped down and realised I had landed in front of an old supermarket. It looked heavily ransacked but I was desperate enough to take my chances.

The woman had walked to the back of the store, pausing to look at a shelf. I didn't see any food, only useless things. Then something caught my eye. It was a small stuffed animal, a bear I think. It reminded me of something though the memory wouldn't resurface. I quietly walked over and touched it, stroked it's head and squeezed it paw. Suddenly, from within the bear, a loud, metallic song started grinding away. I desperately tried to muffle it but the woman heard and whirled around, shining a flashlight in my face with one hand and pointing a revolver in the other. I put my hands up quickly.

"Were you following me?" She asked. "How many people are in your group?" She looked around the store warily without dropping the revolver from where it aimed at my head.

"No one. Just me."

She looked relieved, but also slightly unsettled.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to steal from you or fight you. I just need food, but I will look elsewhere."

"It's ok." She lowered the revolver slowly. "I can help you find food."

Seal Mitchell
Ashville - March 3, 2011 - 8:45PM

"It's ok." Seal scanned the girl in front of her up and down, at first unsure of her--like she always was. But, she figured even as little as she was, that is this tiny human tried to attack Seal, Seal would surely win.

She lowered the revolver slowly, but didn't replace the safety--always on guard. She held it to her side as she spoke. "I can help you find food."

The girl nodded. It was evident she was thankful, but a smile wasn't really her style. After another quick moment of sizing her up, Seal glanced around to access the danger to her if she turned her back to the stranger, but wasn't quite ready for that. She had no idea what kind of weapons this girl was packing; she had seen the innocent act before.

"What's your name, anyway?" Seal asked the girl.

The girl looked a little unsure of herself--or of Seal--but eventually answered "Annika." She held out her hand to shake, "You?"

"Seal," she was quick to answer, but left the hand to it's own in the air. She wasn't really the let's-be-best-friends type. She'd help this girl now, but she won't be feeding her forever. She couldn't have survived this long if she didn't have some kind of survival skills, "come on."

Seal moved next to, and just slightly in front of Annika--she needed to direct her, but not leave herself vulnerable. She pulled her hood off her head and long red locks fell down her back, even with it tied back in a low pony.

Annika pointed to Seal's gun, "is that a beretta 92FS?"

The girl was clearly trying to find some familiarity between the two of them, but to Seal all it really meant was that she needed to be extra careful--if this girl knew of the government issued weapons, she was probably military trained, just like Seal.

"Yup." Seal immediately dropped the conversation over the gun as she pulled open a cabinet in the store room. She had a better stash of food than she let on, but wasn't about to share that with a complete stranger. The store really had been completely ransacked and picked over, and no food remained on the shelves. The store room was a different story--only because Seal made it this way.

"Twinkies and beans...pretty much the only things that last 3 years." Seal had strategically placed this stuff here, just in case she were caught in a situation in which her life was threatened for her food. She had most of her food stashed elsewhere--in the store--but she knew if she gave that all up she was as good as dead anyway. She wasn't the one who hid the food in the first place, and she assumed that person had met a less-than-thrilling fate several years ago.

She pulled out a twinkie from the box and a can of beans and tossed them at Annika, "Bon appetit."

Seal pull the lid off a can of green beans and stuck one in her mouth. She jumped from her spot on the sink when a high pitched sound came from the main lobby of the store--like a glass skillet lid hit the floor and rolled around before coming to a complete stop.

"I thought you were alone?!" Seal glared at Annika and put her beans on the counter top, hating herself for being too trusting, and busting out the back door. She would wait for the two girls to exit the store and then follow them silently, to see just how big their group really was. She could never be too prepared.

Kylie Harris
Ashville - March 3, 2011 - 9:45PM

It was dark. It felt good to be on the road in the dark because you knew almost defineately that anything you hit was a zombie. Not that Kylie would have minded running a fool over; they had to be a fool to get close enough to the truck to be run over. What she really didn't like about the daylight hours was the rock throwing or help calling. The last few weeks had given her a very dim impression of the people left in the world and they were either hard ass military hating lunatics or zombie fodder. She didn't know which was worse.

Her hands were shaking on the wheel and the silence was suffocating. She was on her own at the passenger side. Ferris and Masters were sitting in the other cabin and none of them had anything to say. Not about what they'd seen or heard or what they knew had gone on back there, as they slipped off the road and broke away. It had been an easy decision; there hadn't been a decision to make. Screams, gunfire and a sharp cacophony of death had told Kylie all she needed to know and there was no question of turning back. They were here. They had made it, more or less intact.

