OUTBREAK (Survival, Reboot) - IC

[Beiarusia]

Alan Bilks

Wallace Pines

Daniel Beck

Samantha Tallow
Deli near Chestnut Grove Movie Theater, Chicago

Alan walked into the dining area from the back of the deli, taking a long look out the window (and no doubt towards the smoldering remains of his movie theater) before stealing a glance towards Samantha, the scowl very much evident on his face. The girl took notice and tried her hardest to disappear even as the man approached her. He sat down beside her and wrote out a message on a discarded menu, asking just how she had managed to screw up as badly as she had. Not his exact words but they may as well have been. It was a topic that Samantha would rather avoid if she was at all honest, but she owed the man some answer given that she had destroyed everything he had had to his name. It was the least that she could do. Taking the menu and red crayon the girl went to write a response, but she hesitated for maybe a moment too long as she considered the best way to make the situation even a tiny bit better. Doubtful that sorry would magically make things all right. Samantha couldn't look Alan in the eyes.

Just then a plate was laid out before her. Wallace had decided to join the pair and had even cooked them some food: Fillet-O-Fish that was only slightly less appetizing than what was usual. Taking a seat, Wallace spoke to Alan, leaving Samantha to peer down at her breakfast with a slight crinkle in her nose. While thankful, she could not accept the food.

I’m a vegetarian.

A simple message written across the menu as she politely pushed the plate away from herself. Fillet-O-Fish probably wasn't 100% meat but the girl couldn't stomach the idea of biting into the square patties. Perhaps Daniel would want the meal? He hadn't shown himself just yet, and Samantha was eager for the two to be on their way to Sears Tower, both to find her father and to avoid having to explain to Alan how she had made his life all the worse. As for Alan and Wallace, the girl hadn't given much thought about what they would do. It never occurred to her that they may well tag along.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

DAY 32

McCook Police Department

Graham arose from his slumber. The carpet of the police department was the most uncomfortable sleeping position he had ever been in, and already he began to miss that rough couch back at Echelon. He yawned and stretched, happy to find some solace from that horrible slumber. He looked down at the now stirring Elizabeth, who hadn't contributed to his poor slumber. She looked up with barely opened eyes. “Morning, babe. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.” He grinned at her, and she promptly glared back at him.

“Oh, fuck off.” She smiled, and Graham laughed.

The police department had been picked clean; rather by strategic looters or overzealous deputies he had no clue, but the place was devoid of any useful items. Graham yawned again, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. He turned to Elizabeth. “I’ll go wake up Vlad, if you want to get the twins.” Graham asked her, to which Elizabeth nodded. “You got it, boss.”

The two moved on, Graham finding Vladimir in a similar position to which he had been in. He tapped his shoulder. “Hey, Vlad, you awake?”

Elizabeth was a bit more aggressive in her endeavors. She found the twins, and started lightly pushing on their legs with her own. “Come on, come on. Gotta get up early if we’re going to make it to that armory and then back to Echelon before sundown.”

***

DAY 32

Echelon Apartments

Clement walked the halls of the apartments again. Just as he did every morning, just as he did before. This time however; he actually had an idea of a destination.

He approached the broken door, the one he had helped Leon kick down late last night. He had passed out in his bed peacefully that night, not even the worry that Graham and Elizabeth wouldn't return bothering him. They had spent nights out there before; no reason to think they couldn't survive this one. He felt off, of course; he didn't like it that they were staying out there so long.

He knocked on Declan’s apartment door, where Leon had stayed the night. “Hey, Leon, you awake in there?” He awaited a response. If none were to come, he would try again and upon that one’s failure he would continue wandering the halls in a hurry.

[Elerian]

Phil Ivey
Lincoln Park Zoo

“About as ready as I’ll ever be” Phil replied.

He pulled out his crowbar and showed it to Felicity. It was his only real weapon, and it wasn’t like it would do him any good with most of the animals in there. Clubbing a seal or something with his crowbar was a possibility now that he thought of it. The all too familiar rumble of his belly returned to him as he stood next to Felicity, ready to venture into the unknown. They better make this snappy or they might be the ones getting snacked on.

With crowbar in one hand, and Jerry can in the other, Phil started walking towards the Zoo entrance. As he drew closer his stomach tightened in fear, and in hunger. Hopefully it would be quick.

[Ubaria]

Tuesday, 11th of August
Echelon Apartments, Chigaco
Day 32

Leon hadn't been able to get much sleep, if any at all. There was something uncomfortable about sleeping in somebody else's bed, in somebody else's apartment without them even knowing, furthermore the door into the apartment was by no means secure when himself and Clement were forced to break the lock off to acquire entrance the day previous, leaving the apartment in an unsecured state, anyone or anything could have wandered in at any moment. Leon had laid on the couch, staring up into the dark ceiling for most of the night and when it became apparent that sleep was out of the question, he started reorganizing his inventory, adding items that he had found around the place. Unfortunately, the tools he was expecting to be here had vanished, either Declan had taken the specialist tools with him or had gotten rid of them beforehand, although there were still other helpful things such as various loose spools of wiring, wire strippers, batteries and cleaning alcohol among others. Whilst they wouldn't present any immediate use, they would sure come in handy at some point. He had also found a few loose items of food around the place including a few canned products, candy bars and even a few energy drinks which were a welcome addition to his already dwindling stockpile.

Dawn was approaching when Leon was startled by a sudden knock at the door, followed by a voice. “Hey, Leon, you awake in there?”

Leon removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes groggily. "Yeh...yeh..." He mumbled back, dragging himself across the lounge to the broken door where there were still wooden and plaster splinters as a result from their forced entry.

"I've been awake for the past twelve hours" He added, replacing his glasses after cleaning the lenses with the cuff of his shirt.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

West of Echo-6; Wheaton, Illinois
Turf Lane
SSGT. Joseph Foley 0947
Day 32

To Foley, the stretch of suburban housing he had chosen looked like the apocalypse depicted in the entertainment industry. Cars lay dormant in driveways and on the street with trunks and doors open; some packed to the brim with 'essentials' while others were bare of everything. Some still held their inhabitants, a small portion of which were still alive; if one still considered being infected alive. Foley made a note to avoid the cars where those still 'living' inhabitants thrashed against their crash rated seatbelts that kept them confined to their vehicles until the restraints broke or their bodies did.

The houses didn't appear as if they were better off; with most of the houses on both sides of the street baring the scars of the outbreak. Most bore the signs of an unprepared populace taken by storm; with windows and doors broken underneath the weight of infected hordes. Two houses however, showed signs of a prepared if not still active groups; boarded up windows, reinforced doors, bodies that weren't rotten with decay marred their front lawns and the occasional scattering of few day old brass lay sprinkled on the grass and concrete in front of the barricaded houses.

'Probably still got some good stuff.' Foley wasn't interested in the other houses that had probably already been picked over; the reinforced ones would have more chances at supplies. So he gave a quick glance between the two houses before settling for the beige painted one two houses down on his right and picked himself up from where he had concealed himself within a bush across the street.

Rifle leading the way, the marine moved fast across the open intersection, shoulder's hunched over and the heavy rifle tucked into his right shoulder. Foley stopped when he reached the first house on the right half slammed half pressed his back against the semi rough exterior. Now safely across; Foley made his way towards the back of the first house and peeked his head around the corner; which showed that only the boarded up house had a fence in the backyard and it was a simple picket fence that had been hastily topped in barbed wire held in place via copious amounts of duck tape.

"Fucking amateurs." The words were low and tinged with disdain as the marine broke from cover, going high this time, and cleared the distance between him and the fence rapidly. Stopping, Foley listened with bated breath for any signs of someone, infected or not, having spotted him; but none came so the marine continued on with his hastily assembled plan.

Withdrawing his folding utility knife from its sheath in the small of his back; Foley slashed through the half a dozen segments of duct tape that had been used to affix the barbed wire to the fence. With the tape now gone, Foley gently pulled the free strands of metal down to his side of the fence where he affixed the barbed wire in place temporarily with intact segments of the slashed tape. With the way no cleared, Foley mantled over the small gap in the impediments and landed in the overgrown back lawn; which was empty if not for the rusting swingset that sat abandoned off to one corner.

