A novel based on the zombie apocalypse created by multiple users.

[#General Hawk 24]

"Plot; 2 years into the outbreak, 3 years before the events of The Outbreak. We are here surviving still... The state border into Colorado from Kansas on I-70 has been fortified by what is left of the US Government. The city of Denver is burning and the infection is spreading. Riots have begun all over the country as the realization of containing the virus cannot be done. All oversee military forces have been recalled, and every state national guard have taken to the streets. The President has begun fortifying the remaining major city centers that have yet to be infected... The beginning of the end has started.

Many US Forces have restricted movement between the Colorado/Kansas border due to much of Kansas remaining intact from the virus. A long screening process must be done before anyone;woman, children, and men, are able to move into Kansas where relief settlements are being setup. Refuge camps are popping up all around the I-70 highway in Colorado, especially in Burlington, Colorado in hopes to begin the process to safety on the other side of the border.

The process is so backed up to the point an average family of 3-4 would take up to 2 weeks to be registered into a refuge camp, screened for the virus, all weapons taken, and all files and documentation reviewed. The problem is, so many Colorado families and surrounding states attempting to cross this single line lost their IDs, social security cards, and other important documents while fleeing the first year of the outbreak. The result is illegal trafficking, border crosses, and rebellion against the government and security forces established on the border. By the the time you reach the large and expanding refuge camps and the border, an estimated 10,000 civilians have been fired upon by local police and military forces attempting to contain everyone. You find out upon arrival that the state of Colorado has declared Martial Law and that I-70 is now to be locked down by military patrols. Anyone resisting arrest will be assumed to have the virus and shot.

Bandits and thieves have integrated into the refuge camps and nothing is ever done to stop them. If you are not directly near the border you are not safe... Many US military forces have been deployed toward Denver to slow down the advancing undead and other hostile people. Others attempt raids into the city to take advantage of the turmoil. Random survivors, chosen by fate to survive come together in the most unlikely of times to reveal the harsh nature of man, and the bond between a family that will break the darkest minds."__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ____

Chapter 0(prelude): Friendship is not owner ship (All written by myself, #General Hawk)

Suddenly, an slight feeling of moister clouds Hawks face. Hawks eyes open, in-front of him sits his friend Sam as she retracts he head just after a successful nose-dive bomb which woke her friend up. A smile creeps across the mans face as he places his right and on the dog and beings to scratch at it's neck. Hawk and his dog stay in the tent for about half an hour before deciding it was time to fetch some water. The tent opens up as it's front door's zip is dragged towards the ground, the memorable 'zzzzip' sound is heard. Hawk emerges from the tent, his right hand covering his face as he adapts to the sunlight breaking through the thick trees towering above him. They had decided to camp out in the middle of some forest, in a nice spot too. The towering trees protected them from the rain along with the harsh wind, and the thick shrubbery around the camp site provided cover. That cover was needed as their choice of shelter wasn't so wise, it was a 4-6 man tent with bright yellow and blue stripes along the side of it, but it kept them protected and warm during the night. A deep in-hail followed by a smirk as the fresh, damp air fills Hawk lungs, he closes his eyes and looked to the sky as the rising sun belts warmth into his face.

With a flick of his wrist, the sparks ignited upon the thin pieces of dried out grass, causing a small flame to combust. Hawk knelt over the makeshift fire place, and began to breath in and out slowly, feeding the flame and nursing it to health, allowing to it consume the wood provided. With the fire going, embers shot up into the air as a wave of warmth surged through the air, after a few minutes, Hawk began to stop shivering, and the frosty air he exhaled stopped. Sam joined him besides the fire, she had a nice pre-made bed that was crafted using thin leaves and 'vines' that had been intertwined to create a nice pattern. They both licked their lips in an attempt to revive their dry mouths, the burden of thirst was creeping into their body. "Ha, these plastic tarps better have worked" said Hawk as he stands to his feet and walks towards 5 blue, plastic tarps that had been hung from a few trees, the tarps were wrapped like a funnel with a small bucket resting just under the horizontal opening, allowing the few, tiny drops of the early morning mountain dew to drip down and form into tiny puddles of water in the containers. "They worked, I guess", after pouring all the water from each bucket into a bottle, they could see that they only had 3 inches of water in a 125ml bottle. "Well fuck. Here, you drink this, I'll go out and search for a water source", Hawk poured the water into a small, silver bowel with "K-19 Sam" engraved onto the side of it. Sam walked over, and slowly began to lap up the water. "I'll be back in 3 hours, if I'm not back by then, just go" whispers Hawk as he slings his Crossbow over his shoulder and he clips his tomahawk onto his belt. Stepping over his traps, and weaving through the thick under brush, Hawk sets out into the forest. The sound of 1000 animals desperately searching for a mate fills the air, the birds belt out tunes whilst the crickets make their location known. "Where are you..." whispers the man as he darts his eyes back and fourth, scanning for his future. From his right, the sound of a snapping branch catches his attention, his spins to the sound and raises his Crossbow. "Got you.." the sound of screeching leather sends a strange feeling through Hawk as he begins to squeeze the trigger. "Wind, none. Distance, 120 meters" a large crack fills the air as the string is released, the tensions forcing the bolt attached to be plunged forward faster than his eye can pick up. The bolt dashes through the air, slicing the air and leaves in it's path as it homes into its target. The sounds of slicing flesh, and a hard impact is heard as the bolt plunges into the deers side, the bolts tip slicing through the ribs and into the lungs of the creature, blood begins to flood the major organs as the deer attempts to flee. It only gets a few feet before it's neck is filled with blood, and it's brain begins to freak out causing it to shut down most of the deers vital organs, the deer drops to the ground. 5 minutes pass, no movement comes from the deer, it lays there in the grass covered in blood as the flies begin to move into their new home. The sound of panting is heard as a dark beast emerges from the think brush, heading towards the corpse. A grey wolf, ironically it's fur color was a dark brown, was now sinking it's teeth into the deer. With slow movements, the crossbow once again arises from the darkness, Hawk thinks "I knew you'd fucking show up..", Hawk takes in a deep breath before aiming at the wolf, he slowly pulls the trigger. Just as Hawk fires, his hand twitches, causing his aim to go off by only a few center meters. But that was all it took, the bolt misses the lone wolf as it jumps backwards, locking eye contact with it's attacked. It pauses for a few moments before realizing that it 'remembers' this creature, the one that had hunted his family. The wolf snarls, growls and raises its lips to intimidate Hawk, but that doesn't work, the hunter arises to his feet, standing above the wolf, keeping eye contact and waiting. Minutes pass, which seem like hours before one of them makes a move, the wolf charges. Hawk reaches for his tomahawk in an attempt to arm himself, as if fate was against him, some shrubbery had gotten stuck in the clip, making the removal of the weapon difficult. Hawk gives up, turning his head towards the wolf that was now only a few feet from him. "Fuck" Hawk says desperately as he reaches for his knife, drawing it from it's shoulder holster. The wolf launches at Hawk, using it's strong back legs to catapult itself towards it's hunter,

(will be continuing this later)

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Chapter 1: A begining towards an end (first part written by 'Riji117', second paragragh and last half written by 'Reborich')

Day 429 since the end began - Sgt. Gonzales walks down the streets of Burlington. Large groups of people gather around posts the military have set up for relief efforts distributing food to those who needed it. It was high end rationing as MRE production began to be saved for the military. The sick were quarantined into a caged off area south of the town on the other end of I-70. An elderly man walks up to Gonzales shaking,"Please, can you help me?" he stutters out barely able to walk. He was weak, it was apparent in not only his physic but in his eyes. "I, I can't find my grandson. He was with me, then he..." He paused a moment to cough, I didn't react much. The weak were allowed to at least cough and not be cuffed and taken away. "Sir, I'm sorry." I point down the road to an Stryker stopped a ways down. It was surrounded by a platoon of US Army troops. "They're MPs, they'll be able to help."

The man shook more, but nodded walking off. I couldn't help I was off duty and trying to get something to eat myself. The sight of children suffering and people with constant terror in their eyes. What had the world come to?

Goose bumps began to race up and down his body as the cold of the Colorado mountain air began to pool in the small ravine. Hands slightly shaking and breathe smoking from his lungs, he reaches for his Cold Steel SRK San Mai III survival knife. Gaining purchase, he pulls from his EDC pouch a fire steel and begins to strike it with the back of the knife blade. Instantly a shower of hot sparks lick at the birds nest made of dry grass, aspen bark and 100% cotton ball soaked in Vaseline. The fire leaped to life and began to do a lazy dance of flame. Rick looked into the fire, hypnotized by its inviting warmth and security. Grabbing small twigs and a couple of split logs of wood he had bantoned with his SRK and a small log as a mallet, he begins to build a modest fire while sitting with his back to a large confer tree with limbs draping merely three feet from the ground. The flames provided a movie of shapes and shadows as they played upon the rock walls of the ravine. “Damn, today was a close call… I should have known better”, he muttered in his mind as he looked upon a deep gash in his hand. Replaying the incident, being sure to learn from his mistake, “what did I do wrong? I cleared the field, cleared the house, still she found me.” Rick stood up to stretch his sore leg muscles and began to hop a bit to circulate his blood. Then he heard it, “DAMIT, that’s what it was”, as Rick grabbed the US 2 qt canteen from the pouch on his belt. He shook it as the water inside sloshed audibly loud, “this damn canteen nearly cost me my life”, he thought to himself. Sitting back down by the fire, opening his canteen, he gingerly poured the cold liquid over the gash. Grimacing from the sensation of pain and cold mixed, Rick could see that the gash will require stitches. Wasting no time and with the use of a home made surgical kit, he begins to sew the wound.

“Slow, methodical…NOT to fast Rick”, he coached himself as he crawls, prone, towards the squad car. Zed’s moaning, shrieking and gibbering as they slink along in an eternal void of resurrected infected decomposing flesh on the I-70 road block next to a wall of confer trees. Ever so slightly, Rick continues to shorten the distance between him and the open door to the squad car while skimming the black asphalt highway. Still seat belted in the driver seat sits a dead state trooper with an extra eye, neatly in between his two open eyes and gaping mouth, frozen in a grimace of exertion. Flies swirl the body, in and out of his mouth, building new nest and laying eggs in his nose and ear canals. Hanging out of the vehicle on his left side is the recognized Glock 17 9mm pistol, still sheathed and beckoning, no, daring Rick to come get it. Slowly, Rick pushes with one foot and reaches with the opposite elbow, lifting himself and sliding forward, slowly, while scanning each zombie within ear shot. “Almost there….” Rick whispered in his head as if the Zeds would hear his thoughts as screams in the night. Gently, Rick reaches up and while closing his eyes as if to prepare for impact, his thumb on his right hand pushes the snap release on the holster retention strap. “Click”, he nervously scans for any sign that the noise has been heard. The zombies nearby continue to aimlessly, without care, search oblivion for their next hot bloody meal. Unsheathing the Glock, “Thank goodness this cop was a south paw!” Rick states to himself as he admires his new found friend. Placing the Glock in the front of his worn M65 field jacket, he reaches back up for the two magazines standing proudly in their black leather perches on the trooper’s right front side. Quickly unsnapping the pouches, he retrieves the two 17 round magazines full of Gold Dot 124 + P JHP 9mm ammunition. As he was pulling his hand back from the lap of the trooper, his hand grazed the butt cap of a steel collapsible baton. “I better grab that as well, could come in handy”, Rick rationalizes as he reaches back in to grab the baton just as a Zed makes that usual noise when the gig is up, “FUCK!” Rick mutters as he rips the baton from the police belt causing the baton to snap to life in full extension. The Male Zombie wasted no time in whirling around, drool and blood spewed like 5000 mile old car oil as he announced dinner has been served. Rick jumped to his feet and swings his left arm in a wide arch, now holding the baton, with all his might connecting with the Zombie’s jaw. The crack of and splinter of bone and teeth sounded like a shotgun blast as the Zed gurgles and chokes on its own dislocated teeth while head diving into the rear wheel of the squad car, howling from the loss of its luck. Other zombies, trained into the sound, begin to run toward Rick. Instantly his military training kicks in as his right hand yanks the Glock 17 from its resting place. Instinctively, Rick’s Left hand grabs the cold black slide of the 9mm pistol, racking the slide, chambering a 9mm hornet. BOOM! Goes the first round flying like an angry yellow jacket chewing a tunnel through the forehead of a female Zed. The Gold Dot JHP did exactly as designed, condensing air into the hollow point cavity that expanded with fury after impact ripping the back of her skull off into several pieces, spraying a dark black liquid mist into the air. Ragdoll, she collapses mere feet from Rick. Scanning the area, Zeds are gaining ground, “I just got this damn thing and I can NOT use all this ammo!”, Rick mutters out loud. Grabbing the baton he dropped in order to get the Glock into battery, he quickly reaches in and yanks on the trunk lever of the car. “Pop” goes the trunk as he makes a dash for the back of the squad car. As the trunk opens, he sees a black case, a backpack and what looks to be a Kevlar vest. Milliseconds pass and Rick has the vest loosely on, left hand carrying baton and bag while slinging the back pack over his right shoulder. Running, Rick crosses the road and back into the woods with Zombies in tow.