One other truck had survived as well; Boskuy's, the squad commander. He was following, just behind them and Kylie thought he had three men. Three and Kylie's two, that made five; the last of his command unit. Kylie hadn't stopped yet, not since the attack. It had happened almost an hour back but she'd not pulled over yet.

"There's a sign." Masters had a deep voice and it broke the silence gently, rumbling in like a rain storm. Kylie slowed the truck and picked out the placard illuminated by the dim glow of headlights. "A road-side bar. We're going." The two men made no objections; they knew Kylie was in charge for now, if she hadn't been before. It was an awkward situation; Boskuy was under orders to defend her but that often meant making decisions as well, like not taking detours for instance. Kylie didn't like it. The interference. Boskuy seemed alright most of the time but knowing he had the right to usurp her command put her on edge.

"Stay with the truck." Kylie turned the engine off but left the keys in the ignition and as she slid out, Ferris moved across. She didn't need to tell them to have their guns ready; it was second nature. Checking her own gun, settled against her hip, Kylie took in the place that was calling itself a 'bar'. It was small and picketed 'round by an inviting barbed wire fence. It looked protected. It looked like it was a pub that knew it was living in a zombie apocalypse and had taken the requisitive cautions that went along with that.

Kylie took the back-pack with her and strode forward, watching the two armed men sitting out front, guns settled across their laps and drinking beers. "One of you gentlemen wanna tell me how I get in?" Kylie called out, stepping up to the barbed wire fence. The dark haired one looked up at her. "Whatcha after?" he asked. "A drink. Some information." The men glanced at each other and after a moment, the dark haired one stood up and he came over to let her in. His eyes strayed to the gun at her hip and up to the truck that she'd left back a little ways, just behind the trees. She could hear the second one pulling up, the engine fading out. "We're not looking for any trouble," he said. "Not here to cause any," Kylie replied as Boskuy approached. The man hesitated a moment longer but then nodded and opened up.

Toni Bowen
The Settlement - March 3, 2011 - 5.45pm

“A truck?”

Toni fidgeted from one foot to the other, glancing back and forth from the zipped-up tent door. The sounds from within were fuzzy and indistinct. Her shoes scuffed up the dirt, scratching patternless shapes.

A little way behind her, the next two guys in line stood more at ease. She knew both by sight, but at this moment was struggling to put a name to either.

“Sure. Not just one though. Two.” The taller of the two imparted this bite of gossip with a meaningful look, voice low. (He looked like a Marvin. Perhaps he was a Marvin. Toni sifted through her memory, but no luck.)

The second guy’s eyebrows shot up so fast they should have left his forehead. “Two! You’re kidding.”

“That’s what I heard. No word of a lie.”

Toni shifted again, brought one thumb up to her mouth and tapped the nail on her teeth. Turning slightly, she frowned at possibly-Marvin. The second guy had a similarly skeptical look on his face.

“Oh yeah? Heard from who?”

“It’s all over, man. I had it from Elvis - you know Elvis?”

“I know him.”

“Well there you go.”

Toni snorted softly. Elvis was a name she knew - everyone knew. Hardly the most reliable of sources.

“Okay, we’re done here.” Toni jumped around at the suddenly-loud voice behind the tent door.The British accent was instantly recognisable - of course. A moment later someone unzipped the tent and pushed the flap aside. Jason Harris, another survivor, passed Toni without making eye contact. The Doc smiled and motioned for her to come in.

Toni sat down on a chair. Dr Grahams was writing something in his notebook and she waited for him to finish.

“How’s things, Toni?” asked the doctor. “Are you still drawing?” He hadn’t looked at her properly yet. He was still leafing through notes on his patients.

“Mmh. A bit.”

“You see, I had this idea for a map of the area around the Settlement.” That was Bernard. Full of ideas that never came to anything. He started more projects than he could keep up with - everything half-done and nothing ever finished.

“Oh right,” said Toni. She didn’t want to encourage him. Just get checked over and leave. Keep it simple.

“I thought maybe you’d like to give me a hand with it sometime.”

“Yeah, sure. Sometime’s good.”

“I mean, it’s not like we’re pushed for time or anything.” Bernard ventured a smile but the joke fell flat. Of course it did. This just wasn’t the climate for humour anymore.