Foley approached the back door with caution as he noticed that there is a gaping hole in the screen door tinged with red. Ascending the steps with the rifle tucked into his shoulder; Foley gently pushed the screen door out of the way before giving the actual door knob an experimental twist. The knob turned freely much to Foley's surprise and the marine pulled the door slightly open so that a small gap had appeared. With the gap open, came the opportunity to check for tripwires of which none were present. Withdrawing his hand from the door; Foley resumed his two handed grip on the M27 and used the barrel to nudge the door open fully as he pressed himself as much as he could to the left side; opposite of the first part of the door to open.

Nothing greeted Foley except empty, stale air and a frayed doormat. Taking a few steps inside, the marine saw that the back door opened into a larger room via a door to the left and what was probably a hallway further down to the right. Foley entered rifle splaying over the interior of the small area before he made his way to the left side opening and pressed himself into the wall before whirling into the room with the long barreled M27's stock as compact as he could make it for the tight maneuver. He expected to see a number things; but one of them was not a pair of young wide boys with crayons clutched in their hands as they scribbled on some sort of cartoon coloring books. One of them, a boy with a floppy head of brown hair, looked up from his purple elephant and saw the camouflaged and angry looking marine that stood dumbfounded in the doorway. Yet unlike Foley, this kid seemed to know what to do in this situation.

"DAD!!! Bad Person!!!" The voice was the half wail and half whine that was typical of kindergarten kids on a playground. Yet it was enough for something to crash in a room adjacent to where the boys sat coloring; and the pounding of feet from a hallway that Foley had yet to explore. Foley had just turned to the hallway as a man came running like a thing possessed; the man was a stick in every sense of the word but he hefted the Benelli shotgun with a degree of competence and strength rarely scene in his scarecrow like build. That did little to deter Foley as he swung his own weapon up and leveled the IAR at the man's chest at the same time the stickman leveled his shotgun. Yet neither fired as they took stock of the either; Foley because he wasn't here to kill people, and the stickman because of the two kids who were still at the table and within reach of Foley's weapon if he saw fit.

"Who the hell are you?" The stickman spoke up as another person came from the assumed-kitchen area. She was in her late teens and shared the same brown hair as the stickman and the two kids; though hers was in a ponytail rather then the floppy cuts the boys and the stickman toted. The girl also had a weapon, a blocky Glock that she leveled with shaky confidence; a threat offset by the flour that splattered her shirt front and the improper stance she had adopted. Foley glanced between the Glock toting girl, and the shotgun wielding man before finally settling on the man and giving a nod of affirmation.

The man seemed taken aback before Foley lowered his muzzle noticeably until it sat at a forty five degree angle. The stickman hesitated before following suit with his shotgun; in Foley's peripheral the girl just let lowers lower until it flopped against her leg where she shifted awkwardly with the weapon still in her hand. With the situation now a bit cooler; Foley shifted his rifle a bit more across his body before speaking.

"Staff Sergeant Foley. United States Marine Corps." The stickman's green eyes lost some of the hostility as he took in the green digital camouflage of Foley's utilities.

"You here to get us out Staff Sergeant?" The stickman's weapon lowered itself as he mimicked Foley's pose.

"Not exactly sir." The curiosity was visible on the man's face as Foley motioned towards the still open back door and then towards the sofa. "Let's close that door though and then you can sit down and we can talk all about what's happening out there. Believe me, you''ll want to know."

Echo-6 Safe Zone; Wheaton, Illinois
Jessica Raines
Day 32
0950

Jessica wasn't sure how these people did it; sitting here waiting for somebody to tell them what to do. She had been sitting still for just twenty minutes and she was already going stir crazy; something that had been easy to remedy before electricity had become something reserved only for 'vital' operations. Whatever constituted vital in the city Jessica didn't know; but she knew vital didn't mean keeping the AC running or having a working DVD player.

Something that had resulted in Jessica sitting down against one of the outside wall's that faced the motor pool and the main entrance. As she sat there, her mind wondered back to the conversation that sealed her fate of boredom for the day.

"How the hell would I ask for permission if I'm not allowed to go where he is?" She mumbled to herself as she gave a glance at the rising sun. The only person that came to mind who could probably get to the upper floors and wasn't doing something was her absent companion. The bastard had however left earlier with his weapons in hand and not a single hesitation in his step. Wonder if he's coming back. Because if he does I'm going to beat the sh*t out of him for leaving me in this place.

In her mind, she would rather be out there, knowing that her next step could be her last but able to see where she what was happening. Here, she was blind and deaf; relying on others to relay the news and waiting for the infected to catch up to them. Something she knew from running the evac flights would happen eventually.

[Paddy O Fernature]

Home of James C. Wess | Night 31 | Location: Home

James didn't get much sleep that night, which he had spent the majority of deep within the confines of his basement working away at his latest little project.

After removing the battery pack from the bottom half of the PRC by twisting of counterclockwise from the radio portion, he carefully removed the dozen or so tiny screws that held the radio's outer shell together allowing him to fully remove the outer protective shell and exposing the delicate internals. Using a magnifying lamp attached to his work space, he spent some time fiddling around with the internal wiring as he learned the internal functionality of the system, mostly through trial and error and educated guessing with a voltmeter. After some time though, success was his and he managed to find and isolate the internal source that powered up the external LCD screen whenever the radio was receiving a transmission. The current running through it was weak, but it would be enough for the task he had in mind.

With the hard part out of the way, James quickly set about attempting to finish his task before morning.

He rummaged through a small pile of old plumbing that he removed during the remodel of his home a few years ago, and found a piece of pipe about a foot and a half long with a busted end on each side. Moving the pipe to his bench, he set it firmly within the jaws of a bench vise before cutting through the bent ends with a handsaw, leaving him with a straight piece of pipe roughly a foot long. He then walked over to his tool wall and after a brief search, found the old pipe threader that he was looking for and went to work re threading both ends of the pipe. Once he was finished, he re-positioned the pipe in the vice so that it was sitting vertical instead of horizontal and capped one end of it.

He then took another cap, and drilled a small hole through the center of it using a cordless drill and a metal bit. Once that was complete, he then test fitted it loosely onto the top end of the section of pile, and left it there for the time being. Electrical cord was something that he straight up didn't have, so he would have to improvise that component, and after searching around for a little time, he found an old pair of Radio Shack analog headphones sitting almost forgotten about in the dark and dusty confines. Pulling out a small pocket knife, he cut the headphone off just below the headset, tossing them to the side, before starting to carefully strip the last inch or so of rubber coating off the copper wires on the freshly cut end. Once this was complete, he stuck the bare wires through the hole in the end cap and made sure the bare copper wires were barely spaced apart.

James took a step back for a moment, taking a break from his work as he sipped water from a cup and thought about his next move. He really needed to solder the damned things together to properly finish this job, but he didn't fully have the equipment to do it. He had a typical spool of solder left over from his remodeling, but he didn't have the heating element to melt it into place. After a short time pacing around trying to figure out a solution, he suddenly had an idea. Thinking over it, he remembered watching a documentary series on Spike TV called "Jail" that he used to watch when "COPS" wasn't available, and he remembered an episode where they talking about prison made contraband, such as tattoo guns and soldering equipment to manufacture shit behind bars. In the episode, a prisoner had taken a standard BIC lighter that had been modified into a "crack" lighter and taped a bent piece of wire around the end of it. The flame hit the wire, heating it up considerably which was then used to melt the solder and make whatever was needed.

Using an half used lighter, a paperclip, and some black electrical tape, James MacGyvered himself a device that he prayed wouldn't blow up in his face. With a hope and a prayer, James struck the lighter and let the flame sit on the paperclip for a few moments, until it was starting to smoke and glow from the building heat. He then stuck a bit of solder to it, and could only stare in amazement as it did it's job. Granted, it was a pretty ugly doing, but it worked nonetheless.

With everything in place, James reattached the battery to the radio and turned it on. The system cycled through it's BIT before going into a low power standby mode. He switched the PRC into a SC PT scan mode, which would pick up standard civilian frequencies. Once he had done this, he reached over to his own radio and depressed the transmit button on the side of it and held it. Sure enough, after a split second, the PRC synced up with his broadcast which normally would have displayed information onto the LCD screen on the front of it. Instead however, the power was being rerouted down the length of wire into the pipe, where an arc was clearly visible jumping between the two closely spaced copper wires that had been placed through the cap. This whole principle worked in the same what that Islamic Insurgents used cell phones to detonated IED's in the Middle East. They would attach a phone and reroute the detonator through the ringer of the phone, that way when someone dialed the phone, it would detonate the bomb.