Running in the woods is tough, and soon he is exhausted. He starts to trip on the bramble, but it looks like the zeds are far behind. Then, coming out from the cover of foliage, a terrified child of about 9 appears. Searching for the source of his fear, Rick sees a gaping wound on his leg. They abandoned him once he's been bit, he thought.

"Shit," Rick says to himself. Then, out loud, "I can't help you, I'm sorry".

But even as Rick was moving away, looking around to make sure no Zeds were around, the little boy moved closer, demanding his help with unspoken words.

Up, up the trees, past the trunks, branches, and leaves, sat Wilson. He watched intently, hand on the string that would pull up the net, enveloping whoever was unlucky enough in its deadly embrace. He was content to sacrifice his child for what looked to be a whole lot of guns if that was necessary. It would be better if the man, his next victim, would lead them to his camp, but he had enough on himself to justify killing him.

His compatriots sat in the branches around him, waiting to descend upon their newest prey. One of them had a fresh wound acquired while hunting deer. A wound that wasn't healing fast enough. A wound that got a single drop of blood out from the makeshift bandages.

A drop that landed right on Rick's outstretched hand, the hand just about to reach for the boy. It took exactly three seconds for Rick to understand.

It's an ambush!

He took off with renewed vigor, going in a direction he hoped led away from Zeds and humans alike.

Wilson's fellow bandits (although he was the leader) stared gaping at their unsuccessful attempt, wondering what gave them away. They sat rooted to the spot. "Well?" Wilson asked. "What are you fools waiting for? Go get him!" His words sparked them to life and the group of 4 slid down the vine they made and went off in hot pursuit of the man with many guns. Wilson spared the time to slap his dying boy in the face.

"You weren't convincing enough!"

Rick’s mind raced as the blood in his skull pounded like a blacksmith working harden steel. “Too many of them!” yelled Rick to himself in his mind. Exhaustion, a permanent of Murphy’s law, always catches the older guys first before the younger ones. Rick jams the baton into his left pants pocket forcing it to collapse in submission. Still slowing while jumping over brambles and rocks, “I have to lighten my load and quick”, he exclaimed silently. Breathing hard, he rips the black case zipper in his left hand open and sees the butt stock of a rifle; it begins to slip from its perch as he continues to run. Soon shouts erupt from behind him. Then, a crack and a pop, he knows this sound from his time as a Marine scout sniper during his many tours in the terrorist wars of the late twentieth century. The bullet zinged past and smashed into a tree on his right showering splinters into his face, “Son of Bitch” he shrieks! Left hand stabs the black case with a right hand yanking off the case. Rick grabs the sling of the assault rifle and throws it over his back. He begins to zig zag, lowers his posture and grabs the Glock from his jacket. Rounding a tree he slows down and waits. The second bullet impacted before the report of the weapon could be heard. A searing burning finger seemed to scorch Rick’s left arm. Swallowing the pain he spins left and sees a man hobbling toward him, bloody bandages soaked on his right leg, murder written like a neon sign on his face. The Glock coughed twice, two angry hornets raced through the confers and aspens searching for their intended target. Rick hears the impacts as the bullets rip through the wounded man’s chest, he crumples, dead before he hits the ground. Rick bolts, running and zig sagging between trees. Heart in his throat as curses erupt behind him, KILL that mother fucker, he got John! Rick hears another single crack and pop behind him, wondering if the bullet was intended for him or for John who would soon be among the drooling dead who now rule the planet domain. Anticipating another impact, adrenaline racing through his veins, he sees a stream ahead and makes a desperate decision. As he approaches the stream, he sees a fallen tree lying alongside the stream bank. With out hesitation, he unslings the rifle and tosses it into the stream some 25 yards from the tree and dives in. The bitter cold of the water knocks the remaining air from his burning heaving chest as if being kicked in the chest by a stubborn and scorned mule. His lungs scream for air as he gasps. Struggling against the current, he slides up against the bank under the tree, shiverng, waiting, longing as he his eyes become fixed on the black rifle sitting in two feet of pristine mountain runoff. The first of the remaining three bandits leaped over his head into the water thrashing toward the rifle. The Glock smiled as another hornet issued from its mouth of death. The JHP slammed into the bandit’s neck with an audible crack, instantly the bandit went stiff as board and Rick realized that the man’s neck was broken on impact of the bullet. Paralyzed and now gurgling as he sinks to the bottom of the frigid red tainted torrent, his sunken body swiftly glides by Rick, eyes wide in stunned panic and fear, body like a ragdoll, unmovable and severed from its cerebral cortex.

Soaking wet and cold, as the sun began to set in the West, Rick’s legs began to burn with lactic acid build up, threatening to quit on him. He began to feel warm and wanted to sleep, sure signs that hypothermia was setting in. He could still hear the running footsteps chewing at leaves and dead branches with the occasionally scuff of boots against rock or bramble. The Arsenal Ak 106 assault rifle chambered in 5.56mm drained stream water like sweat as Rick forced his body to kick in more adrenaline.

He had been in a similar situation before in the early 1990’s, chasing scud missiles in Desert Shield along with Seal Team 6. They had received Intel that a scud launch was probable in a once cleared village deep in the deserts of Iraq. After the chopper dropped the seal team, himself and his spotter, they traveled nearly 10 clicks to the AO. Once in position, Rick mounted the Barrett .50 cal sniper weapon, held his breathe as his spotter whispered a shooting solution. The anti-material rifle punched Rick in the shoulder and spewed a mini explosion from its mouth in complete defiance of Jihad and the existence of terrorist. The 750 grain HE round tore through the tip of the scud missile, detonation ensued, the scud seemed to vaporize in a cloud of fire with shrapnel ripping and screaming death through the air as the shock wave of the blast caused Rick to grunt from the impact. An immediate response was met with AK 47 rounds raining down upon their position. One bullet slammed into the side of his spotter’s right leg, screaming and writhing in pain, Rick yanked the bolt from the receiver of the .50 cal rifle and shot a 9mm slug trough the optics. “Let’s Go!!” he yelled as he grabbed Sgt. Stevens and slung him over his back. The seal team opened up with deadly controlled chaos and violence. Screams and explosion seem to ricochet amongst the dunes as Rick ran with all his might. Seal members began to peel back, slapping each other on the shoulder as they followed the Marine sniper team into the burning horizon. Jeeps and ½ ton vehicles seem to materialize out of nowhere. “Get those DAMN choppers in here NOW! Or we are all DEAD!!” barked the CO of Seal team 6 into the radio receiver. “MOVE, MOVE, MOVE” the CO yelled as seals emptied M4 carbine mags which seem to litter the ground leaving a trail easily followed. Rick began to claw his way up a dune slope, struggling, heart racing, Sgt. Stevens limp and unresponsive, hanging dead weight for the scout sniper to haul on hand and knees. Without warning, twin UH-64 Blackhawks screamed over Rick’s head with door gunners shredding the oncoming horde of enemy soldiers with lead and tracers that whine and bounced, showering sparks, flesh, explosions in all directions. Sand swirled, Rick’s mind began to swim with the noise of rotor blades, gun fire and RPG rounds cratering around the squad. Rick’s mind began to slip, he felt he was losing his footing, falling…… Rick’s mind snapped back as he tripped over a rock, sending him sprawling, tumbling down a deep ravine. “OH SHITTTT!!!” he screamed in his mind as the reality of his fall became full view. His jacket began to flutter slightly as his body began to float, so it seemed in mid air, accelerating the 50 foot decent into the rocky ravine, holding a pristine pond at the bottom. SPLASH!! Erupted into his ears as he hit the surface of the water, causing the AK 106 to wrench itself free from Rick’s grip and mule kicked him in the face with its butt stock.

Wilson stared at his fallen comrade just long enough for the reality to sink in.. without those guns, he was screwed. And also Michael being gone, leaving him, Brad, and Cedric back at camp. He didn't even think of his own child, surrounded by Zeds now anyway.

Then, with a mighty snap back to reality, Wilson jumped into the river. He hoped Brad followed. Bullets don't penetrate water, he reasoned. Wilson peeked out of the water for a heaving breath and saw the man scrambling up the slope, heading for the evergreens.Several moments later he climbed up the bank and drained the water from his Taurus. He looked back to check that Brad was following-which he was- and started running up the mountain in the footsteps of a failed ambush, following a clear trail.

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CHAPTER 2: EZ Company (As written by '-EZ- Ghost')

It was your typical, two story suburban home. The kinda two month, cheap lumber job that people put up when trying to "occupy rural territory." What a load of crap. The eight of them stood outside, half turned outward to make sure that no Zack or bandit got any bright ideas.

Ghost stood on the doorstep, his M9 held outward in his right while his left wrist acted as a stable shooting platform, flashlight clenched in the fist. He flicked the power switch with his thumb and nodded, signaling Hunter to open the door. You found this pretty often, homes that weren't really ready when the outbreak hit their street. They always stood, in Ghost's mind as a monument to how sedimentary humanity had become. So hopped up on the smell of our own shit, that when a crisis broke out, we always assumed "I'm safe, someone else will handle it." The smell was the first thing to hit him full on in the face. Decay. So many times he'd has his senses bombarded with the sight and smell of it. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. He kept the flashlight in his hand and moved a bandanna that he'd modified with the nose pieces off of a pair of broken glasses to form a "this shit stinks" barrier. It did have the Joker's pearly whites from ear to ear though, a fact that the rest of EZ had called him a sick bastard for. "What's the world without a laugh?" He'd always respond, then attempt to mimic Mark Hamill's laugh from the Batman cartoon.

Once he'd, to the best of his ability, steadied himself against the smell, he moved foward, shining his light in every corner of the front hallway. His steps were light, but the cheap linolium still caused the thud of his combat boots to reverberate throghout the house. It was just as typical inside. The front was a linolium greeting room with a coat rack, a few photos of a smiling family and a wooden plaque that read "KEYS." From his vantage point, he could make out that the left took him into a dining room, still dressed and proper for dinner with empty plates laid out for three place settings. To the right there was a large TV over a fireplace directly overlooked by a large sectional sofa that curved around so that the back of one portion was against the window. Directly infront of him was a set of stairs bordered by rod iron railing protecting anyone from falling into the two narrow spaces on either side. Aside from the darkness, he could tell the place was mostly clean, like it hadn't really been touched. Odd, considering that just about every other house on the block was either ransacked, burned down, or had one or two zed shuffling around. A thought that caused him to exercise real caution as he moved into the dining room. He wasn't really looking out for Zack. If any zed were here, the door opening and his footsteps in the foyer would have brought them running immediately. No, not Zack. It was worse. He was worried about the type of people who decided they didn't need military or survivor intervention. The real Soldier of Fortune types that had gun cabinets that looked more like an armory than an enthusiasts collection. They were always dangerously protective of their territory. He moved around the table, pieing off his corners like he'd been trained and set eyes on the open door to the kitchen. With slow steps, he made his way across the carpeted floor. Thank God for cheap ass burbury. When he reached the door, he used the barrel of his gun to slowly maneuver it the rest of the way open. He saw the same linolium from the foyer and decided he would move even slower. He could see the place, once again, remained somewhat well maintained. There were no burns on the walls or broken dishes. Hell, the cabinets were closed and all of the countertop appliances were aligned perfectly.

That's when it hit him, like the proverbial ton of bricks. He felt his nose break under the pressure of a buttstock and felt the air leave his lungs in a rush when he fell back onto the carpet. Through watery eyes, he looked to his right and saw a man's mud brown workboot step into view. He followed it up to a pair of torn and faded blue jeans, then up further to the ugliest flanel shirt he'd ever seen. Finally he locked with what he guessed was the guys eyes and blinked attempting to regain vision. The man wasn't any older than mid-thirties by the looks of him. He was clean shaven, except for a patch of hair on his chin. He also noticed the man had a bandage on his right forearm that had a bit of fresh blood seeping through.

"Speak." The man had already lowered the gun to Ghost's head and had his finger on the trigger.

".Nic...Nice fuckin' shirt." Ghost said, his head beginning to throb with pain. The man studied his hostage for a moment, then let out a slight chuckle, lowering the gun and helping Ghost to his feet. "Sorry. Can't be too careful. Bandits and those..things, y'know." Ghost just nodded as he got to his feet, collected his pistol and holstered it. He looked back into the foyer wondering why noone else had rushed in. The man seemed to read his thoughts. "The door's thick and the air is too. Sound doesn't travel too well in here." The man waved his hand around as he spoke as if trying to shoo an invisible fly. Ghost, ignoring the anger from his previously inflected wound, responds with"Just because I can speak, doesn't mean I'm not a bandit." Ghost said, eyeing the man warily. "If you were bandits, the eight of you would have come in at the same time. No. I'd imagine your, what? Military?" The man said, guiding Ghost back into the living room where he then sat on the plush couch and grabbed the remote. "Damn..still can't get over that habit." The man smirked and tossed the remote away. "You're welcome to whatever I've got in the kitchen. There's a couple bags and a tent upstairs." Ghost nodded and headed up the stairs. At the top, it split two ways. At one end, there were three bedrooms, two across from one another and one in between. The one in between had the door shut. He went into the left and found the master bedroom. Sure enough, on the bed were two backpacks and a tent on the floor at the foot. The bag was one made by North Face, a rich hiker's wet dream. Designed specifically to be high dollar to the "camping elite". He used the clamps to connect the tent and slung it over his left shoulder, the moved his right arm through the other strap.