Kevin
Interstate 5 - March 3, 2011 - 6:50PM

The bottle was empty.

I knew it was empty long before I even pulled it out of my pocket, but I did it anyway. I even twisted off the cap, fumbling with the childproof cap in my stupor. The cap fell from my grasp and clattered to the blacktop, but I didn’t care. I upended the little orange plastic bottle, just in case a pill had gotten stuck to the bottom of the thing…no such luck. I sighed and threw the bottle at my tail, a mostly dead, less-walker-than-crawler bastard that had been trying to follow me for a while by dragging itself forward on broken fingernails.

He’d been trapped under a bus when I passed him on the former I-5 freeway, his legs pinned beneath many, many tons of steel and upholstery. I had laughed as I past; laughed at his absolute need to get at me. My laugh was almost cut short as I realized that we weren’t so different. There was no reason to waste the ammunition on the pitiful creature, so I walked away from him--until I heard the rip of rotting flesh and realized that he’d quite literally ripped off his own legs to get to my brains. I laughed again and continued my walk. Hell, I was happy for the company.

The bottle bounced off his head, and he moaned softly in outrage—or, more likely, frustration.

When I found a place to stop I’d have to deal with him, but ‘til then I wasn’t concerned. I sighed in frustration, unnerved at how similar my groan sounded to the undead creature that followed in my wake. Had I cared more, I might have turned to see if the zombie was, in fact, me; perhaps a premonition of my future. Crippled, broken, alone. If I turned to face my tail, would I find that his face, all rotten and decayed, was actually my own?

I stopped dead in my tracks and plucked the cap off my head, raking a hand through my too-long, too-dirty hair. Beads of sweat dripped formed on my forehead even as I wiped the back of my hand across it. I told myself it was just the heat, despite it being a cool March morning. Somewhere inside I knew it was the addiction, and somewhere deeper than that I knew it was the fear. But on the surface, it was neither of those things. Just the heat. I shivered a little, pulling on the front of my hair in frustration.

He grabbed my shoe, and I reacted. I spun on my heel, pulled my pistol from its place on my thigh, and fired twice, caving in my--his face. The shots echoed in the emptiness, alerting everything for miles around that I was here. I spun back and walked away.

Except I didn’t. His hand still gripped my ankle, and he still moaned in the ecstasy of having caught his prey.

I’d missed.

Missed twice. Completely, and at point blank. My chest heaved in outrage, in fear, and in frustration, and I knelt down next to the creature. He reached up to grab at my face, his fingertips worn away from pulling himself along on the blacktop and his finger bones sharp, splintered nubs. I sneered and shoved the barrel of my pistol between his jaws, knocking out at least one rotten tooth in the process, then angled it up and jerked the trigger five, six, seven times.

He collapsed to the ground in a heap. I sighed again, and this time my breath wavered, as if I’d just finished crying. I narrowed my eyes and rolled the zombie over, praying to whatever power ran this cruel world that it wasn’t me.

Not even close. Formerly a black man with a big, scraggly beard. I chuckled softly, breathing deeply and tapping my temple with the barrel of my pistol. That chuckle developed into a fit of giggles, followed closely by a full on guffaw of hysteria. I fell back onto my ass, still laughing, and dropped my face into my hands.

Jesus.

I realized then that I was crying. Sitting there on the blacktop of what used to be a freeway. Big, heaving sobs and tears rolling down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat and grime and blood that was already there.

Becka Count
Ashville - March 3, 2011 - 8:50pm

The heat of the afternoon had faded into the dusty warmth and eventual cool of evening. The walk itself was an hour and a half both ways. They used to only use the roofs in times when the safety of the streets wasn't such a certain thing. Ever since the death of her last partner, though, Becka had made it a rule. Her new partner was green as grass. He was jumpy, unsure of his steps. And being fair, it had been nearly two and a half years since he had been outside. The last he knew of the world was the early days and months of the plague. After the group had moved to their new location, people stayed inside. Becka and another were sent out for supplies, and it worked well until last month, when, accustomed to smooth runs, they had gotten careless. They ran into a swarm of zombies. Becka was able to get away. Her partner, and the supplies he carried, was not.