James bent close to examine the little blue arc and smiled.

The floorboards overhead moaned and creaked in protest as someone moved across them on the floor above. Looking over at the clock nearby, James was shocked to see that the night had mostly passed and that morning was quickly approaching. Rubbing his eyes, he grabbed his now empty cup and a handful of instant coffee packets and headed upstairs to see what his guests were up to.

Exiting the stairwell, he found that pretty much everyone was dead to the world and spread out around the house in various places. He tell tale sounds of someone in the bathroom down the hall could be heard in the almost complete silence, and James paused for a moment and looked that way to ensure the door was closed to the bathroom.

As he turned to walk toward the kitchen, he spotted the pack and newly acquired rifle of the stranger from the MRAP sitting unsecured where he left it after grabbing his spare clothing from it. Looking around the room at the couple of people who were clearly dead to the world, it would have been too easy for him to remove the firing pin from the rifle, or the "Jesus" pin, or remove the buffer spring for a real solid laugh and get revenge on the guy for being so kind and blessing him with a radio for his generosity.... but he decided that it wasn't worth his time. He just shook his head and walked into the kitchen and put a pot of water onto the stove and started heating it for the coffee.

The sound of papers being rustled caught his attention, and he spotted the man freshly out of his shower and almost looking human again, unfolding a map across his table and standing over it. Tossing a instant packet into a mug, he grabbed it and approached the man.

"Coffee?" He asked and extended the mug in front of him.

[Vacif]

Burnham Park Animal Hospital
Chicago; IL
Elizabeth Adams, Connor Brass

Leaving the safety of Elizabeth's apartment, the two survivors ventured out in search for more supplies and Elizabeth's siblings, Matthew and Janet. The former being a veterinarian working in the southern loop, while the latter a hair stylist working downtown. The journey was tricky, debris strewn roads and walls of infected made getting to the animal hospital difficult. As they walked, Elizabeth thought aloud, "You think there will be a pack of zombie dogs like in the second Resident Evil movie?"

Connor didn't respond immediately, contemplating his response. "Why would you even think of something like that?"

"Well I don't know, we're walking into an animal hospital in the middle of a zombie crisis."

"From what you told me about your brother and his coworkers, they probably either released them all, or euthanized them all." came a flat reply.

Elizabeth let out a sigh, be it out of acceptance, or defeat. "Probably for the best."

Leaving the matter to rest, the two survivors carefully navigated around the broken glass that littered the ground in front of the small animal hospital. It was an animal hospital, but hospital none the less. No matter what, they were usually were targeted for one reason or another. As they walked into the lobby, they were pleasantly surprised to find that it still had power. Upon half an hour of intense searching, they found it surprisingly empty.

Elizabeth knew that more likely than not that her brother wasn't here, but it couldn't hurt to check out the hospital for any clues regarding where he'd gone. Plus, hospital. Granted majority of it probably would of been looted, or too specialized for them to use. Realistically did she know how much anesthetic she had to give someone to knock them out without killing them? No, she didn't and she was pretty sure Connor, despite all his wisdom didn't know either.

She'd met Connor sometime after the quarantine fell apart. About a week or so ago. He was some kind of private security guy working for the CPD with riot control and stuff. He was nice, polite. Though he seemed detached. Distant. Always scanning the room, or the outside like a soldier returning back from duty. She knew he use to be a cop back in the day, but she doubted that was what caused this. If she were to wager a guess, it was probably something he'd seen during quarantine. He was on the front with the riot squad after all. Things got really heated on day 21 and there was a reason you didn't see many cops or soldiers around anymore. Alive ones at least.

Wait, were the infected alive? They seemed more like the zombies from 28 da- "Elizabeth!"

Knocked out of her thoughts, she returned to reality. It was Connor, he was calling her. "Ye-yeah? What?"

"You were lost in thought again. Please stop doing that. We're still in the apocalypse y'know."

"Ehhhh I'm sure this entire thing will be under control in...a few years. Government's going to regroup and do that whole slow march to reclaim America like in World War Z! Em, the book, not the movie."

She couldn't see it, but Connor was rolling his eyes. He honestly doubted the government would be coming back any time soon. Maybe, yeah. They were regrouping in the heartland, but they sure as hell wouldn't be marching out to reclaim their lost territory. It was damage control, plain and simple. "Yeah, well until the military rolls up to pull us out of the fire, you're still out here, in potential danger."

Brass reached into his right butt pocket, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a some kind of notice by the military. "Place was commandeered by the Nat. Guard. All personnel and supplies were moved to some safe zone. Paper doesn't say where. Pantry and vending machines looted too. Nothing of worth here."

'Liz's lips turned into a thin line. At least her brother was in the hands of the military. Granted many military positions were overrun, but being with the military probably increased his chances. Hopefully he was either evacuated or in one of the standing safe zones. Sliding her gym bag around to her front, she unzipped one of the side pockets and retrieved the map of Chicago. "So where to next?"

"Well, there is a tattoo parlour right next door, and Shedd aquarium is just down the road. Rumor is that it's still operational. Downtown is still a mess, but we might have some luck at Willis Tower. I seriously doubt your little sister is still at her hair salon."

"....So tattoo parlour, Shedd, and then Willis? Better than sitting here."

"Sounds like a plan, let's make haste."

With nothing left for them at the animal hospital, the two made their way to Code of Conduct. The exterior was visibly damaged from the rioting, however seemed relatively "safe". Connor carefully climbed through the broken window. Once inside, he helped Elizabeth into the building. No lights on, the two had to use their flashlights to navigate the small parlour's halls. To their expectation it was empty.

After some stumbling in the dark, they found the light switch. Now luckily it really was clear, so no infected had decided to jump out from the shadows. Rummaging through the backroom, they found some spare medical supplies. Whoever had smashed the window seemed to of had the same idea as them. There wasn't much, but something was better than nothing. A small but complete first aid pouch and a small bottle of disinfectant. Suture kit, some bandages, and other assorted items like safety pins, packaged napkins, and tools like tweezers and a pair of bandage scissors.

With their business in the tattoo parlour complete, they began their journey to the Shedd Aquarium.

Code: Select all

Loot Acquired
Small Med kit

[Tayner]

Luke LaForge
Abandoned Suburbs, Chicago
Day 32

"Coffee?" James asked as he approached Luke, looking like he hadn't a wink of sleep the whole night.

"Yes, please." Luke said as he accepted the mug and sipped the warm liquid. "You never realize what a luxury stuff like this is when the world isn't falling apart around you. I hadn't had a sip of coffee since around when all this started. It wasn't exactly at the top of my looting list, if you know what I mean." Luke said. "Anyhow, we're heading out to Echo-6 later on, they must have their shit together if they're still standing." Luke said to his host, before turning to his bag and grabbing his AR-15.

"You can take my old rifle, I figure I don't want to lug two of the things around out there." Luke said. "As a thanks for your hospitality." He said as he clicked the safety on, and ejected the mag. "I figure you have ammo, but I'll let you keep the one in the chamber." He said, finally handing over the weapon. Luke continued sipping the coffee as he resumed his work.

"Shut the fuck up." One of the soldiers groaned, obviously annoyed by the early morning dialogue. Typical army motivation for you. Luke thought as he made the final adjustments to the route. Luke wrote down something on the side of the map and handed it over to Wess. In black sharpie it wrote Echo-6, if you need somewhere to fall back to.

"We have infected!" Broke the background silence, as Luke took another sip of his coffee. "You ready to help with a second rescue?" He asked Wess as Luke walked over to his kit, and grabbed his M4. "Corporal, on me. LT, I advise you and the private secure the MRAP and surrounding street." Luke said. The corporal looked back to the LT, as if he was asking for permission, who gave him a simple nod. "James, nobody will blame you for staying back this time." Luke said, trying not to force the man into a second rescue.