He stood for a moment, getting adjusted to the weight and gently pulling off his mask. His damn nose hurt like hell. He'd have to get Tastey to set it when he got back to the group. When he was done taking his "sandy vagina break" as Ghunn would say, he turned and went across the hall into the other room. It was a workout room. Within there were a couple of mirrors on either wall, an elliptical made by Cybex and a treadmill made by True. The logo read "CS800". He looked over the room for a minute more, decided there was nothing to take worth his time and turned.

He turned left to go back, wondering why a bathroom would be at the opposite end of the hall then stopped. He looked back over his shoulder at the closed door and decided "Why the hell not". Something was off. He could just feel it. He unholstered his M9 and placed his torch back into his cargo pocket. Slowly, he opened the door, keeping his finger on the trigger.

With the door open, he stood, staring at a nursery. The walls were painted bright blue with a strip of wallpaper that had dancing bears on it all round the perimeter of the room. In the center, there was a crib that read "David" on the head board and was sitting on one of those oval shaped rugs that you would find a Wal-Mart. Hideous. In the corner, he saw a chair covered by a sheet. Where it crowned, he could make out a spherical shape and a large amount of dried, brown blood.

Cautiously, he stepped over to it and slowly peeled back the sheet. Underneath was a woman. Time had not been kind to her body, but he could still make out that she was roughly 5'9", blond and, the part the bugged him the most, pregnant. Her right hand clenched a revolver, splattered with blood and in the left, she clenched a piece of paper that simply read "I'm sorry".

"I was away on business..." The voice made Ghost whirl and point his gun at the man's head. He lowered it quickly though. "She was waiting for me to get back. We were going to go North, Canada probably." The man spoke as he moved past Ghost and replaced the sheet.

"Look, my crew, we're heading to I-70. There's a refuge camp there. Supplies, water, the whole nine." Ghost said as he turned to walk out of the room, wanting nothing more to get out of this grizzly scene or at least off of the morose subject. "You're welcome to come with us. Least we can do to repay the supplies."The man chuckled and shook his head, following Ghost back down the stairs.

Ghost collected what canned food he could carry, making sure to leave an ample amount for the man and stopped on his way out, in the foyer. "You sure?" "I'm done, kid. How many people do you think got on flights out of here when they thought they just had the common cold, or the flu?" He coughed. "It's how it starts...."Ghost hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left. When he got outside, his crew, EZ Company was waiting for him, looking incredibly frustrated and somewhat worried. "The hell, Ghost? You find anything? We thought we heard talking." Walker said, taking a few steps towards the house. "Nah, I got some supplies, but there's noone in there." Ghost put his hand out, against Walker's chest, stopping him from moving. They walked North, towards I-70. Tastey had already reset his nose, and splinted it using the same bandanna he'd already wore, just tighter. The sound of a shotgun shell caused all but Ghost to take up defensive positions. Ghost just stood, his eyes locked on the ground. "The fuck!? I thought you said noone was in there." Hunter said, scanning the perimiter down the iron sights of his SAW.

"There isn't....."

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CHAPTER 3: Rick'n Roll'n. (all written by Reborich)

“Rick…honey….come to me my love, come toward the light”, beckoned Tami. “Daddy, come to us Daddy!”, exclaimed Emma. “It’s all so white, warm, inviting”, the thought floated in Rick’s subconscious. Tami, beautiful when she was alive, jet black hair, endowed with a cheerleader body with 38DD breasts, Rick’s wife for more than thirty years. His daughter, Emma, a complete duplicate of her mother, tall, sensuous and intelligent, cut down in her prime by the bite of her rabid Zed boyfriend. Tami and Emma, both mantled in pure white snow gowns, floating in pure white clouds of angelic strata, continued to call to Rick.

His mind and spirit, floating in and out of consciousness, soon he became aware that it seemed as if he was floating above his body, a fire ragging next to his earthly vessel. Nose dislocated and two black eyes, convulsing as neurons within his body fired desperately to try to re-start his heart and reclaim or achieve stasis, 98.6 degrees. Another person, working feverishly over his now dwindling cold and frozen corpse, “I don’t want to go back, this world, my old life died years ago with the outbreak”, Rick reasoned with himself. “No one needs me there, I am tired, I am finished in this earthly sojourn”, as he pleads with the person who is now slamming double fists into his chest, to cease there efforts in reviving him. He can hear a muffled female voice screaming at him, “BREATHE YOU SON OF BITCH!!”, scolded the unknown voice while sledge hammering his rib cage and sternum.

Rick slowly began to descend toward his now broken body, he turned to sit upon his own lap and could feel the vessel of clay like an old worn, dirty, frozen and soaked pair of overalls as his spirit, his soul, stretched its full length and reattached itself to raw icy nerve ending, anchoring itself back into reality. Soon, sensations began to filter into his frozen finger tips, the stinging was painful, his mind flashed with the impulses of pain from all secotrs of his frame, then the impact of 145 lbs of raging female slammed into his chest! Rick’s eyes shot open, bulging, mouth agape and suddenly sucking for air as hard as he could. His stomach churned like a nuclear eruption as pond water rushed from his lungs and into the night air. Coughing and vomiting, the unknown female rolled him to his side and began to pat his back, “Holy ……ugh ackkk…..sshhh….bluggg…..shh.. ittt, you tryin to kill me?” Rick sputtered. “Well it’s about time you woke from your beauty sleep asshole!”. Rick’s vision cleared and looked up toward the sound of the sour rebuttal’s source. Kneeling next to him was a beautiful red headed female with deep green and gold eyes. “Here, keep the sleeping bag on you as I strip your clothes off”, Rick was stunned by her beauty and thus was obedient. She had his boots, socks, pants, shirt and jacket off and was hanging them on nearby braches next to the fire. Water began to steam and rise into the illuminated night sky from the frozen articles. “You must a death wish old man to take a plunge like that, what? Where you running from a Zed or where you day dreaming when you decided you needed a bath?” , she intently prodded, drwoning in sarcasim. Butt naked, Rick shivered in extreme pain as his body fought for warmth. “Don’t get any ideas buster, it is hypothermia you got and this is the only way to help you, so keep you little popsicle where it belongs”, genuinely and sweetly stated as she began to unbuckle the pistol belt around her inviting hips and zip down her cargo pants. Flaming fiery red hair flowed like lava over her white silky shoulders following the straps of her lacy bra as gravity gently pulled it toward the ground, uninhibited by her smooth tan skin. She whispers, “it’s a good thing I showed up when I did mister or you would have been fish food, at least until you reanimated.”. Rick was awed by her beauty and soon his vision narrowed, as if looking through binoculars, hazy pain ripped through his head as the women, naked, slid into the sleeping bag with him, “Tami, I’ve missed you”, slurred from his lips as the dopamine surged through his veins, passed out from the shock and pain. “Poor bastard, I will stay long enough to get you on your feet, and then you will be on your own again”, as she caressed her lips upon his forehead with a kiss. The squirrel barked as it began its daring approach toward Rick’s open hand. Posturing, fake charges and then turn to run a few paces backwards, still not sure if it’s safe to approach such a large oddity on the forest floor, but voicing the indignity of the intrusion into his territory. Soon the squirrel was sniffing around Rick’s face, whiskers tickling his nose and cheek. Rick’s eye slowly opened and the tree rat raced for the nearest tree. Scrambling and barking the whole way like a cursing Chinaman in a fish market. Rick’s eyes burned from the light, a slight movement of his head and the world around him began to swirl. After several minutes, Rick was able to see his surroundings. He was back into his clothes, instinctively he grasped for his Glock. The cold steel slide with tennifer finish was a welcome feeling. His whole body felt as if he had been hit by a car. Gingerly, he shifts his weight, standing on wobbly legs, he sees an old camp fire to his left and a small pile of supplies with a note attached.

“Here is some rations and pain killers. I took the AK in payment for my services. Feel lucky that I left you the Glock and your pack with you. Below are some coordinates to a safe haven if you are able to find a map or compass. If not, I sat you up against the tree facing North. Travel that way, when you can, two days journey, Signed, Jenny.” Rick folded the note and shoved it into the pocket of his parka. A milspec MRE along with a can of peaches and half a pack of cigarettes stood at his feet. Rick finally notice the clinging pack to his back and shrugged it off to the ground. “I guess it is time to see what is in this pack” Rick said out loud to himself. He recognized the pack as a cheap Chinese three day assault pack made by an old company by the name of “Condor”. It was sturdy and well built, but it was not up to milspec standards, which Rick noted and that a new pack may be in order in the near future. The zipper hummed as it chewed intertwining links, revealing a small gold mine. A first aid kit in a red pouch, a Surefire G2 flashlight, a SOG EOD multi tool, compass, a soggy map, wool gloves and knit cap. Rick opened the main compartment of the pack, “Well now! What do we have here”, he exclaimed as he pulled out the Kel Tec Sub2000 9mm Glock foldable carbine. Using both hands, he swings the barrel a 180 degrees to an audible click. He then pulls one of his pistol magazines from his parka pocket and slams it into the receivers handle. Left hand pulls back on the charging handle as right thumb push the safety bolt into position, “shitty sights, but this is an awesome piece of kit”, he thought to himself. Further inspection of the pack revealed a shemagh, a Camelbak hydration bladder and two Glock 33 round magazines, empty, but in like new condition and ready for service once he can find more 9mm ammo. Rick repacks the backpack with his pile of vitals and retrieves the note. Quickly checking the map and setting a heading, Kel Tec slung over his back, Rick slowly begins to walk north. His mission, now, to find his good Samaritan, Jenny.

Walking for what seemed like days, Rick finally read a small green sign from the edge of the confer wall, “Breckenridge”. He sat down, back against a rock and pulled out his now dry map and compass. “Well, I-70 is about two miles north from here and then it is roughly 60 miles east to Denver”, the rationale formulated in his mind since the coordinates Jenny left him pointed toward Denver.

Breckenridge was a small town and visually, Zeds did not seem to openly roam the streets. Rick pulled the Glock from his jacket and dropped the magazine. Looking at the spine of the mag to verify bullet count, he had 14 rounds left in the magazine and still had 17 rounds each in the other two he currently carried in reserve. “48 rounds”, he contemplated, “I wonder if there are more down in town”, he challenged himself. His right hand swept the hydration tube up to his mouth and he took several drags of creek water he managed to purify with a sock, grass and black charcoal from the fire at his last camp. An old military trick he learned where the combination of these items acted as a filter for almost 90 percent of most harmful bacteria.

Stuffing the map and compass back into his parka, Rick crouched and began to slowly maneuver toward the town. Leap frogging from tree to large rock, he came up to an old strip mall where trash bins sat in silence. He scanned the area for Zeds and saw none. Bolting while hunched in combat ready mode, sub 2000 open and ready for contact, he silently jogged up to the rear of the building and gently slammed his back against the warm brick wall. Waiting, scanning, listening, his heart rate pumping high like a jack hammer on a New York street, adrenaline coursed through his veins. His combat training switched on, he begins to check each door as he moves along the rear of the complex. Finally, a door knob submits and a foul odor slithers into his nostrils. Instinctively his stomach muscles contract violently as Rick gags and dry heaves while opening the door. Dark and foul, he finds himself in a Zed cemetery. Bullet holes perforate heads, limbs, torsos, walls…. Rick hears a faint moan coming from inside the main mall walk way, then a gargling inhuman laugh, a growl with what sounds to be a bad case of smokers cough. Sick scans through watery eyes the shop in which he is now in. From the looks, a sporting goods store, he begins to climb the corpse lined walk way as he moves into the center of the store. Zeds slowly walking or swaying back and forth as they commune in their new tongue while patrolling the mall lurked just outside the store crack and shattered windows. Rick’s boots silently crunch bone and slip on slick decayed flesh like mud as he slinks toward the bowls of his new found loot mine.