Now, they always used the roofs. Never mind that the route was familiar and fairly close to the base. There was still some food in the area. Once it ran out, she knew she'd need to start to branch out again. The idea made her wary, but she felt more comfortable with the idea than her partner. Still, he was better. They had begun splitting up now. They stayed within shouting distance, and each run they reaffirmed the landmarks that they would stay behind. If he had to, she thought, he could make the run without her. Which, she thought, scanning the area around the building, was good, given the circumstances. If she was planning on taking off, she should at least leave them with a means of getting food. She found the familiar ladder and began her decent, slipping around the building quietly when she reached the bottom. She scanned the street again before coming out to the open and slipping through the busted door.

The store was small and out of the way, not in the busiest bit of town. It was still well raided. Next to nothing remained on the shelves. She walked to the back of the store, scanning the shelves for any remaining canned goods or basic supplies. She grabbed them as she found them, putting them in her backpack as she went. A couple tins of chapstick here, a dusty box of soap that had been lost under a shelf there. The store seemed to be emptied of food. She finally got to the back shelf and studied it, weighing her options. Most of the supplies were cooking, none of which they needed restocking on. A sneaker scuffed the floor and she whirled around, gun in hand. The figure she saw was hollow, and her finger was on the trigger before she recognized it as human. She relaxed and lowered the gun, taking her finger from the trigger.

The woman started to apologize and back away, but Becka held up her hand with the flashlight to stop her. "It's okay," she said. She holstered the gun and looked back at the woman. She was starving. Her shoulders were bony, her hair thin, and her eyes almost hollow. She was shaking, tiny tremors running through her skin. How much of it was fright and how much of it was hunger, Becka didn’t know. Her eyes wandered down to the can of beans in her hand. “Where’d you get that?” Becka asked, pointing to her hand.

The woman looked ready to bolt at first, but Becka held up her hands first. "Alright," she said, “I don’t need to know. If you don’t have any more, though, I can show you where to get food,” she offered.

The woman stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “My name’s Annika,” she said.

“Becka,” she offered in return, offering her hand. Annika hesitated again, then switch the beans to her other hand, holding it back away from her body slightly as she shook Becka’s hand.

"This place is mostly dry," Becka started, looking around the shop and moving past the shelves to a window, "If you go a couple blocks further out that way, there are some places that still have some food. Stick to the rooftops. Houses are good to, but be careful. There might be zombies locked inside. There’s a residential area over that way a bit. Some apartments." Becka pointed in the general direction out a window as she spoke. After a moment of hesitation, she moved her finger by a few degrees. "...And supposedly, over there is a settlement."

She let her hand fall to her side and looked at Annika. "I was planning on checking it out later tonight or tomorrow, but I can't tell you for sure either way."

Annika wet her chapped lips again and swallowed, turning away from the window to scan the store for chap stick. "The settlement... it's safe?" she asked, looking back to Becka.

Becka shrugged. "I don't know. I'm going off rumors." She sounded almost apologetic. She looked out the window again. "I have to get going. My partner will be finishing his run soon, and I still need to fill my bag." She looked back at Annika. "If you head over there tonight, I might be able to see you there tomorrow." Annika looked at her for a moment, then nodded. It wasn't a "yes, I'll meet you there" nod. Just acknowledgement. Becka held up a hand in farewell, then left the store to go further down the street, hoping to find a few more supplies before the hour was up.

Dr Bernard Grahams
The Settlement - March 3, 2011 - 6:30pm

Bernard lay on the grass in front of the medical tent. It was still light and would be for another hour or so. It had been a long day. According to his notes he had seen over half the Settlement’s population in one day. Tomorrow he’d examine the other half.

A light breeze played with the tent flaps behind him, a scuffling sound that used to put him on edge. One day, two or three years ago, he’d have bolted the moment he heard that sound. Nowadays... Nowadays things were calmer.

Still, he flinched when the robed figure stepped in front of him.

“Bernard,” it murmured. The voice was deep and smooth, the sort inclined to give speeches at a moment’s notice.

“Good evening, Desmond,” Bernard replied.

He considered inviting the man to sit down but he knew he wouldn’t accept. Desmond Walker always stood with his back to the light -- the sun in this case. It outlined him with a fiery halo. Quite appropriate for the priest and leader of the Settlement.

“How fare the survivors?” Desmond asked. “I trust you found no sign of the Demon’s Bite?”

Bernard held back his initial reaction. Desmond Walker was a powerful man, indeed the most powerful man in the Settlement. Even if he didn’t understand the more “earthly” nature of this apocalypse, at least he was doing his best to help and protect the populace.

“No signs whatsoever.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

Desmond let out a long breath. “You said the same about Eva.”