Luke exited the building with the rest of the group after getting his shit together, and listened. The noises were coming from the north, not too far away. It sounded like someone was banging on a steel or plexiglass door, and that there were some infected not too far off. Luke ran on for down the street, reaching an intersection, and seeing the backs of the horde. He looked around, and saw some trash cans and rubble, and Luke decided to make some noise to draw off the horde. He knocked over the trash cans, and took one of the bricks in the rubble, and chucked it at a glass window across the street.

That certainly seemed to get the attention of most of the horde. The corporal also decided to make some noise, hitting a street sign with the butt of his rifle. "This way, we can cut around and get on the other side of the survivors if we head west and take the first right." Luke remembered, after looking at maps of the area for days. "Let's go."

[Parcia]

C/SMS Heartford, Samanth, "Red"
Day 32 0930 Hours
Abandoned Chrysler Town and Country

She hadn't slept, the fear and the cold having kept her awake through most of the night. The gun felt cold and heavy in her hand and she found its touch strangely welcoming, yet also foreboding. The day before, she had been picking her way through the cars when she heard some one call out to her. She bolted, keeping her head down and the gun raised in the direction. She had found the van as a small hoard as it moved southward.

To her luck, none had noticed her and she had managed to bed down for the night, after making sure the car was sealed. Though she kept her boots and pants on, she took the blouse off. She kept her self occupied over the night by examining her gun in detail, using the light from out side. It was a Colt model of 1911. It fired .45 ACP bullets, its magazine held 7, with a total of 8 if she had the extra bullet and it was single action, meaning it had to be chambered to fire.

Beyond that, she quietly went over her other gear as well, trying to keep her mind off of the sounds of the infected out side. With that all said and done, she spent the next few hours wrapped in the blanket, tearing up but not letting her self cry. Crying wouldn't get her through this Hell, crying would get her passed the infected, and crying wouldn't bring back her friends...and family. She didn't let her self think of what happened to her family, only that they were likely safe with Uncle Eddy in the swamp.

She remembered the broadcast and she stopped her emotional state, slipping back in to the cool, "autopilot" she had been in since the hospital. She brought the brick like radio up to her face, tuned in to the frequency, and spoke. "To the guy who sent off the broadcast yesterday...I have some info. If anyone is trying to reach the EVAC zone in Wheaton, your best bet is to get to Check point 582-Uniform on Highway...fuck....highway 290, take that until you hit Wheaton. Also, im hold up in a...hid-y hole a few blocks south of CFD Clinton...would be greatful if some one could draw this small group off of me, over.'"

[Ontorisa]

This is directed towards you, Paddy and Tayner.

Chicago, Illinois
9:31 AM
Day 32
Luke Jackman

Langley couldn't get the door open, and the infected were getting closer. Giving up on the apartment door, Langley turned back to Jackman, who stared at her with wide eyes, in shock and horror. They were going to die if they didn't think of anything soon. As Langley gave the apartment doors one last shove, Jackman ran forward and pulled her off the door as the two began running down the street, trying any entrance to any building they could. The neighbouring apartment complex? Locked. The small restaurant? Locked. The next apartment complex? Locked. As Jackman slammed his baseball bat against the door in frustration, they could not stay on street level for much longer. The group of infected were closing in, and it would be only a matter of minutes before they were on top of the two university students.

"Fuck!" Jackman cursed out loud, adjusting his hat before they continued running down road.

The next small apartment complex they came across, appeared to be somewhat recently lived in at least. Jackman tried the door. Locked or blocked. Either way, someone had made the effort to make sure no one could get in. Desperate for shelter, he banged against the door before hollering on the top of his lungs.

"Help us! Holy fucking Christ! Help!" Jackman managed his loudest voice from his diaphragm, hopefully catching the attention of whoever was living in there. "Please! Fuck!"

Langley was continuing to back up as she readied her baseball bat. The infected drew nearer, Jackman could hear their pattering feet on the asphalt, their moaning as the only thing their limited thought process was focused on, was them: Jackman and Langley. Fuck.

---

Safe Zone Echo-6
Wheaton, Outside of Chicago
0935 Hours
Day 32
PFC. Carey Mitchell
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

Mitchell leaned against one of the HUMVEES as he looked across the schoolyard. These vehicles had been through a lot, was Mitchell's only assumption. The dents, the faint blood splatter on some of them and the bits of dirt that clung to the sides of the vehicles gave them some sort of personality. One of the soldiers had even taken the liberty of naming them, probably out of boredom from last evening. The one Mitchell was leaning on had small printing on the side of the front passenger's door that said "Sixer". One of the 50 cal. HUMVEES had the name "Brawler" while the other one had the name "Cally's Wet Dream".

The names? Probably meant absolutely nothing. It was humorous that someone had taken the time to name the HUMVEES though. As Mitchell absentmindedly looked at the vehicles, he heard someone approaching, this person wasn't military by the sound of their shoes. Looking up and without looking at the person, Mitchell breathed in.

"No civies around the vehicles please." Mitchell said sternly before he looked at who had come out. "Oh, hi."

Simberson looked at him, slightly bemused at Mitchell's immediate flustered reaction. Looking at him before looking at the HUMVEES she smirked.

"You enjoy naming cars?" Simberson motioned to the writing on the side of the HUMVEES.

"Nah, not me." Mitchell shook his head sheepishly, before looking at her. "Come to admire the vehicles?"

"Maybe, what's it to you?" Simberson sighed as she moved towards one of the HUMVEES, sitting on its hood. "You gonna shoot me if I touch them?"

"Might have to, ROE calls for it." Mitchell managed a weak smile before looking at the front gate.

"They're busy." Simberson told Mitchell, as he returned his gaze back to her. "I checked."

"I'm not supposed to talk to civies." Mitchell sighed, shuffling awkwardly.

"Fuck, makes this conversation even more interesting." Simberson chuckled. "Tell me a bit about yourself, Private Mitchell."

[Wallenburg]

Hugh Garmany || Outside Chicago Fire Department, Blue Island Avenue

A substantial pack of infected had already gathered on the far fringes of the university, attracted by the sound of gunfire from the park. Hugh led the truck through the infected, trying to get past them before the infected could pay them any attention. The rhythmic rumbling of the engine drowned out the grunts and growls of the infected. He brushed against one, knocking it over and sending it to the ground with a good chunk of its back scraped off.

"Fuck, I'm going to have to clean that," mumbled Hugh, still focusing on getting through the pack. He heard a roar from behind the truck; the infected were aggravated, and were giving chase.

"Um, Hugh, when are we gonna get there? There are a lot of these things!"

"Just a minute!" Hugh pressed down harder on the gas. An elementary school passed by on their right, infected pouring into the street from its parking lot. An intersection came up and Hugh stepped on the brakes. The fire station was right in front of them, as well as a pair of infected wandering outside the station.

"All right, Jim," Naomi said, smiling. "Let's clean this up."

As the two dismounted from the back of the truck, the infected turned their attention away from the door and to the truck. One let out a raspy scream and charged the pickup, aiming directly for Hugh's windshield. James grabbed the infected by its collar and pulled it away. As it stumbled and spun around in confusion, he firmly planted the knife in the back of its head.

Naomi took on the other one, a pudgy, gray-haired infected with a cheap grocery store nametag reading "Hello, my name is GREG". It came at her impulsively, and without minding her weapons any particular attention, ran headfirst into her knife. Its weight pulled Naomi's arm down until the dead infected lay on the street, oozing fresh blood quietly.

"All right, let's go inside. I'll come around," said Hugh, turning the truck back into the street. The other two opened the unlocked doors and went inside. The pickup came around on the other side of the doors, so that the driver's seat was closest to the station's entrance. Hugh parked the truck cozily next to the wall of the building, then shut off the engine. Opening the door halfway, he stepped out of the truck. He pushed open the doors of the station and went inside.

"Wow, it's like a ghost town here. Where are they all hiding?" mused James, sheathing his knife as he looked around the empty hallways.

By virtue of having a smaller population, Blue Island was much quieter and much less cluttered. The current inhabitants mostly kept to the station itself, only leaving the building out of absolute necessity. Every now and then, this led to the irritation of other groups. Hugh had personal experience with that already, when five days before they had insisted that a doctor from Clinton come to the station to treat a pair of ill survivors. In a word, Blue Island was a turtle, retreating at the first sign of trouble. It was far from surprising that they panicked upon hearing gunshots.