Shemagh pulled out and wrapped around his face to ward off some of the smell and every ounce of will power to keep his body from convulsing from the putrid smell of death and decomposition, he Slides off the mound of bodies onto the store floor. He quickly spots a North Face alpine pack, twice the size of his current assault pack in coyote brown. Grabbing the new pack while wrenching open the main compartment, “let’s go shopping” he mutters quietly to himself. Moving through the store quietly, Rick grabs a pair of Bushnell binoculars, a foldable pack saw, two full cases of energy bars, sun glasses, several 20 oz bottles of soda, a small miniature aluminum baseball bat made for little leaguers. Soon he finds the camping section and grabs a Kelty bivy tent, A Wiggys sleeping bag, a Gyout titanium cooking kit, a Nalgene water bottle and Katdyne water purifier designed to fit on the Nalgene bottle. “Jack pot!” he exclaimed in a whisper as he rounded a clothing rack full of men’s coats. Sitting in front of him was what was left of the gun section. Gutted and barren, he makes his way toward the counter. All the firearms where gone and most of the ammunition. The toe of his boot did manage to bump a brick of CCI velociraptor .22lr ammunition, which he scooped up and pocketed. Looking through the display cases he managed to find an Aimpoint T1 red dot scope with QD rail and the high light of his day. A lone wolf conversion barrel in 9mm that was threaded for a suppressor, black in color, he quickly grabbed the barrel along with an Otis cleaning kit for 9mm, a multi caliber rifle cleaning kit and a Galco Miami classic should holster for the Glock 17. Rick paused behind the gun counter and quickly removed all the items from his Condor pack and placed them into the new alpine pack. Slinging the pack over his back and holstering the Glock in his new found shoulder holster, he gripped the bat with grim satisfaction, “now I am ready, bring it you fuckers”, he proudly announced in his mind. Rick began to scan the zeds walking in the mall. They were still gibbering, gurgling and moaning as they walked in uncoordinated fashion. One however, looked different than the rest. A different skin tone, blood drooling that was not dark but looked pink and fresh. Rick mused that it must be a recently dead victim, but her clothes said otherwise. Blue veins seemed to glow in her arms and neck. “Weird, what the hell”, he had never seen a Zed like that one as of late. Pushing the oddity to the back of his mind he begins to egress from the store the way he came in. Reaching the back door, he slowly pushes it open to look for any signs of trouble.

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CHAPTER 4: Jack in the bo- Woods... (As written by 'WombRaider')

Jake Mills is a few miles away from a border gate, contemplating whether or not he will be gunned down as soon as they see him. He is wandering around in an old lumber mill, he had found a hatchet, he won't be picky, tools and weapons are at an all time low for men like him. He decides to head north, up to the mountains, he is hoping he can trap some rabbits in snare traps. He gets to a cave in the side of the mountain, around 40 feet up. He is exhausted from a long day of setting snares and lugging up firewood to the cave. He makes a triangle shape with small logs, putting lots of sticks in the middle. He then gets some bark from the a tree and hit the cave wall with the hatchet, hoping to spark up the bark. It felt like ages of trying with no success, his arms tired, his legs weak, he almost gives up, but then, a large spark, and another, set the bark on fire, he is quick to set it in the middle of the triangle, he blows on it, increasing the flames size. At last, success! He lays down next to the fire, very happy to have the warmth, he quickly dozes off, dreaming of his wife and daughter who made it to a refuge camp a few days ago, he is happy that they have made it, but he doesn't know if he will get through, he decides to go to his old home, and take a backpack full of canned food and water, he may as well give himself the means to survive here.

Jake wakes up, he forgot where he was, he quickly remembers he is in his bomb shelter, at his old home, he goes inside, goes upstairs, to his bedroom, and opens his closet, he puts on his hiking boots, some cargo pants, a thick shirt, and slings his backpack over his shoulders, it is his life line, it is where all of his canned food and water is, he tightens the straps just to be safe. He goes down stairs, and into his garage, he remembers he has a bow and a quiver full of arrows he used for hunting. He leaves the suburb, without any trouble from the walkers. He makes his way up a river in the tall pines to a small shack, he decides that this is his new home, he won't have any trouble here. He goes to sleep in the sleeping bag he found there, he wakes up in a dream, he sees his wife and child, beckoning him, he follows, wanting to hug them, and greet them with the love he had for them, but they were running, just fast enough to be out of his reach, he groans in fury, at a full sprint, they finally stop, and disappear. Where was he, he looked around, he was in his living room, he could see him and his family, sitting on the couch, relaxing with a cup of coffee in his hand, his wife next to him, his arm around her. He collapses, sobbing in want for his old life, he woke up with a jolt, he opened his eyes to see a squirrel eating out of a bag of peanuts he had, he scratched the squirrels head, and ate a can of baked beans, letting the little guy have his peanuts, it was nice to have a friend, even though he didn't think it would last very long, he savored that moment, it was a huge morale booster. He eventually got up, stretched his arms and legs, strapped the quiver to his body, put on his utility belt with his hatchet, cold steel SK-5 Trail Master knife, and his canteen, and set off for a day of hunting, he wandered the woods, not a soul in them, he eventually decided to head into a close by suburb, he was looking for supplies, he eventually saw a deer in the middle of the road, eating the grass that grew from the cracks in the pavement, he quickly got down, grabbed and arrow, pulled it back, closed his eyes, and let go, he had hit it directly in the heart, it felt no pain, which he was glad that it did not. He gutted the dear in the middle of the road, he wrapped the meat up in a plastic bag, put it in his pack, and continued his search, he was in the sheriffs department, he ran up the stairs as fast as he could, and opened the gun cage, he found a Ruger SR1911 pistol, and 6 magazines, he put the pistol in the holster on his belt, and put the magazines on his belt, he knew it would most likely save his life. He left the department, and continued down the road, he heard a scream, and quickly hid in the house nearest to him, he peaked out of the window to find a teenage girl running from a half dozen walkers, they threw her on the ground, and were about to eat her, he felt a huge wave of pity. He did what he had to do, he readied his bow through the window, and put and arrow in the girls chin, ending her life immediatly, he proceeded out of the back door, hopped the fence, and headed back to his newly found home, when he was back, he was suprised to see the squirrel from that morning sleeping on his pillow, he was very happy, maybe the squirrel felt the same loneliness as him, either that, or was thankful for the food, he could feed another mouth, especially one that small, he layed his head next to the animal, and fell, quietly, into a deep sleep.

Jake wakes up in the shack he is staying in, the squirrel he had met the previous day was again, sleeping next to him, he leaned forward and the squirrel woke up and jumped up to a shelf out of sudden fear, it realized it was just him and relaxed a bit. Jake had feasted on the deer he had killed last night, he was glad to have some fresh meat, he was cooking some breakfeast with the leftover meat when he heard a loud scratching noise outside, he readied his bow and opened the door, he was hit very hard in the face, he opened his eyes to see a 6 ft grizzly right in front of him, the bear got on top of him growling, putting its face up to his and snarling. Jake staying perfectly still, not showing any sign of fear, relaxed, the bear stepped off, then, the panic hit him, and he quickly grabbed his Ruger SK1911 and put four rounds into the bears skull, the squirrel was cowering in the corner, he gave it a chunk of meat to relax it, but then he realized, he had to get the bear out of there, but how? He spent an hour trying to move the bear, and barely moved it, he eventually got the bear to the riverside and pushed it in. It slowly was carried down river. After regaining his energy, he took his hatchet, and chopped down several small trees, to make a tall fence out of the logs. After a grueling day of work, he was finished, starving, he went inside and cooked up some beans on the wood stove.

Jake woke up the next morning, sticking to routine, he stretched his arms, then his legs, than scratched the little squirrels head. He ate a breakfeast of canned peaches and a bottle of RC Cola he had found. He longed to see his wife, he thought about going to the border again, trying to get through, but he didn't, it was out of fear. He stretched once more and than put his utility belt on, slung his backpack over his shoulders, tightened the straps, put on his quiver, grabbed his bow, and left. After an hour of walking he was there, he was at the border. One of the guards said "Put your hands where I can see them, you aren't one of them are you?" Jake was a bit annoyed and snapped back to the guard "Do I look like a rotting, mindless, brain eating bastard to you? Didn't think so, now come down here and expect me so I can see my wife and child." The guard came down, and expected his body, he then said "You look clean, but I can't let you in. Infuriated, Jake yelled at his face "WHY THE FUCK NOT? YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE? I HAVE A WIFE AND CHILD I HAVEN'T SEEN IN 6 MONTHS!" The guard put his weapon up to Jake's face and slowly said "You don't know who I am boy" Jake responded with "If you shoot, you better not miss." The guard said "Leave now, or I won't miss" Jake said with an angry grin on his face "Go to one of the camps, there might be some school children you can scare" The guard said "Oh hardy fuckin' har." Jake stormed back to his shack, infuriated. He quickly went to sleep, he was tired from the walking, and the yelling. Jake wakes up to loud groans and banging, they'd found him! He quickly panics, he puts on his utility belt, scrambles around trying to get as much canned food as he can in his backpack. He grabs his bow and puts on his quiver, and opens the window and climbs out, just in time to get away from the zeds who broke down the door. He is running, at a full sprint, with zeds behind him, around two dozen. He runs as fast as he can towards the border. Around an hour later, he arrives, barely able to breath, zeds behind him, he stops, drops his bow, pulls out his SK1911, and puts it to his chin. Just before he pulled the trigger, the sound of machine gunfire stops him, he slowly opens his eyes to see a huge pile of bodies. The man whom he'd encountered during his previous trip to the border, aims an M4A1 at him and tells him to leave or be shot, Jake is quick to grab his bow and walk away, he is tired, but not enough to stop him from traveling, he heads towards Denver, maybe his friend Jenny can help him.

Jake wakes up from where he had camped last night, he eats some rabbit he got the day before, and heads off, Denver was close now, a few hours away, his hopes are high to find Jenny, she'd always been helpful. A few hours have passed, and he is in the town of Breckenridge, he proceeds to a sports shop there, in hopes for a tent, a gun, and something else he could make use of. He is crouching through the hallway, he then hears a whisper, he looks to his right and saw a man standing there clutching a small baseball bat, he was surprised that the man hadn't noticed him, he continued through the store, and found a tent, and a utility chest strap, he was thankful, and took the magazines out of his pack and put them in the magazine pockets on his chest strap, and goes to leave, he notices the back door just closing, and readies his bow just in case, he peaks out of the door, and sees the man from earlier, heading in the same direction as he was, he decides to follow this man, maybe encounter him later...

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CHAPTER 5: Ghosts from the dead (All Written by '-EZ- Ghost')

The fire crackled and popped, further causing Ghost to stare into the orange hues and dancing yellows. He toyed with the embers a the bottom, poking with the metal rod that made up the barrel wipe for his weapon, watching the sparks dance up the flames into the air.

EZ Company had trekked for a bit, and it was only after the third day that Walker finally allowed a bit of rest in an area that looked somewhat safe. It was an old factory. One of the bare, grey walls had fallen either to decay or the first round of panic that swept the area. A lot of buildings had huge holes left by cars that swerved out of control or IEDs that the locals had attempted to use to ward off Zack.

They'd found a place that had obviously been used before. There were catwalks that were stable enough to support a fire team, a fact that EZ Company used to their advantage. To the North they had Tastey watching with her Bizon and a pair of NVGs, to the South was Beavis, his M4 in hand, and Blazing had the East, holding it down with an AKS. They hadn't seen Zack for a bit and had only run in to one other survivor since the suburbs and this one agreed to go with them. Ghost turned his attention to the newest to join their little group. She'd taken a seat across from him, he couldn't recall how long she'd been there. She was young, maybe seventeen, and still had the brilliance of hope behind her deep green eyes. Her red hair was curly in places, wavy in some and came down to her shoulders. Her skin was pale and accented in places with freckles that only further conveyed her innocence. When they'd found her, she was hiding in an abandonded house, boarded up in the basement. She'd said it was her house. That her family had been outside when she heard gunfire, screams and then slow, steady walking on the floorboards above her. She claimed that in her two weeks of being alone, she'd fed on what she could find in the house. Luckily, her family was prepared for something, as there was more than enough canned food and water to keep not only her nourished for those two weeks, but for EZ Company to resupply.

His attention broke when Hunter plopped down next to him, shoving him to one side as he did. It always made him smirk, that Hunter maintained a youthful playfulness, despite all the horrors they'd seen. "Hey. She's cute." Hunter pointed out, sipping from a can of Pepsi and tilting it towards the girl. "What was her name?" "Alexis." Ghost had already gone back to poking at the fire, almost ignoring the first part of his statement. Hunter pulled open Ghost's bag that lay next to him on the ground and pulled the small card that was tucked into the clear plastic near the top. He read the text aloud. "Jarod Hemmings. Was that the guy in that house back there?"

"Must've been. Or he could've taken this pack from someone." Ghost glimpsed at the card, then turned his attention back to the fire.

Hunter eyed Ghost for a moment before smiling. "Hey. You remember the night when Mom got that speeding ticket off of 270?"

Ghost laughed and dropped the stick in the fire, "Yeah, 90 in a 60. I don't think I've ever seen Dad so mad."

"First thing he did was cut up her driver's license with his tablesaw."

Both of them laughed heartily. As the laughter died, Hunter's face took on a rarely seen serious vibe. "You asked the other night why we're doing this? Why we have to make it." He made sure Ghost was listening. "Dom, look. We fight for moments like that. We don't fight to go back to the stupid shit like T.V. or even sex with random strangers. We fight for the right to do those things. We fight for the basic liberties of being alive."