That’s not fair, thought Bernard. Of all the people to refuse forgiveness...

“That was two years ago, Desmond. I haven’t failed you since.”

Desmond nodded and walked away. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Malcolm Addler
Outskirts – March 3, 2011 – 9:35pm

Malcolm met the black, soulless eyes of his foe. Neither party blinked as he crawled slowly through the darkness. Addler shifted his position until the silver glare of the moon was at his back. Moving at a snail like pace, as not to panic his enemy, Malcolm shouldered his Heckler & Koch and took aim for its head.

“Got you now, you bastard.” He growled under his breath as his gloved finger squeezed the trigger. The round erupted from the barrel and the creature's head exploded in a spray of blood, bone, brains and feathers. Malcolm climbed to his feet, slung the rifle over his shoulder and marched towards his kill. Crow made for a good stew if prepared properly, or at the very least Rocco would trade a drink for it. Malcolm picked the bird up, hooked its foot into his belt and began to make his way back to the bar. Rocco's was a nice place, all things considered. It was well defended, warm and never ran out of whisky, all of which suited Malcolm perfectly. A slight, cooling breeze drifted through, bringing the rotting smell of the dead, though whether it was the walking, drooling kind or the good old traditional ones that stayed down, Malcolm could not tell. Something moved in the darkness ahead and Malcolm dropped to one knee, the P226 in his hands before his trousers even touched the dirt.

“Name and purpose.” Addler challenged, training the pistol on the dark shape. The shape continued to move, turning towards Malcolm. The shape made a guttural growl and stumbled in Malcolm's direction. The old soldier flicked on his flash light and shone it at the creature's face. It had been a man, middle aged, chubby and with a bloody, scabby face. The beast stretched its arms toward Malcolm, clawing vainly as it dragged its feet. He squeezed the trigger once and was walking past the creature as it fell forwards, a hole roughly the size of a small coin above its left eye. Usually he would check the zombie's pockets but the crows that hung from his belt were enough for one days hunting. He switched off the torch, he knew the way back mentally and it was better to spare the batteries for more demanding times. Close to ten minutes later Rocco's was in view, the familiar faces of the doormen under the lamps as they sat around drinking. If Malcolm ran the bar he would have had the boys kick the shit out of them for that, the same as he had done to Ripley when the man had drank while on sentry duty in the second year after they became stranded. The corporal had become depressed and fatalistic, forcing Malcolm to take action when it began to threaten the safety of the group. Three broken ribs, a broken nose and many bruises later Ripley had been an exemplar soldier, disciplined and utterly loyal to his Warrant Officer.

“Open up you lazy bastards.” Malcolm called as he stepped into the light of the overhead lamps. Brett, the uglier of the two climbed to his feet and opened up.

“Well aren't we just busy tonight?” Brett muttered as locked the gate back up.

“What'd you mean?” Malcolm asked, noting the trucks that sat on the edge of the light.

“Some army types rolled in a couple minutes ago.” Brett said almost mournfully as he sat back down and finished his beer. Malcolm felt his lungs seizing up.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He whispered under his breath as he made his way to the bar. Since the encounter with the Sweeper team that had killed five of them, the Lieutenant included, and left Malcolm heavily wounded the group had taken pains to avoid any remnants of the US Military, from the stories of travellers. and their own experience the Yanks seemed a tad fond of the “If in doubt, shoot it” ideology. The inside of the bar was dark, though the fatigues of the US Military were easy to spot. Malcolm shoved a drunk out of his way, ignoring the indignant response. He needed to find his men, they had a score to settle.

Amber Schuyler
Rocko’s Bar - March 3, 2011 - 9:50pm

Amber leaned back into the shadows of the corner she sat in, her gaze on the computer screen. Nothing she’d tried so far had opened the first video file in the folder marked “Lab Research”. It was encrypted and she was definitely no hacker. With a sigh, she turned shut it down and closed it. It really was pointless. Why was she even carrying it? She no longer remembered. In the rush to escape the overrun, so-called secure lab-turned-military base, everything got jumbled up and somehow she’d ended up with her father’s laptop a file of what looked like research notes. Amber’s gaze drifted towards her bag. They didn’t look like much to her, the so-called notes. She wasn’t a scientist, hell she wasn’t even that smart. She wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between accounting notes and research notes in the first place.