"I'd guess the second floor," said Hugh. "Unless they've changed things here, they have a makeshift trapdoor at the top of the stairs to close in the event that the ground floor is overrun. That's where they would go."

James turned his attention to the doors. "Idiots. Didn't bother locking the doors. I'll go find something to keep them closed, just in case they squeeze past the truck." He shut the doors and walked off down one of the hallways, looking for something heavy to use as a barricade.

The other two walked to the end of the main hallway and began to climb the stairs. Sure enough, a wooden board was lying flat at the top, sealing off the ground floor. Naomi tested the trapdoor, but it would not move when she pushed on it.

"Hey! It's Clinton. We got your message and are here to help. Open the damn door!"

There was a short pause before they could hear scuffling above them. The board creaked, and then it lifted upward, revealing a bearded man in his late forties, carrying a shotgun in his hand and a look of relief in his eyes. "Oh, thank God. Do you know how long it's been? If you hadn't gotten here much sooner, we would be making our last stand right here! Tell me, how many infected are left out there? Are we surrounded?"

"It was just two of them," said Naomi, looking at him with an expression of great distain. "Maybe a couple that followed our truck here, but nothing more. Like always, you overreacted. Now, who fired the gun?"

The man stared at her in confusion. Hugh looked around the room, counting at least seven other people. Most of them were young men. One was wearing a rumpled firefighter polo and slacks that clearly did not fit him. Blue Island had no actual firefighters anymore; all of them had died in the outbreak, probably while responding to fires and paramedic calls. The uniforms, however, provided a considerable supply of clean clothing for survivors. Hugh often saw Clinton survivors--especially older arrivals whose other clothes had become too torn or bloody to wear--donning them.

"Um, Naomi, it wasn't any of them," said Hugh. "It was someone else. I thought Allison told you that."

"Whatever then," she said irritably. "So I guess that leaves us with guard duty. You guys can come back down now, we'll take watch for the next few hours."

The older man gave a silent expression that seemed to struggle between thanking her for the help and sneering at her for her hostile demeanor. Ultimately, he nodded, and then went down the stairs. A couple others followed, while the others stayed on the second floor. James came up the stairs and slapped his two fellow survivors on their backs.

"Well, I got a nice big filing cabinet up against the doors. Nothing is getting in or out unless we move it. Also, Hugh, you left this in the passenger's seat."

He threw a weathered, black backpack at Hugh, who gripped onto it tightly, almost panicking to keep it from hitting the floor. "Hey! There's some delicate shit in here!"

James rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Anyways, Naomi, how's 'bout we take the meeting room over there, the one with the windows out to the road? Hugh, you can watch for shamblers from the roof. I'll come get you when your shift is done."

Of course I get the roof, Hugh thought to himself. It wasn't particularly cold yet, but the sun was setting fast and he had already spent enough midnights shivering away to know that keeping watch was going to be awful.

The roof was a flat bed of gray concrete, long bleached white by the rays of the sun. However, in the golden light of the setting sun, it gave off a faint reddish hue. Hugh could hear growls coming from the streets around the building. There was a thud as an infected pushed against the pickup truck. It pounded its fists on the hood for several minutes, then stepped away slightly, growing less agitated. It let out low grunts, clearly frustrated that it could not get into the building. Something must have caught its attention soon after, as it yelled in excitement and ran off down the street. Perhaps another survivor, perhaps a stray animal.

The fire station cast a shadow all the way across Blue Island Avenue. The shadow grew longer and longer as a dark blue and black sky rolled in from the east. Hugh could see the moon rising in its full glory on the horizon. As the sun finally disappeared below the horizon, Hugh realized that he could already make out traces of the Milky Way peeking out from behind patches of clouds. He smiled for a moment, finding a hint of pleasure that, despite the chaos of the last few weeks, the sudden silence and darkness of the city had allowed the stars to shine through with full force. Only the faint, occasional flickers of fire in downtown Chicago broke the overwhelming dark. He found a ledge along the roof and sat down on it, letting his feet rest. The dark forms of the infected could be seen shuffling about in the even darker streets. With nothing to see, hear, or feed on, they soon became quiet, leaving only the soft howl of a light wind in Hugh's ears.

---

When Hugh opened his eyes, the dark silhouette of a human figure stood in front of him, moving slowly about the roof against a patchwork of stars. Instinctively, he grabbed for his pistol and trained it on the figure's chest. It stopped moving and seemed to turn to Hugh.

"Oh God, don't shoot!" gasped a female voice.

Hugh''s nerves almost turned to jelly as they eased out of their panicked tension. The figure was not infected, it was just a regular person. He lowered his gun and responded. "What are you doing up here?"

"I almost thought you were going to kill me there. I'm the usual night shift around here. I thought I should get a good look at the situation outside, see if Marcus was right about the madmen coming here overnight because of the gunfire."

"Madmen?" Hugh asked.

"The infected. The ones driven insane by disease," she responded.

"'Madmen' implies that they are still people. They aren't. All they know to do is run, kill, and eat."

The woman sighed in disagreement. "Look, Clinton, I get that you want to look tough and to make us feel like children, but they are people. They are simply infected with an extremely devastating disease. It's like rabies. I know that often we have to kill them in self-defense, but they are real people."

Hugh looked at the woman for a moment. She was young, maybe a couple years older than he was, with dark hair. One of her eyes reflected some dim starlight back at him, while the other hid in the shadow cast by the moon.

"Anyway," she continued, "what are you doing up here? I saw you sleeping and wondered why a Clinton guy would have come up here, especially when the other two are sleeping tight in meeting room."

Hugh smiled in embarrassment. He wasn't an excellent watchman, but he took pride in doing his job to a certain standard of success. Sleeping on the job made him just look weak and lazy. "I was watching for infected. Jim was supposed to let me know when my shift ended. I guess he forgot."

She laughed. "Oh that's one way to put it. I'd describe it more as him being too deep inside your other Clinton friend to bother coming up here to end your shift."

At this Hugh did not smile. "He could have brought himself to at least let someone else know that I should be let down from here sooner or later."

She shrugged slightly. "Well, now you know. I bet your hands are freezing."

Nodding, Hugh added, "And my ears do you have heat in this building?"

"Unfortunately, no, but at least it's warmer inside than it is out here. You learn to group up for body warmth. Here, let's go back inside, we can find some people to warm up with."

They left the roof and entered the second story of the station. "So, what's your name? What's your story?" asked Hugh.

"Cassidy," she said, smiling. "I came here to study and protect the environment. I was working with the EPA to help clean the Great Lakes. Of course, that's the least of my problems now. What about you?"

"My name is Hugh. Hugh Garmany. I was interning here for software development. When everything went to hell, I was only just outside of the downtown area. Of course, things didn't stop there. I was lucky that the Clinton station was close enough and kind enough to take me in."

"I think we are all blessed to still be alive. Chicago may as well be a war zone now. Ah, here we are."

The two of them came upon a small office space, with two other people already sleeping under a large tarp. "Try not to disturb them, but get close enough to take advantage of collective body heat. It really helps, even in the summer."

Hugh lifted up one corner of the tarp and slipped in between it and the floor. Cassidy followed suit.

"Thanks," said Hugh, "I'm sorry if my friends and I are dicks about getting sent here. We've all been through a lot, and I think it can be hard to remember that everyone else is struggling too."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Besides, we owe you all quite a bit. We can fight, but gunfire is always a dinner bell to the infected. You three are a great help."

"Oh, and sorry for almost killing you. That would not have been good."

Cassidy chuckled uneasily, "Yeah, I'm glad you didn't do that. Good night."

The silence of the station rushed in as Hugh settled into a resting position. He would need the rest for a very busy morning.

[Altito Asmoro]

Day 32
In Front Of Langham Hotel
Jung In-hyun

...Perhaps he should go to the hotel earlier.

He drove another car as he plowed through the almost empty roads. There are obviously Infected here and there, but they just crashed down or just too slow to noticed his car plowing them down. He had to crossed the bridge again, but then again it could be worse. He could be crossing the bridge when it was not in the "other" mode. He couldn't come with the English version of it, and he didn't bothered enough to spoke out of it in Korean. The hotel should be close by now, there may be some people inside, but he has the shotgun and the melee weapons so it is enough to combat them if they are a threat, and not potential allies.