Ghost poured himself over the words, taking them in. Since Jarod had shot himself back in the burbs, he'd had a bit of a crisis of faith. He saw humanity's breaking point in Jarod. When someone believed there was nothing left to fight for. He'd wondered since that day why in God's name anyone would continue to fight. But there, looking at his brother and then to te rest of the team, who all seemed to be listening to Hunter. Hunter had that power. He was the one that people listened to when they needed advice to get them back on the path, when they needed to be veered from the long muddy shit storm that was insanity. The moment was over, not by choice, but by a "Holy fucking shit! Zack! Lot's of 'em!" They looked up and saw that Tastey had made her way to the unsafe portion of the catwalk that ran just over the Western wall, where the hole had been made. They were up in a flash. Ghost grabbed Alexis by the arm, led her over to a storage locker and shoved her, as gently as the situation would allow, into it. "Wait!" She grabbed his arm before he had a chance to close it. "Dom? That's your name?" Ghost nodded, shook his arm free, closed the locker door and ran to the Western entrance, where the hole was. Ibo had already doused the fire with a bucket of, well, it was a bucket. In the darkness, he could make out a few random faces, most torn or withered. Then the flare went up from Beavis' M203. Walker was the first to lower his weapon and take a step back, mouth agape. "Holy...shit..." It was a sea of the bastards. An undulating mass of teeth and eyes locked onto their potential prey. Ghosts eyes darted between his team and Zack. He took one last look behind him at the storage locker. Alexis peered out through the four slots at the top of the metal. Ghost stared for a second, turned back and spoke. "Bobby..." Hunter just nodded in recognition of his name, readied his SAW and fired into the oncoming mass.

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CHAPTER 6: The search in hope (First part written by -EZ- Ghost, second part written by 'Riji117', third part by 'Reborish', and the final part written by '#General Hawk')

His skin was pale, his eyes sunken. Snot, mixed with blood, ran in a stream from his nose and smacked against the dark colored, hard ground. He would cough every once and awhile, causing another sickening splatter of blood and pieces of vomit from a previous bout of sickness to hit the asphalt. His dark hair was matted against his face from the sweat and he continued to convulse every few minutes, which brought him to his current predicament, being on his knees, one hand supporting his upper frame, gasping for air. Ghost eyed Blazing warily, always making sure to use himself as a barrier between his obviously infected commrade and Alexis, his weapon's safety constantly off. The three had fled in one direction, under the orders of Walker, one of the only few that Ghost had ever bothered to obey. The fight went sideways quickly and the bug out order probably saved EZ Company, well, most of EZ Company. The plan was pretty simple. They were being assaulted from one direction. So, bug out to the other three and divide and conquer. It seemed like it would work pretty well except Zack didn't take the bait that was made up of Ghost, Blazing and Alexis.

"How you doin, Blaze?" Ghost asked, taking a step towards him. Blazing shook his head and waved an arm, signaling for Ghost to stay back a bit. "Oh man. This shit sucks. I think I get why they're always so pissed off." He'd gotten bitten on the initial charge. Zack charged and Blazing had come down from the catwalk to grab some ammo. One came around the ladder faster than most could see in the chaos and took a chunk out of Blazing's arm. At first, they thought he'd been immune somehow. The wound bled, like normal. It didn't feel warm and Tastey had actually managed to ease the pain, something that just didn't happen with a bite from Zack. As they fled, however, the blood began pumping and the virus seemed to move quickly.Blazing leaned back, resting his hands on his thighs, still on his knees. "Just do it. I don't want to go through the last bit, and I damn sure don't want to be one of them..." Ghost considered him for a moment, taking another step forward. He slid his hand into the side pocket of his pack and pulled out the suppressor for his MP5. The whole process was painful for him and seemed to last far too long. Each twist of the silencer sounded like a door from an old haunted mansion swinging open to allow the helpless victim entrance to their doom. Alexis was backing up, and slowly turned away, shaking. Finally, the silencer was on and the weapon was lowered to the side of Blazing's head. Blazing looked up at Ghost, then turned so that Ghost wouldn't have to see his face. Placing the weapon at the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull. It was quick. The bullet passed through the base of the skull, severing the spinal cord at the point where it would connect with the lower portion of the brain. This would send Blaze to a place where he could relax. The second and third rounds were placed to criss cross across the brain itself, making sure that synapse fire would meet the air instead of any receiving portion of the organ. Blaze fell forward, limp on the ground, blood seeping from either side of his head and the back of his neck.

Within a few minutes, Ghost had his MP5 secured to the clamps on the side of his pack and had the M4 Blaze was carrying and his ammo armed. He'd also managed to convince Alexis to wear Blaze's pack which contained medical supplies and a few supplies. With the red filter on his flashlight, Ghost was looking over a roughly drawn map and was trying to triangulate their position in regards to the refuge camp. He found their position quickly enough and stood, folding and placing the map back in his cargo pocket. "Dom!" Alexis shout caused him to whirl, seeing a few deadheads running up the on ramp. The sight paled in number to the sound of the moan. Wasting no more time to consider his options, he ran to Alexis, just a few steps, and grabbed her arm. "Run!" The pair turned and began hoofing it in the opposite direction. As they ran along I-70, Ghost wondered how they were able to hone in on them. They could have followed Blaze's blood trail, why not? It gave off enough of a smell for them probably. Then he realized it. They may have only heard one or two moans from the cars that had Zack trapped on the ramps and either side of the interstate, but that doesn't mean it didn't start a chain reaction. They'd managed to come up to I-70 between from what he could tell was nothing and Burlington. He had hopes for Burlington. An Army, hell even a group of well armed civilians would work. He released Alexis who was keeping pace with him easily enough and reached for his radio, clicking it on and scanning the channels. He didn't hear any chatter, but had to try at least. He set the radio to autoscan and held the transmit on the side. "This is Echo Zulu 4, emergency broadcast, one civilian, one unit heading to Burlington. Unknown number of infected in pursuit. Request immediate evac and and assistance!" The broadcast was in short bursts, in between shallow breaths. The channel switched. "Echo Zulu 4, emergency broadcast, one civilian, one asset of Civilian Reclaimation Incentive, heading to Burlington, one mile out. Unknown number of assailants, request immediate eva..." He tripped, tumbling forward and sliding on his chest to a stop. Scrambling back up to his feet, he spotted the radio, being trampled by at least ten pairs of undead feet. He didn't take long to get up and doubletime it back to Alexis' side. Every once and awhile, he'd turn, take a few hopping steps to the side and fire a few rounds of his M9. It really only stopped one, just seemed to piss the rest off.

(Riji117 >) Night was quickly approaching and burlington turned into a semi lit concentration camp scene. There was a curfew after 11:00PM, and patrols began throughout the streets and countryside. I was up in the command center, a grocery store cleared out for military equipment, where all food items could be stored and distributed along with weapons and ammo. Captain Swanson was among the other officers considering to send a patrol into Kansas to see what held the supply convoy's that were suppose to come bi-weekly.

"We could send our Black Hawk past the border and be back within the day Sir.", a certain Lieutenant James spoke to not only the Captain but all around. "It'd be in and out to check on the convoy. Maybe it was delayed?" The Captain sighs, "We're low on fuel as it is, I don't think we can afford it." We'd taken the Black Hawk out for several recon trips around the entire AO. It had also been used to taxi out civilians left in Denver, and we'd hadn't refilled for much of that time. It wasn't a good situation... We were going on toward a month without resupply. The military could handle harsh conditions and extra rationing, but the civilians would surely collapse. Suddenly, a corporal runs into the room."Captain! We got a radio contact, in bound, callsign: Echo Zulu 4. Says one civilian and himself headed our way. They got infected on their tail!"

"Did you respond?!" the Captain turned over, the other officers began their protocol and alerted their units.

"The radio went dead after that and signal was lost sir. They're on I-70 I believe right now."

"I want everyone on high alert, this isn't a drill people! Get a squad out there and secure the perimeter. I don't want either of those people in this settlement until we know for sure they're clean." I jump up and grab my M4A1, and rush out the door. The entire settlement of Burlington comes alive with military personnel with civilians starting to come out. Regrouping with the away team, I begin the march out of the settlement down I-70 itself which was littered with downed vehicles. There were 10 of us, all privates except for a Specialist, a Corporal, a Sergeant besides myself, and the same Sergeant First Class. We could hear firing in the distance and began to hold our position aiming our weapons downrange. One of the privates held a M249 SAW aiming it down the way. The two personnel were coming in hot, and we were ready for them.

(Reborish >) Rick’s sub 2000 bucked with semi auto fury, raining hellish hornets at the herd of zeds chasing a red headed female and what appeared to be a brother, ex-military. Pumping his legs as fast as he could to close the distance to the two refugees, the 9mm hornets were tearing into flesh, ripping out brains, knee caps, obliterating gore floated in the air as screams, gurgles, moans and the thundering of zed feet pounded the asphalt. Rick’s ears rang from the impulse of each thunderous report of the pistol carbine. Mowing down 8 undead, running as fast as he could, he and Jake finally reached the scrambling duo. “WERE FRIENDLY, HERE TO HELP, RUNNNN!!!!” Screamed Rick over the horde of death gaining ground behind them.

The M9 continued to bark every few seconds met by the snort of the sub 2000. Zeds continued to fall from accurate fire by both men. “I’M RUNNING LOW ON AMMO, WHATS THE PLAN?” bellowed Rick to his new found partners, he hoped. Burlington opened up in view with abandoned vehicles littering the I-70. The four survivors dashed and dodged between vehicles that hedged up the way to the city. Rick’s mind racing while looking for an exit, for some place safe. The horde began to slow in order to navigate the manmade boulders, relics of a life stolen by infection, extinguished by greed and fear. The M9 and sub 2000 was hot, smoke sweltered off the barrels and frames, issuing tongues of cordite smoke from the blacken mouths. The M9 was the first to succumb to an empty magazine. The slide slammed back and locked. Rick looked into the man’s eyes and saw the frustration, but also the silent command to cover him and the girl no matter what. Rick obeyed blindly as he turned and slapped in his final 17 rounds of 9mm into the carbine, “HAUL ASS, I’LL COVER YOU GUYS, JUST FIND US A FUCKING EXIT QUICK!” screamed Rick. Running backwards, taking cover next to derelict vehicles, the 9mm hornets began to strictly punch third eyes into the skulls of Zeds that were getting too close. Rick began to count rounds, “five, six, seven, eight….fuckkkk, come onnnnn!” he bellowed in his mind. “Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…., They are still coming, should I do us a favor with the last four rounds?” Rick quickly evaluated. The sub 2000 surrendered, empty, Rick swung the rifle like a guitar in a rock show to his back. Turning and grasping his mini aluminum bat, he turns and sprints after the other three into the ghost town.

(WombRaider finished the chapter with>)

Jake let out a sigh of relief when Rick caught up, then it hit him, he thought to himself "Jake you FUCKING moron!" He remembered about the bow and arrow on his back, he quickly pulled it out, and began to drop zeds one by one. His ears suddenly caught the sound of Rick yelling at the top of his lungs "OVER HERE, I FOUND SOMETHING OVER HERE!" Jake and the others ran over as fast as possible, they entered the building, and Rick closed the garage door. Jake quickly asked "Well what the hell is it Rick?" Rick turned on a flash light and the darkness faded, now that Jake could see, he saw it, right infront of him, a Toyota Tundra, in perfect condition, and a full tank of gas, Jake laughed in joy, he asked"You mind if I take her for a spin?" Rick said "It isn't mine I don't give a damn." Rick opened the garage door, and quickly jumped into the passenger seat. Jake instantly floored it, running down all the zeds that dared get in their way. Jake let out happy screams of "Wooh" and "Yeah" as he did donuts in the empty street, then quickly took off again, running down zeds one by one by one. At last, some happiness, he eventually stopped and laughed for a good two minutes, as well as the others, he then said "Rick, you should take the wheel, I don't trust myself in this damned thing." And swapped seats with Rick, they then started driving, Jake opened the door in time to hit a zed in the face with it, then laughed some more. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and went to sleep, trying to regain some energy.