Suddenly the door opened. It had opened earlier to let in a rough-looking man before closing again. But now it had opened to reveal pretty blonde that seemed vaguely familiar to her. Amber jerked and pushed further back into her shadowy corner, gaze on the woman as she entered the building. Hadn’t she visited them at the lab? Amber could swear she’d seen her there. But probably not in a while if she could only say she was vaguely familiar. She tore her gaze off the other woman and swiftly set about putting the laptop back into her bag. Hopefully, she could leave before anyone else--namely the vaguely familiar blonde--could notice her.

Amber stood, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and quickly made her way towards the door. When she was half-way there, someone snagged her arm and pulled her around to face them. “Hey th’re, pretty ‘un,” the man slurred. “Why don'tcha come ‘n ‘ave a chat with me, eh?” Amber jerked her arm, but the man held on tight, swaying slightly. “Awww, don’ you wanna ge’te know me?”

“No thank you,” Amber snapped, finally pulling free of the man. “I’ve no respect for drunk old men.” She backed up a step, limbs now shaking. Why had she done that? “I.. I suggest you go get a drink of water or something... I really have to go now.”

The drunk man laughed, falling into a nearby table. “Ye shy now, missy?” he asked, peering up at her. Amber gave him a disgusted look as he patted his lap. “Don’ ‘ave te be shy. Not like there’s an’one ta stop us, is there?”

Amber turned away. “Hey you!” someone shouted and she winced, turning back towards the man behind the bar. She stood still, watching him as he watched her. Everyone was looking towards her now--including the blonde-- and it was making her self-conscious. And then, with a start, she realised that he wasn’t talking to her, but to the old drunk.

Annika Backes
Interstate 5- March 3, 2011 - 7:30 pm

I headed toward the city, following a large road, Interstate 5, which I assumed would direct me to this settlement in the quickest manner. I expected to be able to see for miles on the open highway, but I was sorely mistaken. All I see were the remains of crushed or rusting cars shoved against dividers or simply piled on top of each other like a twisted monument to humanity's inadequacy. I pulled out my crossbow, hoping to whatever God was in control of this cesspool, that I would get out alright. As I made my way gingerly down the highway, I heard something that brought me back down to earth. Two loud gunshots and then crying openly, with abandon. This wasn't unusual given the state of the world, but in the middle of a virtual clusterfuck of cars and junk, a kingdom for walkers and all they stood for? I approached the sound and came across, to my surprise, a rather burly looking young man holding a pistol. I studied him curiously for a second when I noticed something move out of the corner of my eye. It was a lady walker, sorry, just a walker. Sometimes I forget never to write their eulogy, it just makes it harder to pull the trigger in the end, and hesitation had no place in survival. She, it, stumbled from behind a car, attracted by the the man's mourning. He didn't see it and remained obliviously against a car. Against my better nature, I aimed and released an arrow, striking it through the eye. Perfect.

The man, however, instantly rolled over his shoulder and dropped to his belly, pointing a pistol at the fallen walker. I saw his eyes fall on my bolt and I realized the result of my action. I slowly walked around, expecting the man to be hurt, otherwise he wouldn't be pressed against the blacktop like roadkill. As I checked the walker for movement he moved his pistol so it focused on me. I jumped and almost released the bolt I had notched, pausing at the last second.

“One move and you’re dead," he said, evidently pulled together from his breakdown and no worse for the wear.

I narrowed my eyes at the blatant irony of what he said, “If I hadn’t made a move you would have been dead.” I kept the crossbow focused at his head, creating a stalemate against the pistol directed at mine. “Listen, I don’t care, if you’re interested in keeping your pride then this never happened.” I lowered my bow and walked away, remembering why I didn't deal with humans anymore. I absolved to ignoring him and walked a few steps from him, intending to search nearby cars for anything to scavenge. However, before I got very far I noticed a dispersed horde heading towards the freeway, attracted by the noise of the gunshot. I instinctively backed up into Kevin as I drew the bow.

He caught me out of reflex and pushed me aside softly, but firmly. “Get the fuck away from me. We don’t know each other near well enough for that kinda stuff.”

“Seriously? Shut up, and look over there.” I shook head in disgust and indicates with a notched arrow at the growing number of zombies approaching the intersection. “Quit trying to ‘get to know me,’ we have to get out of here.” However, the horde was growing larger and I was afraid we couldn't make a clean break. “Listen, we might have to hold out here, there’s more than I originally thought.” I analysed the highway and pondered which move to make.