Eventually the car stopped in front of the hotel. Ah, Langham Hotel. He used to drove passengers of Uber into this hotel. Normally like a hotel of middle-class to upper, like in the South Korea. But perhaps with some differences. He didn't minded it much, though, as he put on his backpack and shotgun on hands. He is currently in front of the main entrance of Langham Hotel.

[Beiarusia]

Felicity Kaufmann

Phil Ivey

Call of the Wild
Lincoln Park Zoo, Chicago

The entrance to the zoo was abandoned – as was to be expected – but even more it showed little of the carnage that had overcome much of Chicago after weeks of infection. One could almost consider the attraction closed for the day as opposed to abandoned. Inside was much the same. Had the sky been sunny it might even be a pleasant venture, but past the serenity the wailful calls of trapped, frightened animals could be heard, and alongside it the yells of hungry Infected. Thought unlikely to be a horde there was no telling just how many of the things lay in wait just beyond the open gate.

And then a whispered voice could be heard, soft enough that it was almost lost to the ambient background noise. A beanie hat poked out from behind the ticket counter as a somewhat young woman peered at the two newcomers. Ashley Leigh (27), had been hiding there for the better part of the morning, having been forced to duck into cover as Infected wandered about during a misguided effort to enter the zoo. Most rational people would have recognized the danger and left by now, but Ashley was the sort to stay on course, or else known as stubborn. Her unenthusiastic boyfriend, Jeremy Jones (30), hadn’t had the heart to pry her away from her misguided goal and was simply there for moral and physical support. Waving the newcomers over, Ashley stood to her not-impressive height while Jeremy remained sitting where he was. Once it was clear that they weren’t about to be mugged the girl relaxed.

“Are you heading into the zoo?” she asked with some hope in her voice. Ashley didn’t wait for a proper answer before moving on. “You must have realized that these poor animals won’t make it much longer without our help. It’s wrong how they’ve been locked up in cages all their lives, but without the zookeepers they’re just going to starve! We have to let them out. I know, it’s not the best plan, and it would be so much better if they were back where they actually belong, but anything is better at this point.”

Ashley clambered over the ticket counter so that she was standing in the same side as Phil and Felicity. Her boyfriend slowly went around.

“Those monsters have wandered in so it’s dangerous to go alone. We’ll need to work together for this to work. Once we find the keys we shouldn’t have any problems,” the woman said, already volunteering the two. She hefted the worn baseball bat so that it was resting on her shoulder. “We just need a way to get past the zombies. I’ve tried everything but… well, I’m still stuck out here. Do you guys have any ideas?”

[Ontorisa]

Safe Zone Echo-6
Wheaton, Outside of Chicago
0945 Hours
Day 32
PFC. Carey Mitchell
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

"Didn't realize they let musicians into the military." Simberson grinned as Mitchell shrugged, a sly smile appearing on his face. "Thought you guys were all too macho for that."

"We needed something to do on base. One of the guys had a guitar but no one really knew how to play it except for me." Mitchell explained as he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not one of those super sappy guitar players who only know how to play a few pop songs on the guitar. I'm also not very good, so hahaha."

"I find that hard to believe." Simberson looked at Mitchell, shaking her head. "They would've thrown you into the desert if you were bad, right?"

"Right. They would've thrown one of the funniest guys on base into the desert because the poor fuck couldn't play Wonderwall." Mitchell joked, a quiet laugh seemingly rasping from his throat.

"You don't sound like you laugh often." Simberson appeared to have immediately sobered up after Mitchell's joke.

"Haven't laughed for at least three weeks now. You don't do much laughing when you're surrounded by, those things." Mitchell managed, sighing as he looked back over at the various soldiers patrolling. "I've seen shit overseas, but Chicago was twenty times worse. Those things were a nightmare to fight. Even when we slept, unlike the insurgents we fought against, the Zulus never slept. We had 24/7 battle rotations, except our numbers kept getting thinner and thinner. You didn't have wounded, you had either dead, alive or soon-to-be-a-Zulu."

"Fuck." Simberson mumbled as she took in what Mitchell said.

"It was really bad in Chinatown I heard. Two battalions at least were wiped out there, and they left behind a ton of equipment when the National Guard fell back. Most of it was probably looted, but there's probably still some left there." Mitchell shook his head, the memories now flooding back to him. "I still have nightmares about McKinley Park. That was probably the worst of the engagements. Static defence against a never-ending enemy with minimal support from our command. I.. I just want to forget about it, all of this, y'know? Fuck, what am I doing? I'm spilling my entire life story to a civie."

As Mitchell began to trail off, Simberson made the effort to place her hand on Mitchell's shoulder. Deep down, Mitchell knew that he couldn't pretend that he was the only person who had lost someone in Chicago or in general to this virus. Breathing in, Mitchell looked at the gate one last time before looking over at Simberson.

"Let's go find a guitar shall we?" Mitchell grinned, trying to keep the mood positive as he began to walk towards the school, Simberson following him keenly as the two entered the school.

[Wallenburg]

Allison Hayward || Chicago Fire Department, Clinton Street

Allison and a man with a simple blue uniform and a headset walked down the hallway quickly, a mixture of slight panic and great excitement pushing her on. Only an hour before she had received word from Desplaines Street that military transmissions were coming out of Wheaton, something about "Echo-6" and Kelly High School. Clinton station was now listening with all ears to the frequencies those transmissions had been sent on. Just moments before, the man working in the radio room had run into her office and told her that he had something for her to hear. They arrived at the door to the radio room. Both of them entered and sat down as soon as possible.

"All right, ma'am, I've got the most recent transmission right here." He sat down at a keyboard and brought up a digital recording on the station's computer. The signal had been somewhat weak and garbled over radio static, but the recording was clear enough for Allison to understand most of it.

"Broadcast yesterday...have some info. If anyone is trying to reach the EVAC zone in Wheaton, your best...Uniform on Highway...fuck...take that until you hit Wheaton. Also, I'm...hole a few blocks south of CFD Clinton...would be grateful if...group off of me, over."

Allison's face was stony and inexpressive. The radio operator turned his head toward her. "Well, Mrs. Hayward? They certainly sound like they could use our help."

"Contact the other stations and advise them to monitor this frequency, receiving only," she said sternly. "All station-to-station transmissions on this frequency are now prohibited. We don't want anyone hearing us if we can help it. Also..." she paused for a moment. "Also request a general meeting with Desplaines, Chicago, and Blue Island. We can have it at any safe location, but we must meet as soon as possible. If I understand that recording well enough, we may have a rather good chance at evacuation out of the city. Perhaps the military isn't as screwed as we thought it was. Thank you for letting me know about this. If you hear anything else, don't hesitate to interrupt me to let me know. I'll be supervising the supply run if you need me."

Allison left the room, closing the door behind her. At the moment, the radio system was silent, save the sound of static and the gentle whirring of cooling fans. The radio operator went to work. He reconnected his headset with the radio system and adjusted the transmitter to the proper frequency. "This is a general broadcast to the Chicago Fire Department. Information collected via radio has confirmed a sustained military presence in Wheaton and south of the Chicago River. These groups are active on radio and are now subjects of interest with regard to evacuation from the city. We advise all operating stations to monitor the relevant frequencies, and to avoid communication with one another over those frequencies. Do you acknowledge?"

There was a pause of several seconds before a crackle came over the radio and a woman said, "Understood. Keep Chicago informed."

"Desplaines acknowledges you, Clinton," said another person, a woody male voice. "Monitoring already underway. Desplaines out."

"Yeah, got it. And Clinton, tell Allison that your people will be heading back this afternoon. It looks like the packs are heading west at the moment."

The radio operator nodded and thanked the people responding to him, before switching off the transmitter. He sat there for a moment, thinking about the survivor whose voice he had just recorded. He played the recording again, listening closely. They knew where the fire station was, and were not far away from it. Perhaps he could help, the man thought. Reaching over his desk, he turned on the transmitter again and turned to the military frequency.

"Um, hello there. There was someone requesting help somewhere near Chinatown? Did you say there were infected surrounding you? I'm not in a position to kill those infected, exactly, but perhaps I can still help you out? I have a map of the area, and I could give you directions to a safer location."