(#General Hawk adds later>) A moment of silence, then a moment of death, a moment of life, and a moment of resurrection. A soldier stands outside a gate, he is around the age of 16, hes never fired his gun, and he wasn't even in the army, but no one knew nor cared about that. His face was pale, his hands shivering as the cold closes in, darkness has arrived. The lone solder slings his MP5 and begins to warm his hands, his frosty breath makes him giggle slightly as he pretends to smoke a cigarette, a luxury he had yet to experience in his short life time. The distant sound of laughing can be heard from behind the gates, the light of fires and the cries of children. The boy stood there, saying to himself "got fucking damn it, this is bullshit. Why the fuck did I get this job? Raul should have gotten this shit, not me" as he kicks a small rock into the woods, it disappears into the darkness, making no sound until a light 'thud' is heard, followed by a moan. The boy looks into the darkness, nervously unslings his MP5 and aims it, he 'dances' in his place, his eyes glancing furiously as he scans the area. All he can hear is footsteps, the sound echoing inside of his head as it drags itself closer, and closer into his sanity. Out of the darkness, comes a man, his pale eyes not necessarily looking anywhere, his head sways side to side and his mouth lays wide open. The boy aims at the mans head, shaking furiously, his heart races as he clenches the trigger, the cold trigger squeaks as it drives in reverse, triggering a chain of events that would end the life of many. The boy pulls the trigger. As if time slows down, the bullet leaves the barrel of the gun, traveling towards the mans head, the boys face is clenched and his eyes are closed, the only emotion felt is fear, it forces its way through out the boys body until nothing but fear is left. In a second, everything returns to normal. The boys face becomes lite up and a intense feeling of warmth belts his hands and face, his body with little time to react causes his muscles to spasm, the gun is throw at-least 6 meters away from the boy. Silence fills the air, the laughter has stopped, all that is heard is the distant screams of the undead. Out of the darkness, comes a hoard, charging towards the camp, the boy is in their path. He just stands there, frozen by fear, he stops breathing and begins to cry, he forgets that the dead hold no empathy for the living. The boys fate is clear, he was to be seen again a week later, missing his legs and his lower jaw, but that didn't stop him from killing an 8 year old that was abandoned. The hoard was creeping into the camp, the darkness following behind them as death takes everything in it's path. A man lays asleep in his makeshift bed, the military had set up a small cot for him to sleep in, it wasn't much, but he didn't complain. For the first time in months, the man slept. Dreams of fire and chaos, dreams of flowers and dogs, dreams of the past, and dreams of the future.

He tosses and turns in his sleep, the sharp edges of his bed prick his as he moves, but that wasn't what brought him back to hell, it was the sudden of alarms, screaming, and gun fire. He opened his eyes, the light blinds him as he arises from under the blankets, confused on what is going on he leaves the large, green old tent. With one hand, he pushes open the large plastic flap they called a door, the sound of sirens became louder, and the sound of death became more then just a sound. His peered outside, man was killing man, bullets were waving through the air, draining all light as they explode. It was a a vision of the past, of hell, he watches as a woman is dragged to the ground, desperately she throws her attacker off her, for some reason she was wearing high heels, she began to kick the zombie, one of her heels broke off lodged half way through her attackers eye socket. Black, oozing liquid began to burst out of it's exposed injury, unphased by the events it continues to attack the woman, gripping it's worn teeth into her smooth skin, her throat is torn as her life is is slowly descends into the black abyss, only to return later. From the corner of the mans eye, he spots a familiar face approaching him, his old friend grips onto his arm, digging his nails in deeper than his hair grows, a struggle of life and death begins.

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CONTINUED BELOW.

Edited October 13, 2012 by #General Hawk

[#General Hawk 24]

CONTINUED HERE, CLASSED AS SPOILER TO SAVE SPACE. :P

CHAPTER 7: A bond to be broken (Written by '#General Hawk'/Raptor Jesus)

A man sits in the darkness, on-top of a large hill overlooking the birth place of death, a city. He sits silently, his long black hair flickering in the cold night wind, his tattered brown jeans ripple, and his cowboy hats sits next to him, held to the ground by the natural weight of a rock. He looks over to the long highway, cars litter the road and the drivers, lost in the dark, stumble around searching for their next meal. The man shivers as a cold brush of wind sweeps through, he sighs out a lung filled with air, all that leaves is carbon dioxide, small traces of blood, and water vapor, creating a burst of 'mist' to leaves the mans broken nose. The distant sound of a car engine is heard, the man lays flat on the ground, his clothes soak up the cold frosty vapor that gathered on the grass, his right hand sits on a cold, metal object, his right index finger rests on a trigger. His left hand extends outwards to pull down a tripod that assists with death, as his arm extents, his shirts long sleeves are pulled back, exposing his wrist to the cold. A silent crack creeps through the air as the tripod is pulled down, landing into the damp dirt and sinks. Out of the darkness, comes headlights, heading south down a high way, dodging the undead and broken cars alike, the soothing sound of the car engine brings the man back to the past, where the sound of a car was an annoyance that revealed itself everyday, all day. But the man snapped back to hell, he peered down a Bushnell Tasco 3-9 x 50 Rifle Scope resting on top of a .50cal rifle, he moves his right hand deep into a pouch and pulls out an single, large and bloody M23 Incendiary 50.cal bullet and then he loads it into his rifle. He pulls the straight-pull bolt back 3 times, the bullet fails to load. Under his breath, he says "fucking crikey, thanks a bloody lot mate. Great help you were, Johny". With 2 more pulls, the bullet ejects itself and lands in the damp grass, that man picks it up, and attempts to spit on the bullet, after multiple tries he manages to get enough precious saliva to cover a small portion of the bullet, he then continues to clean the fresh blood off, and then reload it. With a single action, the gun is loaded, with a single moment, the sight is snapped onto the wheels of the car, predicted to be 51 yards away, with a single piece of grass the strength of the wind is discovered, and with a single thought, a trigger is pulled.

The eery silence of darkness is broken, the sound of wind, the sound of a cars engine, the sound moaning from the dead is gone, like a vampire the unforgettable sound of a Model 82A1 - Barrett 50.caliber rifle creating a line of death, destroying everything in it's path, over-powers everything. In a matter of seconds, the bullet clips the wheel, a perfect shot interrupted by not-so-perfect judgment of speed, the bullet barely touches the wheel, but that was all it took. The wheel explodes, the passengers unable to react in time swerve off the road and collide with 4 undead before impacting upon a tree. As if god, the man chose the path of the car, right where he planned, the perfect area. Ignoring the pain, a man rises to his feet. He looks over the hill, the vehicle in sight, right next to a pre-built fireplace illuminating the area where the vehicle crashes. With a quick moment of his lips, he pushes air through a narrow canal creating a high-pitched noise often called a "hound call/whistle" followed by a single sentence, "you know the drill, dog". Moments later with the scurrying of feet, a dog vanishes from beside the man, it's destination was the immobile vehicle. Following slowly, besides the dog, was a limping man, running to the best of his ability. After 15 minutes, he arrives behind a bush 12 meters away from the car, he along with his companion panting and gasping for air. He peers through the bushes at the vehicle, the passengers were now outside, still confused as to what just happened. A woman, a geared up soldier, a hunter standing watch, constantly switching his safety on and off on his Glock 17, and another man who appears to also be military. The dog stands in a combat posture behind a bush, her eyes fixated on the man standing guard, she was eager to impress her companion. The man next to the dog, he lays his large rifle on the ground and turns the the dog, he whispers "you know the drill, we've done this before, it's no difference than it was 6 years ago". The dog looks up to him with a focused look on it's face, it's companion known as Hawk shares the fear of death. Hawk kneels down, his eyes fixated on the military man named 'Ghost', Hawk reaches down towards his leg and pulls out a model Kf0197 fury throwing knife. The group of survivors all stand besides called 'Jake', who sits on the back of their car, his hand falling vertically down, warming the cold metal frame of their vehicle.

From the darkness, one of the infected stumble towards Rick, the guard. The young woman spots the infected, and desperately yells to the man "HEY! look out!", Rick turns towards the zombie, instinctively locking his pistols iron-sight onto the center of the infected's skull. That was Hawks Que, he makes an aggressive 'hissing' sound for less then a second, and his faithful companion bursts into action. The Adrenalin kicks in, time almost slows down as Hawk follows behind the dog, the guard hears the foot steps and attempts to spin around and defend himself, he failed, he wasn't quick enough though, the dog, a pure-breed Dutch Shepherd was in mid-air, launching itself towards Ricks exposed and extended arms. Hawk yanks his right arm back, and then jolts it forward while releasing the knife he once held. The knife was slicing through the cold air, right on track, it pierces Jacks hand, pinning it to the side of the car. Hawks companion had now dragged Rick to the ground, fighting to get the dog's jaws un-lodged from his arm. Just after releasing the knife, Hawk reaches to the back of his out-dated utility belt and unclips a United Cutlery Ronin Tomahawk, he repeats his previous actions and launches the tomahawk into the air, its collision course was the bloody face of the infected, which was just a few feet from Rick. Hawk and Ghost in almost perfect sync reach for their side arms, and pull them out of their holsters. Hawk slides to an halt, 3 feet away from Ghost, dust fills the air as Hawks gun rests 8 inches from Ghosts face, Ghosts pistol in the same position, it was a check-mate for both of the men. With both of the mans fingers on the trigger, and their eyes locking contact, a stand off was about to erupt.

With Jake pinned to the car, he does nothing but scream out curse words as he attempts to pull the knife out of his hand, and free himself from the car, and Rick in a battle to the death with Hawks friend, it was just Hawk and Ghost, who decides who lived and who died. In almost calm and collected tone, Hawk saying in his thick Australian accent "well, this didn't go according to plan. Your move, mate", Rick desperately yells "GET THIS FUCKING THING OFF ME!" as he attempts to slam the dog into the dirt beside him, the dog growls loudly as it tightens its grip, and flings the mans arm side to side, yanking back and fourth. Ghost glances at Rick, then back at Hawk and aggressively blast "CALL OF YOUR FUCKING DOG, OR I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU!", with the girl screaming in the background, and Jack still yelling various swear words and fitting in "JUST FUCKING SHOOT HIM!" every once and a while, Hawk responds with "shut the girl up, and I'll call off the dog". Ghost mumbles "fucking hell" under his breath before turning his head slightly and says "Alexis, please! Just be quite", Alexis holds her hand to her mouth attempts to hold back to screams. Ghost turns back to Hawk, and demands his previous request, Hawk sighs and whistles twice in a row, the dog obediently releases the mans arm and back down, returning to the Hawks side. Hawk takes his finger of his trigger, and sarcastically remarks "what now, yank?".

A SUDDENLY, BEFORE THE ESSENCE OF PAIN, THERE WAS DARKNESS.

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CHAPTER 8: The dictatorship (First part written by Reborich, 2nd part by Ghost, last part by Reborich)

Rick pumped his legs while following Jake into the tree line. Blood streamed from Jakes right hand as the knife wound slithered back and forth from tendons and muscle moving with every swing of his arm. Rick grimaced from the blood and pain of the puncture wounds from the Hell hound that materialized from the night. Almost as a hellfire missile hitting a tank, the thought briefly swimming in Ricks brain. Rick reached down and grabbed the hem of his shirt, giving it a yank. The fibrous threading refused to give, “Jake, wait one”, he whispered as the two knelt, heaving chests from the escape of hell and animated mindless walking corpses behind them. “Grab my knife”, ordered Rick. Jake grabbed the SRK and saw what Rick was thinking as he began to cut strips of material from his shirt. “Wrap up your wound”, as Jake quickly wrapped his hand and then turned to begin working on the eviscerated wound on Rick’s left arm. “Damn Bro, she did a number on you!”, exclaimed Jake as he gently slid the now torn M65 field jacket sleeve up Rick's arm, “Yeah, not a very nice pooch, ESSSSS..AHHHHH!”, hissed Rick asthe shirt stips began to bite into the wound. “Man you need medical attention, and soon!”, announced Jake just as the night began to thunder and echo with automatic gun fire! Rick and Jake instinctively leapt for cover as whining angry hornets pierced the remaining horde and tree line. “Keep your head down”, barked Rick to Jake as the horde ragdoll feast dropped like fly’s with accurate fire. Rick squinted his eyes to make out a small army with some major fire power. Rick tapped Jake on the shoulder and using his two fingers pointed to his eyes and then to the small squad. “Oh shit!”, Jake breathed silently as the squad quickly began to run toward cover facing the tree line. The hair on the back of Rick’s neck began to stand up, “We have to make a choice here, run or see what happens?”, asked Rick out loud while watching the M240 and M4’s begin to scan the wood line.

“This is Sergeant Gonzales, United States Army! Identify yourselves!"

Rick looked at the expression on Jake’s face, “If we surrender, no telling what they will do to us once they have us in custody”, Rick reasoned. “US Army?” Jake exclaimed, “I thought everyone was dead.”, he continued. Rick thought for a moment and then grabbed his map, “we could make a run for it?”, Rick inquired while seeking affirmation from his new found friend. “I think we need to get you some help Rick, that dog bite is pretty bad, if we run now your arm could become infected and I don’t want to have to kill you if you start to turn.”, explained Jake. Rick nodded in acknowledgment, “then it’s decided!”, as Rick began to stand, “Let’s go”, Rick ordered. He began to slowly walk toward the edge of the tree line, “DON’T SHOOT, WE ARE NOT INFECTED, WE ARE COMING OUT, DON’T SHOOT!”, bellowed Rick with hands raised in the air. Jake following next to him with his hands in the air, “Man I hope we are doing the right thing?” Jake announced.