“Look, Xena. You can stay here and waste ammo if you want, but I’m leaving. You make your heroic last stand so I can get away, okay?” He said to me, mockingly watching my moves.

“Alright, but I’m confident that I’ll still be alive to clean up your remains when your getaway proves less than clean. Save me from that at least. We’ll have a better chance of getting out if we can get past that barricade of cars. How about you try using that pistol for something better than shooting at air.” Without waiting for an affirmative reply, I shot the first zombie in the head and navigated through the initial remains of cars, almost certain that the man would follow me.

I was right, and I heard him fall into step with me in a couple of smooth strides. “Do you actually have a plan for this, or are you just being stubborn, Xena?”

Without looking back I sighed emphatically. “What’s the difference, I can’t tell anymore. Is it necessary for you do narrate everything I do? Look, we’re almost there, you think you can make it?” I pulled myself over the crushed hood of a car finding herself on an open stretch of highway, save for a large Greyhound bus that was strewn unnaturally on its side. I paused to catch my breath but leapt back as a large number stumbled from the broken windows.

“Way to go. You definitely boxed us in, Xena. Any other bright ideas?” He turned around, stepping backward just enough that his back brushed mine, to locate my position. I raised his pistol, aiming at the newly arrived problem.

I looked around realising I was growing scarce on ammunition with only two bolts left. “Zombies don’t climb.” I said suddenly. “I know this, I watch them. If we can get to higher ground then I have the perfect idea.” I eyed the bus that offered us at least six feat of leverage and indicated to him that I meant to scale the bus.

“I’ll boost you--but you fucking turn around and help me up when you’re there, or I’ll put one in your back as you walk away.” He gripped my upper arm suddenly and stared into my eyes, no hint of jest in his voice.

Acknowledging his seriousness, I met his eyes. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” I gave him a reassuring nod, though I was concerned. I had no idea how I was going to shoulder his weight when I was on the bus. “Just follow me.” I yelled back as I ran, pulling a rope from my bag, watching as food that sat on top of it flew out. I dodged the hands of slowly stumbling zombies and managed to get a grasp on the upper rim of the bus. I fastened the rope to the side and indicated to the man to grab hold of it. I slumped down on top of the bus, at loss of where to go from there. “You got a light?” I asked, as casually as she could, remembering the modest amount of kerosene I kept in my bag for cooking. Nothing to cook now.

He ignored my rope, and evidently interested in proving himself, ran forward and hauled himself up onto the bus, a hint of a grimace crossing his face as he flexes his knee which, as I had noticed before, seemed to have suffered some damage. He stood beside on the bus, one eyebrow raised as he looks at me quizzically, and fished a little steel zippo out of one of his many pouches.“Maybe. You got a smoke? "

“Nope, something better.” I replied fishing something out of my bag. “Not weed.” I said after a pause, watching him look at me strangely. “A diversion and a combustion device in one. Help me wrap the tip of this bolt with cloth, don’t just stare at me.” I said irritated when he dismissed my idea.

He smiled for the first time as he pushed the lighter into my hand and walked along the length of the bus, looking for a way down that didn't involve jumping “Knock yourself out, kid.”

“I’ll knock you out first,” I muttered to myself, wrapping the cloth tightly around a bolt and dipping it in kerosene. I took the lighter, lit it and balanced it in front of me as I drew the bolt back. The moment I released it I let the tip touch the flame and sent it burning across the highway, The zombies flocked to it and I sighed with relief.

The man, noticing the affect, called to me, “I better get that lighter back, it was a gift!”

“You want help off the bus?” I laughed tossing him the lighter.

He ignored my question and deftly snatched the the zippo from the air, dropping it back in his pocket before kneeling down and dropping off the roof of the bus, landing in a crouch with his pistol drawn.

“Well, that was fun.” I sighed, following him off the bus. “Where are you headed?”

Again, he disregarded my question, “Thanks for the assist, kiddo. Try not to end up walker food.”

“I’m headed to Ashville, I heard a rumor about a safe area being held.” I bluffed, and started walking away, hoping I was going the right way.

“Wrong way, princess. Take this off-ramp or you’re gonna be heading toward the city, and you don’t wanna go there.” He started walking at a leisurely pace down the indicated ramp.

“How would you know... you don’t seem the type for that sort of thing,” I said, overcompensating for my mistake, and trying to conceal my embarrassment. However, I followed his direction regardless.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m sure you know better than me.” He shrugged and walked slower, apparently preferring to walk alone.