[Ithalian Empire]

Alan Bilks

Wallace Pines

Daniel Beck

Samantha Tallow
Deli near Chestnut Grove Movie Theater, Chicago

Alan walked into the dining area from the back of the deli, taking a long look out the window (and no doubt towards the smoldering remains of his movie theater) before stealing a glance towards Samantha, the scowl very much evident on his face. The girl took notice and tried her hardest to disappear even as the man approached her. He sat down beside her and wrote out a message on a discarded menu, asking just how she had managed to screw up as badly as she had. Not his exact words but they may as well have been. It was a topic that Samantha would rather avoid if she was at all honest, but she owed the man some answer given that she had destroyed everything he had had to his name. It was the least that she could do. Taking the menu and red crayon the girl went to write a response, but she hesitated for maybe a moment too long as she considered the best way to make the situation even a tiny bit better. Doubtful that sorry would magically make things all right. Samantha couldn't look Alan in the eyes.

Just then a plate was laid out before her. Wallace had decided to join the pair and had even cooked them some food: Fillet-O-Fish that was only slightly less appetizing than what was usual. Taking a seat, Wallace spoke to Alan, leaving Samantha to peer down at her breakfast with a slight crinkle in her nose. While thankful, she could not accept the food.

I’m a vegetarian.

A simple message written across the menu as she politely pushed the plate away from herself. Fillet-O-Fish probably wasn't 100% meat but the girl couldn't stomach the idea of biting into the square patties. Perhaps Daniel would want the meal? He hadn't shown himself just yet, and Samantha was eager for the two to be on their way to Sears Tower, both to find her father and to avoid having to explain to Alan how she had made his life all the worse. As for Alan and Wallace, the girl hadn't given much thought about what they would do. It never occurred to her that they may well tag along.

Daniel Beck
The clouds were starting to turn a lighter gray, the sun's light getting scattered and diffused by the low hanging clouds. The smell of the burning theater was still thick in the air, the amber glow silhouetting the infected that were gathering there. It already felt like it would be be a colder day, and a long one. He wanted to be leaving a few minutes, get a full day of travel in before finding somewhere to hold down for the night.

He also had no idea what other parts of the city were like. For all he new there was a military checkpoint a few miles away and he would have to take a back way to get to the tower, and he wasn't entirely sure if that was a good idea either. But he promised to take Samantha there, and a promise was a promise.

He made his way to where the others were. Alan looked like his world had burnt down, mostly because it did. He had seen the look of people who lost a lot before, children and old folk mostly, looking at him with sad eyes in Afghanistan, there entire lives nothing but one large fire. There was the rather dirty kid wit the clover shirt. And then there was Samantha, looking anxious to get going, understandable for her to want the find her father as soon as possible. Daniel took a scrap of paper and wrote her a message.

Going to go soon

"So, what are you guys going to do?" He may as well ask, who knew, there was the possibility of getting a little more company for the walk to the downtown.

[Parcia]

C/SMS Heartford, Samanth, "Red"
Day 32 0945 Hours
3 blocks from Clinton Fire department



She had managed to slip out rather unnoticed by the infected, keeping low and slow, dashing in and out of cover. She had traversed another mile up the street, and had sight of the fire station and hope bloomed in her chest....then the radio went off...loudly. "Fuck!"

The sound drew a trio of the infected at her and she automatically reached for her gun and thought better of it. She spun the pistol so that she was gripping it by the barrel with her finger hooked around the trigger guard, ready to bash some heads in. She drew the para-knife with the other and slowly backed her self in to a corner as the three of them closed in on her.

The first one looked to be a businessman, suit and all. She shambled towards her with a limp and reached out. She brought the gun down hard, pistol whipping him over the head and while he was recovering, jammed the knife in to his neck. She frowned at the feel of warm blood flowing through her fingers and dislodged it. Kicking the limp body over, she took sight of the next one. This one was smaller, maybe a kid her age with a surprisingly cute face, were it not for his lower jaw hanging by a thread.

This one ran at her and her self defense classes kicked in. Side stepping, she stuck her leg out and tripped him as he ran by her. She brought the knife down hard and slid it in to the base of his skull, just above the spinal chord. She again dislodged the knife and turned to the next one..only to receive a large hand to the face.

The blow stunned her and she stumbled back. Flashes of pain spread across her vision as the large figure above her grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to go for her neck. This was it, she was done.


She saw her life flash before her eyes, her mother, her father, Uncle Eddy...all the friends she had lost in Chicago...she wasn't sure what made her do it, but she felt the cold grip of the gun in her hand and she brought it down hard against his skull, and again, and again until he faltered and she was able to force her arm under his chin. She couldn't push him back, no, but she did something that might have looked bad given retrospect.

She brought the gun up, lodged the barrel in to his mouth, thumbed the safety, turned her head, closed her mouth and eyes, and pulled the trigger. The gun fired, sending a .45 round through his skull and he went limp. She rolled him off and sprang up, her ears ringing and her face speckled in blood. She knew the gunshot would attract the others and she had to think quickly if she didn't want to get cornered by more of them. She glanced around and spied a car a distance away down the street. She glanced around and spied a few bits of gravel and broken cement.

Winding her arm back and muttering a prayer, she flung the rock at the car… and missed. She wound up and threw the second one, and missed. With the hoard starting to move up the street towards her, she threw the last rock. It sailed high with enough speed to impact the window of the car and crack it. She held her breath for a split second and was rewarded with the sound of the car alarm blaring. Holstering the gun, she gripped the knife and made for the Fire Station.

She kept her head low until she made it to the front door and knocked on it hard. “Oh please god, someone be here.” Her face was dripping with sweat, her breathing was ragged and fast, and her muscles were on fire from the stress. She glanced back over to the group as they swarmed the car, thankful that their attention was else where. She knocked again, "Please god some one let me in!" She had to hush her self, trying to not out right scream at the door.

[Paddy O Fernature]

Home of James C. Wess | Morning, Day 31 | Location: Home

"I figure you have ammo, but I'll let you keep the one in the chamber." He said, finally handing over the weapon. Luke continued sipping the coffee as he resumed his work.

James took the weapon from the man, and with practiced grace, knife handed the charging handle with his dominate hand causing the chambered round to eject from the rifle and corkscrew wildly through the air. It only traveled a short distance though, before the 55gr green tipped projectile was snatched out of the air by James, who then pulled the round closer for inspection before being placed in the mans pocket. With the bolt now locked to the rear, he flipped the rifle on it's left ride and peered into the star chamber as he angled the barrel toward a light source, checking for fouling and damage of both the chamber and the barrel to insure that it was in full working order.

One he was satisfied that it was, he hit the bolt catch release and let the bolt slam home before making sure that the rifle was on safe.

"Shut the fuck up." One of the soldiers groaned. James just tilted his head slightly towards the man, and looked at him with clear annoyance in his eyes. Apocalypse or not, the last man to forget his manners and address him in such a tone ended up being driven home from the bar by his buddy that night. Not to mention the small detail that that was in a public space, let along his own damned home that he had graciously opened up for these people.

James turned to face the man, but before he could say or do anything before someone else was screaming something about infected loud enough to wake the dead.

As the house flew into a flurry of activity, James turned and quickly made his was back down into the basement, where he quickly grabbed his kit from where he had laid it out during the night. He quickly donned his gear and adjusted it properly as he ascended the basement stairs taking them two at a time. With the front door key in hand, he completed his ascent and turned towards the living room only to find that everyone had somehow managed to egress from his house through the previously locked and barred front door. James puzzled, took a brief moment to try the door handle, as he was certain that he had locked it the night prior before going into the basement for the night.

Shaking his head, he again made sure the door was locked and closed it firmly behind him. Looking up the street, he caught a glimpse of his guests as they proceeded as a sprint up the road toward where they had heard the commotion coming from.

"I'm getting too old for this shit...." He muttered under his breath as he made his way down the front steps, across his lawn, and through the chain link fence gate that he re chained closed behind him. Though he only dummy locked this time in case they needed to get back through in a hurry.

By the time James caught up with the pair of men, they were busy attempting to make a ruckus and draw the attention of a mob of infected that had taken a particular interest in a nearby building, indicating that likely there was someone or something drawing their attention. He watched silently as one man was content rattling some trash cans, while the other flailed at a street sign with the butt end of his rifle. James wondered how many strikes that cheaply made plastic retractable stock would take before it cracked into an unusable piece, which was something they were known to do.