Alexis was prone next to the tree that Ghost had pressed his back against. He was looking out to the left in an attempt to see who exactly was yelling. They were Army, or so they claimed and from what he could see, they weren't lying, at least not completely. Thoughts of the group they had encountered earlier, he did hope the two were okay. It wasn't normally his style to leave injured men behind. He really couldn't care less about the Aussie or his mutt. Hell, with no small measure, he wished they were injured. He replayed the moment in his mind. He didn't have a choice but to leave them. Alexis was his only goal at this point, he would worry about the rest later. "Go..." His voice seemed to startle Alexis as she snapped her head to look at him, a worried look crossing her face. "We've got to go out there. When we do, stand and walk slowly with your arms over your hea..." He stopped when he saw the two guys from earlier walking out. "Well ain't that some sh-. Walk like them, Lex. Make sure you keep direct eye contact with one of them." Alexis nodded slowly, stood up, and began walking through the taller bits of grass that came close to the treeline. Her hands were held high and she wore an obviously distraught look on her face, she was playing the part pretty damn well. "I am sending out a civilian! She is unarmed!" A blatant lie, she still had Ghost's M9 tucked in the waistline of her pants. "My call sign is Echo Zulu 4, designation, Ghost! We will be approaching from South of your current position!" He continued to peer out from behind the tree, but now down the sights of his M4. He decided this was probably a bad decision, any aiming at the Army was never met with...a warm welcome. Ghost slung his M4 and placed his bandanna back on. He looked himself over, just judging how his attire would be perceived. He wore a black, police issue ballistic vest, a pair of light cargo pants and black jungle boots. He caught up to Alexis, quickly grabbing the M9 from her waistline and holstering it at his right thigh. Then he made sure that he was a good thirty feet to Alexis' right. Bunching up is never a good idea...

Rick’s mind was a mass of misery as the ty-wrap cinched down into his flesh. Flash backs echoed through his mind as his life slowly drained from his left arm. His body had taken a beating over the last week and half of trying to survive. It seems each decision he makes has brought pain and misery. Rick shifted his eyes toward Jake who seemed to glare at him for this unforgiveable traitorous act, as if Rick had feed him hook, line and sinker to a great white shark. Rick’s eyes tried desperately to convey his deepest apology, but he was merely doing what he thought was best, what he thought Jake had wanted. With no more ammo, bleeding out and the fear of rabies or infection, Rick’s will was broken and all he wanted now was either a bullet in the back of head or a new chance, a new life, a new purpose, to finally stop running. The black hood emerged from the soldiers right vest pocket, “You gotta be kidding me, right?”, Rick inquired as the soldier opened the bag. Rick turned left to look at Jake to see a defiant scowl draw across his face. Rick looked beyond to see the girl and the other soldier in the distance. Then, he heard the whimper some 100 yards away, she was laying underneathe the Tundra with Hawk staring in amazment at the scene. Rick's anger began to swell in his breast, burning the Aussie's face into his mind, "we will meet again friend and next time, on my terms“, thought Rick to himself just as the voice sounded in his right ear. "You sure are an arrogant Bastard, I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!”, growled the soldier as he wrenched the black bag over Rick’s head. “KISS MY ASS YOU F….!”, the impact of the Mp5 was thunderous. The stock snapped Rick’s head back as his body went limp. Rick could hear Jake screaming at the soldier for his attack, although it was muffled as Rick’s head swam with pain and his ears disconnected from his brain. He could taste blood streaming from his face, the taste of iron and sweat salt in his mouth. Soon, he could see Tami in his mind’s eye, her black hair that was crimson red in the sunlight, her beautiful smile as her hands reached up to caress his checks, “I am so tired….”, Rick said to her. Her eyes met his and she smiled as if she had heard his plea. Soon Rick was yanked back into reality as his left arm was grasped, yanking him to his feet. He groaned form the pain and the dull muffled hearing was back to its acuity as Jake steadily streamed expletives like tracer rounds at their new captives. “It’s alright Jake, just cool it, let’s try to live to fight another day!”, Rick offered. Jake went silent for a moment, “If and when we get out of this shit, I am going to kick your ass old man!”, Jake leveled with deep revenge.

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CHAPTER 9: Birth of the brothers. (first part by Reborich, last part by #General Hawk)

(Reborich-)The makeshift tattoo gun began to hum to life as the needle raced across Rick’s back like fire ants devouring him whole. Soon the dopamine kicked in and Rick’s tense body gave way to the warmth of the self-made drug which blanketed his mind and nerves. He began to think about his days in the years before the outbreak. A memory of holding his daughter, Emma, in his muscular arms while looking into her beautiful brown eyes. Memories of kissing his wife while racing his calloused hands down the soft silky skin of her warm body, voluptuous and firm. Soon the faces of people dying and explosions ricocheted in the halls of his mind. It took Rick almost a month to get through screening and convincing the Army of his service record in the Marines and that he was not a threat. He healed up pretty well, but still, age and the rigors of the new infected world had taken its toll on his body.

His mind drifted once again, back to the night before. He began to replay the sequence of events that would , for now, change his future. Rick had walked into the refugee camp pub, “What will it be friend?” asked the bartender. “Got any vintage Pepsi behind that counter?” inquired Rick as he scanned into the dusty packed tavern full of the remnants of humanity. “I might be able to manage, want anything else to go with that?”, as the bartender eyeing Rick up and down, sizing up the survivor. “Yeah, I think I will have a talk with the Capatain”, Rick slowly ordered. The bartender’s face flushed with excitement, his eyes seemed to be looking at the most beautiful women in the world, “Ahhh, Pepsi and Captain Morgan coming right up!”, the greased hair, middle aged man proudly announced. “Do you know of any work around these parts?”, asked the ex-Marine scout sniper. “Yeah, but you may not be interested, you’re not the type!”, explained the man behind the counter as Rick shot him an inquisitive eyebrow. “Well maybe ya are, see the fella in the corner with the ranger cowboy hat and boots?”, as the glass slide to a stop in front of Rick’s open hand. “Crimson Outlaw, kind of a half breed between lawman and Bounty Hunter”, the man reported while wiping his hands on his apron. “heard he was hiring, maybe you could give him a try, that will be one gold coin since this stuff is really hard to get now days.” Rick tossed the coin on the bar and grabbed his now cold sweaty glass filled with the kind of poision that would kill a man if he tried to survive on it. The cold brew sloshed in his mouth and slid now his throat, slightly burning the lining as Rick sucked in some air to sooth the slight discomfort. His belly began to warm from the ethanol as he walked toward the man in the coroner.

“Set taken?”, Rick asked as reached for the back of the chair, “Depends…what you want stranger?”, asked the Bounty Hunter. “I hear you have work?”, Rick sipped from his cup. “You heard wrong, besides you look a little too old and soft for what I do”, smirked the man. Rick looked into his eyes, death began to swirl from behind the depths of his soul as the man took notice. “See that guy across the room with one ear missing?”, Rick looked over his shoulder to see a man with one ear. A huge scar ran down his face, a ruckus laugh ripped from his gaping mouth as he roughed up a lady of the night. She squealed and fought as best she could. Rick's hatred for women beaters began to swelter in his heart. “He's wanted, I have a contract on him, dead or alive!”, the cold steel words drooled from his lips as he looked at Rick with an expression of opportunity. “Quietly and not messy”, the man pressed. Rick stood and finished his drink. Setting the glass on the table he turned to walk toward the condemned man. The Bounty Hunter shot his hand out and caught Ricks arm, “Bring me his tattoo of a mermaid on his chest and then we will talk employment”, the man demanded. The women finally hand enough and drove her knee in to the groan of the single eared man’s family jewels. He coughed and dropped to his knees, “BITCHHHHHH!!!” he cried as he gingerly held what was left of his now pounding mashed scrotum. Rick walked with conviction, his moral values constantly evaluating the scene, “Please make a stupid move so I will be justified”, Rick replayed in his mind. The man staggered to his feet, grabbed a 12” Bowie from its perch around his fat gut. He swung the blade wildly as people began to scatter and scream, “I’LL KILL YOU FOR THAT YOU WHORE!”, he announced just the tip of the blade sliced across her check. Rick was like a Cheetah, he lunged forward grabbing the man by the throat with his right hand and slamming him against the wall. His left hand grabbed the knife and plunged it downward behind the man and in between the sixth and seventh rib. The Knife obeyed, biting though jacket, shirt, flesh, kidney and finally into the spine, severing the man’s legs from his brain. The pain and shock instantly put the man to sleep. Rick sat him in the nearest chair and laid him face first on the table. “It’s okay, he just had a little to much to drink, everyone back to your vices!”, Rick shouted. The women stood next to him holding her cheek, “Thank you Mister.”, she said softly as Rick pulled a fresh bandage from his M65. “he won’t bother you any more honey, I promise”, as she fluttered her eyes in acknowledgement. Rick looked back to the man in the corneras the bartender rushed to Rick’s side and asked for his help to carry the man outside. Rick complied as they drug the man out. Rick’s mind flashed again, as if someone or something was trying to bring him back to reality. His hand pulled the SRK from its sheath and he began to carve the Mermaid from the chest of the soon to be dead outlaw. Then, intense cold followed by extreme burning as his back seemed to burst into flames, “FUCKKKKKK!!!!”, hollered Rick as the vintage whiskey rushed in a huge wave over his now penned skin, yanking him from his dream like state. “Ahhhh SHUTUP YOU BIG BABY!”, spewed the evil looking hermit. She was old, wrinkles lined her face from eons of life on Earth, so it seemed. Her breasts sagged like saddle bags and her teeth, what was left, where yellow, orange and cratered black from years of abuse. “That will be two 33 rnd Glock magazines and a week’s worth of your energy bars.”, she proudly proclaimed. Rick stood as his skin began to cool. Turning so he could look over his shoulder into the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, his eyes narrowed with new found hope and purpose.

Two wings unfurled from the tops of his shoulders descending into the back of a red beret and a laughing skull that covered his entire back. Saliva stretch from the teeth like liquid flesh as a red waterfall of blood trickled from a bullet hole neatly in the center of the skulls forehead. The eyes where deep and cold, as if death its self had allowed the Reaper to impart his owns eyes into Rick’s flesh. Below where the words, CRIMSON OUTLAWS, the new clan, the team that Rick was invited to be a part of. “Nice cut old lady, excellent work”, Rick announced while sliding the Glock mags and 21 energy bars toward the edge of the table. “I’ll throw in some cigarettes if you put a Sheriffs shield over my heart with the name of “SPECTRE” in the middle”, ordered Rick as he pulled two fresh and wrapped packages of Fags and placed them on the table. The women’s viper like tongue began to dance upon rotten teeth as green spit moistened her raw hide lips. Leathered skin wrinkled and began to twitch and glow muddy red with blush at the mere idea of a drag of nicotine rushing through her black lungs and into her black heart. “Sweety, you got yourself a deal honey”, as the tattoo gun leapt to life. Rick looked out the window of the old gas station in the middle of town. Memories of yesterday shoved to the back of his mind. He watched as the market place buzzed with excitement. Merchants, Scoundrels, Bandits, Prostitutes, Children, Thieves, Survivors swarmed with intent as they pursued the wares being peddled in the midday sun. The US Army closely watching and patrolling. Rick watched as a Bandit was ambushed by the military. In this town they waste no time when it comes to frontier justice, a scourge and parasite of humanity, the now limp devil or what was left of it, was about to punch a one way ticket to Hell.

One soldier buried the buttock of his M4 into the man’s face. His head whipped backwards as blood sprayed and teeth took flight into the crowd. Two soldiers grabbed each of his arms and began to drag him toward the Iron Maiden. Justice was swift in this new world, no jury, no court, just military law. The Bandit began to come back to his senses as the final steel cable was locked around his wrist. The crowd gathered to watch the only form of entertainment that came, it seemed, at least once a week in New Denver. A wanted poster was held up next to the man’s bloodied face. Three people from the crowd were called forward to verify that the man in the death machine was indeed the intended criminal. All three nodded in unison as the soldier turned to the crowd, “JOHN SLOAN, YOU ARE HERBY COMMITTED TO DEATH UNDER THE UNIFORM CODE OF MILITARY JUSTICE IN THE STATE OF COLORADO NEW DENVER OUTPOST!”, lowering his head to read the list of crimes, “CRIMES COMMITTED; BANDITRY, MURDER, RAPE, CRIMINAL TRESSPASS, RESISTING ARREST, INSULTING A MEMBER OF THE ARMED FORCES OF THE INDEPENDENT AMERICAN PARTY!”, spinning around on his combat boots he looks into the condemned man’s eyes, “HOW DO YOU PLEAD?”. The Sarcasm was as thick as a red wood tree, “GO FUCK YOURSELF!”, bellowed the man in defiance. The soldier gave the signal as the generator roared to life. Winches began to slowly retrieve the steel cables attached to each leg and arm and also his neck. The steel frame gallows like machine slowly began to expand with electrical probes, now sparking, moving closer toward the Bandits body from behind as they burned through clothing and flesh. The nightmarish howls of the tortured soul began to pollute the air. Eyes bulging, froth foaming from his lips, blood veins began to canker his forehead, every muscle in his body began to convulse, ripping themselves from anchor points underneath his skin. Skin around his elbows, shoulders, knees and hips began to tear with a sickening rip as if someone was cutting canvas with a dull knife sounding like an old rusty zipper. The man screamed, with what little life and breather left, “I AM….gurgle…..spit, wheeze….. I M SORRYYYYYYYYYY!” as his soul leaped from his throat, the soldier wasted no time as he pulled his side arm and shot the man in the head. A bullet of accepted repentance from an agonizing death, mercy for those who finally reach forth from the depths of Hell and evil within themselves to plead for a quick death, escape from penance, rather than pay the full price for a life of crime and inhumanity. The machine continued until multiple loud cracks erupted. Joints began to pop, severing limbs that launched in all directions, tethered to steel and the corpse burst into flames as the electrodes cooked the now dead flesh of the dismembered corpses like a hotdog over an open camp fire. Several women in the crowd began to vomit from the sight. The smell of burnt hair and flesh enveloped the market place as vendors raced to cover cooked product and raw meat. “LET THIS BE A REMINDER TO ALL, IF YOU BREAK THE LAW, YOU WILL DIE, NO JURY, NO COURTS, WE ARE THE LAW AND EXECUTIONER.” Barked the soldier as he turned to one of the other enlisted men nearby, “Clean this shit up!” “Where can I get some Ammo around here, specifically 9mm?”, asked Rick through semi clinched teeth. The pain of the needle not being the reason for his grimace.“The old women began to grin, showing what was left of her teeth and gums, the smell issued forth from her rotting mouth like burnt Sulphur, worse than rotten eggs in the midday sun, “I thought you would never ask sweety!”, the street witch exclaimed.