“Hm.” I replied and set off, though I almost expected to see him again. I tried not to dwell on it and set my sights forward, hoping to meet Becka as soon as I could.

Joanna McKylie
The Settlement - March 3, 2011 - 8:45pm

The wind had kicked up. What started as an easy breeze in the afternoon now whipped at the tents, setting Joanna on edge. She had never liked the wind. It gave her headaches when she was out in it, and when she was inside it brought up severe anxiety. She had thought houses were bad, when windows shook and walls groaned. Now, however, she realized the crack of wind hitting the tents was far worse.

Growling softly in frustration, she left her tent. Jo had been getting ready for bed, as they all tried to sleep early and get up early, making the most of the daytime. It was instinct for most of them; back when they were all on the run, it had made sense to act in the daytime. The undead didn't care one way or the other. Once they caught your sound, or your scent, they would stop at nothing to get to you.

Seems so long ago, Jo thought. So long since she and Bernard had left Costco for that supply run. So long since they had returned and found-- No. Not tonight. She walked up to the night shift. They were all alert, but it was still early. "I'll watch for a while," she said to one man.

"Go back to sleep. It's my turn tonight, and I won't be caught not doing my job."

"Then let me watch with you. I need something to do."

The man grunted. Jo realized she didn't even know his name. She hadn't exactly been social since arriving here. Her faith in other humans had been shattered. She had made the mistake of getting too close to someone, stupidly. She almost thanked Kevin for his betrayal. Softness would have gotten her killed sooner or later.

"Not tonight," she hissed at herself. The man she had spoken with gave her an odd look. She didn't bother meeting his gaze. She knew what they said about her -- that she wasn't a team player, that she was crazy, that she brought people down. But no one could say she didn't pull her own weight. She set into tasks eagerly, trying to keep her mind and body busy.

Jo tied her hair back. It would be a mess in the morning with all this wind. Another gust hit, knocking over a pot that had been carelessly left on the table. Jo jumped at the sound, eyes darting. She saw the man chuckling and had to resist the urge to knock that smirk off his face with her bat.

These days, her fears weren't centered toward the outbreak. It had been safe enough in the Settlement since she had arrived. But her only ally was Bernard, and even he seemed to be concerned about her presence. Of course, when she confronted him about it, he denied any negative feelings toward her. Still... She couldn't count the number of times she had seen him speaking lowly with others, or staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Just like everyone else.

"Fine. Enjoy your night shift," she said to the man. She headed back to her tent, but didn't bother changing. She wouldn't be sleeping anyway.

Seal Mitchell
Ashville- March 3, 2011 - 10:15pm

Seal stayed in the shadows behind the store, keeping watch through a window on the two girls who were hovered around her food. She was prepared, if needed, to come full attack. One maybe-strong girl and one who looked like a twig? If she fought off the living dead, these two would be the easiest job ever. She had just gotten to Ashville less than a week ago, and hadn't been able to set herself up with a growing food supply. Her entire livelihood was dependent on the food supply she had found hidden in the store. Had it's original owner not either parished or taken off, she'd have nothing.

She watched both girls leave in different directions. Maybe they really didn't know each other? She thought, but then realized it didn't matter--they were gone, and she could go back in and get what she came for in the first place.

She slid back through the back door and into the main part of the store. It wasn't a very large store--not small enough to be a convenience store, but not large enough to a grocery store. It originally seemed like it had lots of different, odd foods and a random collection of other items--a pair of shorts here, a coffee mug there, a pack of silly putty stuck by the register. Now it was just a bunch of random crap, really. Anything useful had pretty much been wiped out. A few things remained, but nothing that couldn't be found in an abandoned apartment somewhere.

On the wall to the far right of the store, there was a small freezer with no door--the kind you'd see pudding or jello in at the grocer. It no longer ran or was cold, nor did anything else without electricity (and pretty much nothing had it). Seal slid her slender fingers around the side of the freezer, and pulled the backplate off. Behind it was a cubby--quite large, too--full of food. Almost all of it was various canned foods, from vegetables to fruit to Chef Boyardee meals. Seal could eat off this food for a very long time.

She grabbed a couple cans and a bag of cheap gummy candy (this stuff lasted forever) and replaced the backplate of the freezer, leaving no visible signs that anything was off about the abandoned store. Seal slid them into the pockets of her jacket and the green cargo pants that covered her fair legs, and headed back out into the night.