(Hawk-) The sun was at the highest point in the sky, it was now 12:05PM. Joshua lays there, his heavy body crushing the grass and flowers below him, he takes in a deep breath to sooth himself. The smell of flowers and other vagrant smells fills the air. "Hey. You know the smell of freshly mown grass?" Joshua tilts his head, his eyes fixated on a woman laying next to him, she just stares back, and with a smile on her face, says "ha, yeah? What abou-". Nothing, now there was only darkness. It was gone, it was a dream, Hawk awakes slowly to the sound of shuffling feet. Hawks eyes slowly open, his vision distorted and his head was spinning, the image of a middle ages woman towers above him. Weakly, he says "h-hey..." as the woman kneels down besides him and moves closer and closer towards him, she places gently grips Hawks and and rises it towards her face, there was nothing but silence as Hawk watched her pull his hand before her mouth, her lips move slightly as if she was whispering words, Hawk could hear echoing words bounce around his skull, the voice of someone from his past. Hawk stares at the woman, his thoughts were not caution, not fear, but peace, he felt safe for only but a moment, Hawks mind was clouded by the past, disallowing him to view the future, he was convinced everything was but a dream. But it wasn't, and for the moments Hawk believed that he was legitimately happy, but happiness never lasts, something always comes along to kick it in the balls, Hawks imaginary happiness was interrupted by the woman sinking her teeth into his hand. A sudden burst of pain snaps Hawk back into reality, his eyes widen as he screams out in pain.

He probably would have died there, if it wasn't for a flash of darkness, and by darkness, I mean his loyal companion. The dog rushed from a bush, its paws pulling up earth as it runs, it makes no sound, no barking, nor panting, not a single noise as it leaps towards the infected, sinking its teeth into the infects neck in an attempt to make it let go. It didn't work at first, the infected held on no matter how much she tried to get the zombies attention, it took a few seconds for it to realize that something was attacking it. The infected let go of Hawks hand, dropping it to the ground as it twists it's rotten body around in an attempt to attack the dog. Hawk grips his hand while whispering "fuck!" under his breath, he was still in shock, confused as it if this was a dream or not, if that actually just happened. It did unfortunately happen, Hawk was infected, his clean, fresh red blood cells were being taken over and replaced with darkness, death has begun to take back life. Hawks companion, was now fighting to get out of the infecteds grip, the zombie had now sunk its nails into her fur, her will to escape was the only thing keeping the teeth from following. But unlike that damn zombie, she was getting fatigued, through the panic and confusion she had somehow gotten herself into a position where the zombie could bite into her. Hawk noticed it, he released his hand began to scan everywhere for something to use as a weapon, all he had was a single throwing knife and his bloody tomahawk, the tomahawk would have to do, he quickly reached over and griped the tomahawk with his manged up hand, the adrenaline was just enough to stop the pain for a few seconds. But as always a few seconds is a matter of life and death, and death usually comes first, Hawk had taken to long, he looked over his shoulder, weapon in hand, to see the zombie tear a large chunk out of his companion. Fur and flesh filled the air, slowly floating down towards the damp ground as Hawk rushes almost is slow motion towards the zombie, his left hand reared back and lower, with a powerful 'tug' of his bisects the tomahawk was on it's path, heading directly towards the zombie's throat. As the blade flys through the air, the falling drops of rain are cut almost in half by the sharp hawk of death, in a matter of seconds with ease, the tomahawk pierces through it's throat, cutting through the windpipe and all the surrounding muscles, only stopping for the hard rock spire named the 'spine'. The infected falls to the ground along with the tomahawk, the zombie gasps for air, coughing up blood all over the ground and squirming as it loses all moment through out it's body, it them stops frozen on the ground, the only movement is the flickering of eyes.

The sound of winning distracts Hawk, hes attention is now focused on a large Dutch Shepherd laying on the ground, bleeding from its back as it whines and stares up at Hawk. To his knees, falls Hawk, he watches over his friend as she stares blankly through his soul. "I'm sorry... I'm so fucking sorry" is said alongside tears, Hawk places his hands under his friend, and lifts her from the cold and dieing Earth, his hands shiver as she stops winning and her head lays limp, the beating of her heart slows to a crawl, and then just stops. Hawk scrunches up his face as tears of blood run down his neck, his only friend in the world had now left him, but the hardest thing for Hawk was the knowledge that she would come back. It's been 15 minutes, Hawks left hand contently flinches as the pain spreads through-out his arm, he sits cuddling his friend, his eyes lost in space as he attempts to work out how to fix this, as he always does. His mind is blank, his body is frozen, the world around him is quite as finally the realization that he, himself, is all alone in an already dieing world. The darkness of the night hides the woods surrounding him, and the constant frost being released from his lungs hides the warmth, everything was peaceful for a moment, but then the feeling of a heartbeat is felt coming from the dogs chest breaks the silence. Hawk places his lips on her bloody head as she begins to squirm, she growls and snaps her jaws in an attempt to break free from the bringer of death, her eyes milky white as she sees nothing but death, she says no words, she just speaks. Gripping into her fur, struggling to hold her still, Hawk whispers "I'm sorry, I broke my promise" as he quickly twists her head, the sound of a breaking neck creeps into the air and infects Hawks ear. She was still again, now sound and no moments, she was finally at rest. No tears from her friend this time, replaced by a forced smile, his friend was finally free from a world that was hellbent on taking her, she had escaped the worst, although not how Hawk promised to her it would be, she was now free.

It has been 4 hours, Hawks heart races as his body tried to fight back the infection, the constant need to vomit blood tells Hawk that the end is near. "But near is not here" replays back and fourth in Hawks mind, he was hellbent on surviving, he was not ready to die, not here, and not alone. He bursts out of a line of bushes onto a large cliff-face overlooking what looked to be a survivor settlement. Hawk collapses to his knees, and then just sits on the grass. He was getting used to the vomiting, it had stopped along with the pain, his whole body was numb, his naturally strong immune system was the only thing keeping him alive, maybe he would remain 'alive' for ever, but in a constant battle to survive, or maybe he will just pass out and wake up another day as something else, he didn't care to be honest. But that doesn't matter, Hawk sat there watching the people fight amongst themselves throughout the night, they were like animals Hawk thought to himself, but if not watching the 'people' in the settlement Hawk was thinking about what happened, he remembers nothing from a few weeks ago, his last memory was a 9mm pistol almost lodged into his face, a man who's call-sign was named 'Ghost', and another man whose eyes showed the fear of the past but no fear for the future. Death was around the corner, death is everywhere, and now death was inside of him, haw was now what he fought to survive he repeated to himself, he was convinced that it was the end and there was nothing left, but he was wrong. Hawk notices a single man walking out of a bar on the east side of the settlement, Hawk tilted his head as he realizes that it was one of the men from the car accident he caused, but he also noticed the armed guards, the bandits who raped women in the streets and the constant screams of pain. That place was a hell hole with no escape, and Hawk sent a man strait in there. Hawk struggled to get to his feet, he stood proud, his tomahawk in hand, the blood dripping down his left hand, and a look of redemption manipulates Hawks face.

It was time for redemption, or a way to end a visit to this hell that had infected Earth.

CHAPTER 10: From darkness comes light, from light comes death. (First half by Reborich)

“DROP THE TOMAHAWK AND DO IT NOW!” Rick bellowed at the top of his lungs with his Glock trained at Hawk’s chest. Having caught site of the man who had been the cause of so much misery, Rick was ready for revenge and could taste it. Hawk’s frame slowly released the steel weapon of fury as Rick noticed his chest heaving in quick shallow breaths. Large tree root veins began to creep up Hawks arm from the infected bite. The look in his eyes where one of silent panic mixed with the reservation that he was at peace with the coming darkness, with his appointment with death and reanimation. Suddenly, the hair on the back of Rick’s neck went into full alert. Spinning around he could see the horde break through the tree line just as a Humvee screamed out of the camp behind him. Rick jumped up and knocked Hawk to the floor just as the atmosphere began to whistle above their heads. Hornets the size of mini missiles sizzled and heated the air around them. Punches and screams of fury as they raced toward the oncoming horde. Rick watched as the walking dead became hamburger and a mist of blood, bone and infected guts. Hawk’s body began to convulse, his temperature rising. Rick could see that his strong immune system was waging a holocaust within himself to save his very soul. Again, pleading eyes looked up at the would be executioner’s face, Rick’s moral compass wrestled and gnawed with him over survival and justice. “DAMIT!”, Rick screamed as he grabbed the back of Hawks jacket and began to drag him off the cliff top. Rick scanned the makeshift front gate out post and witnessed two of the four soldiers die gruesome deaths at the hands of two legged vultures. The Humvee swerved into action as three Zed’s hung from the drives door, reaching and shredding after the occupants. Rick shot into a sprint towards the down soldiers, “Please be there, please be there!” Rick said out loud as he ran full tilt. The Glock coughed, sending an angry hornet into the mouth of one the Zed’s that had fallen from the door of the military vehicle. It coughed again blasting the remnants of fresh flesh from another Zed’s face, Rick assumed must have come from the driver. Diving into the sand bag trench, Rick rolled to his knees and began to search the soldiers. “ALRIGHT!” he exclaimed as the syringe came into view. Grabbing his SRK, Rick cut the straps of the soldier’s combat vest off his body, grabbing it and the M4 next to him. Another Zed breached the sandbag castle as Rick emptied the remaining rounds of the Glock into the walking corpse. The multiple impacts sent the zombie sprawling backwards and onto its back. Rick swung around and holstered the Glock while cutting the combat rig from the other dismembered soldier behind him and leapt to his feet.

Rick ran back towards the tree line, hoping that Hawk was still, human, and not a walker. He burst through the woods with two riles and LBE’s slung over his back. He saw Hawk where he had left him. As he approached he could see that the intrusive veins had begun to crawl up Hawk’s neck , his eyes becoming cold and milky. Rick yanked the syringe cap off with his teeth, “Sorry buddy but this is going to hurt like a BITCH!”, as Rick plunged the hypodermic needle into Hawk’s sweaty, clammy, heaving chest. Rick’s thumb jammed the anti-contagion, with his thumb, into the night raider’s heart! Hawk instantly began to convulse and contort, as if a nuclear explosion was released on the battle field of his internal immune system. The infusion raced through his veins, white blood cells became rabid as they mingled with the serum and charged into the counter attack that would save the human host’s life. Hawk began to vomit blood, rolling on the ground, groaning and convulsing. Rick ejected all the contents he was carrying and grabbed the Aussie. Holding tight to the man’s frame, Rick began to talk the man back from the dark portal, back from the eternal damnation, back to the living. The reaction was swift and soon Hawks body laid in a sweaty heap. “Why did I save him?”, Rick asked himself, “This man and his Hell hound nearly killed me a month ago!”, as Rick’s mind instantly went into alert mode, “OH SHIT, the dog!”. It took millisecond until his mind rationalized and realized the dog was missing. Rick grabbed the empty husk from Hawk’s chest. Now breathing normally and veins disappearing, Rick flopped up against a tree in pure exhaustion. Looking at the Aussie, “This better not have been a mistake?”, Rick inquired to the resting man to his right. “This had better not have been mistake…..” as exhaustion over took him. Night settled in and the two were still, some hundred yards into the tree line. Both unmoving as darkness blanketed them. A n Owl let out a series of hoots as crickets and bugs hummed, chirped and sang into the oblivion. Distant moans and groans of the night walkers echoed throughout the night. Fires flickered from the camp as stars looked upon the face of the earth with pity and compassion for the struggling inhabitants, the final vestiges upon which humanity now resides, upon the living of a new and dangerous world once called Earth.

Edited October 13, 2012 by #General Hawk

[#General Hawk 24]

-reserved-

[borntobewild 31]

Wow I didnt read it but you have my beans for your work.

[Bludy 324]

nice one