Shaking his head, the man cocked the hammer on his rifle, aimed it at one of the infected, and pulled the trigger calmly on his rifle.

With a thunderous roar, the rifle discharged in a dense cloud of smoke and fire, sending a 550 grain lead projectile screaming downrange at nearly 1,300 fps. The round impacted one of the infected inside the right shoulder, literally liquefying the already putrid flesh and shattering the connecting bone structure, sending the arm corkscrewing off in a random direction and severing the neck and head from the body as the decaying body couldn't cope with the bullet cavitation from such a large round. James smiled at the result and lowered the rifle into a ready position, allowing him to pull back the charging handle on the rifle which lowered the trapdoor on the back of the rifle. With smoke pouring out the now open back of the breach, James removed another paper cartridge from his belt and shoved the whole damned thing into the breech before closing the breech behind it by slamming home the charging handle back to it's original position. He then half cocked the rifle in practiced precision and replaced the percussion cap with a home made one that he manufactured some time ago.

With his rifle now ready to fire, he looked back up at the horde, which was now proceeding to shuffle in their direction, and was pleased to see that he had managed to kill two birds with one stone so to speak, as his bullet had apparently managed to hit another infected standing behind the first as it over penetrated his original target. Looking briefly at the other men, James felt guilty for not warning them ahead of time before firing, as his rifles report was considerable higher then the pea shooters they were accustomed to using, and it was quite clear that it had taken them by surprise.

"Looks like that got their attention." He said as he started moving sideways away from the other men down the street.

"I'll draw them away, you buys hang back a little and wait for it to clear out. Once it does, find out who's inside and figure out what's going on." He said as he started to pick up his pace to stay ahead of the mob of infected.

"I'll meet you back here once I deal with these!" He said practically yelling to be heard over the noise the infected were now making, as they started to pick up their pace and give chase after James.

The last thing the two men saw was James disappearing down an alley with the horde close in on his heels and giving chase, giving them an opening to proceed.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Vicinity of Echo-6; Wheaton, Illinois
Turf Lane
SSGT. Joseph Foley
Day 32
0958

"That's the deal." The stickman looked over Foley in the sudden silence after marine's pitch; a hand cupped under his chin and stroking the scraggly beard that had grown wildly since the outbreak. While the other hand rested on top of the man's well used but maintained Benelli M4 shotgun that rested across his lap. A situation Foley mimicked with the M27 that rested barrel up between his legs, with the optics of the weapon facing the used leather armchair Foley used as a seat.

"Why should I take the risk? We're better off searching for what we need then going along with you." The stickman spoke again with his faint Mid-Western accent now evident despite the rasping pitch of his voice. The words were low, probably so the two boys wouldn't hear from wherever in the house the stick had moved them for Foley's conversation.

"Because eventually whatever you got here is going to run out; and then you're going to have to go farther and farther out. Lot can happen with distance, eventually you'll be so far away you won't know if somethings happened here until you come back. My way you get a nice line of what I can bring you while you can protect your family." Foley watched a brief flicker of emotion appear in the stickman's eyes before it was gone; replaced by the contempt that had dominated the man's eyes since the conversation started. The teenager who stood behind the stickman was more so worried as she shifted from we she was leaning against the wall with arms crossed.

"Can you guarantee that no one will come for us?"

"No, but you should know that guarantees are a myth." The stickman sat back further into the stained couch and looked Foley over again before closing his eyes and giving out a sigh.

"Alright, I'll do it. Long as you can live up to your end of the bargain. First whiff of trouble though, and I'm out. I'll give you back some of it though; just so you aren't completely screwed." Foley nodded, glad that he had gotten the first part of his makeshift plan moving. Then the stickman stood, left hand grasping the Benelli and the right hand extended. "Ain't a deal without a handshake."

"Can't agree more." Foley said while rising; the stickman's grip was as Foley expected, stronger then it looked but not close to his own. "Got any hard liquor? Have to bring something back."

"Yeah" The stickman turned his head to the teenager and motioned with a hand towards a cabinet that was pushed into a corner. The girl looked like she was about to protest before she saw whatever look was on the stickman's face and thought better of it. So instead she turned on tennis shoe clad feet and strode what Foley assumed was angrily over to the cabinet; something that was reduced in effect by the loose thigh holster that banged against her left leg with every step. She had just thrown up the cabinet when Foley spoke up.

"Should probably tighten that." Foley's words caused the girl to turn with a shared look of outrage and confusion on her face. The marine simply motioned to his own thigh holster that sat securely against his right leg. She glared at the holster on Foley's leg before stomping off and giving a two word response over her shoulder.

"F*ck off." The girls response was expected and Foley cracked a grin and the stickman to chuckle. With his amusement out of the way; Foley made his way over to the cabinet and peered inside. A selection of whiskey, bourbon and what Foley assumed was some sort of moonshine, took up three shelves of the eight shelve cabinet.

"The missus likes- liked to drink." The stickman corrected as Foley peered over the mom and pop style labels; before the marine grabbed a trio of the whiskey style bottles, and stowed them along with four bottles of bourbon in his pack. "kinda of a lot for one man."

"Give a man a drink and you won't find a better friend." Foley offered as he stuffed his pack and put the now slightly heavier load on his back. Turning towards the man, Foley stuck out a hand again after slinging his weapon to once again hang across his chest. "This is where we part ways."

"You better deliver." The man intoned gravely, all traces of warmth gone, then the stickman gave another pump of the hand and motioned Foley towards the back door. "I'll fix the wire so you can still get in the back; god luck."

Then with that, Foley was shown out the back and over the fence; once again in hostile territory.

[Tayner]

Luke LaForge
Abandoned Suburbs, Chicago
Day 32

Wess went to draw the crowd away, firing a single shot rifle. The weapon was just as good as a smoke screen as it was a rifle. As Wess went to draw the horde down an alleyway, Luke yelled "Don't get fucked." After the coast was mostly clear, Luke and the corporal made their way to the other survivors. As they rounded a corner, Luke whitnessed the pair of survivors pounding on an apartment building's door in an attempt to get in.

"This way! Follow us!" Luke yelled to the survivors as he glanced around, taking note of the various threats around. Crawlers and biters limping around alleyways and far down the street were talking notice of the group, as they started to slowly close in on them. Miller raised his rifle to fire at the nearest zed, but Luke stopped him from firing. "No time, we've got to move fast." Luke said, as he spun around and ran back the way he came.

After a short sprint they were just around the corner of the house. Luke slowed, and stopped at the intersection and blended over, resting his hands on his knees. "Everyone alright?" He asked, looking around at everyone's faces. The new people were young, around cooled age, aboy and girl. Probably both in better shape than Luke, after his EAS. The corporal looked like he was about to die, running with all his gear on. He probably lost some endurance being stuck in a auditorium for a few days.

[Altito Asmoro]

Day 32
In Front Of Langham Hotel
Jung In-hyun

...Perhaps he should go to the hotel earlier.

He drove another car as he plowed through the almost empty roads. There are obviously Infected here and there, but they just crashed down or just too slow to noticed his car plowing them down. He had to crossed the bridge again, but then again it could be worse. He could be crossing the bridge when it was not in the "other" mode. He couldn't come with the English version of it, and he didn't bothered enough to spoke out of it in Korean. The hotel should be close by now, there may be some people inside, but he has the shotgun and the melee weapons so it is enough to combat them if they are a threat, and not potential allies.

Eventually the car stopped in front of the hotel. Ah, Langham Hotel. He used to drove passengers of Uber into this hotel. Normally like a hotel of middle-class to upper, like in the South Korea. But perhaps with some differences. He didn't minded it much, though, as he put on his backpack and shotgun on hands. He is currently in front of the main entrance of Langham Hotel.

Day 32
Langham Hotel
Jung In-hyun

Thankfully, the door was open enough despite the barricades, that he managed to entered the hotel without much difficulty. He looked around, the hotel seems still intact, mostly. Shotgun aimed at everywhere, it might attracted interests or sounds if used and fired, but the other option is to using melee weapons. And with humans still survived, mostly, it would be stupid. He looked around, maybe the upper floors have rooms to checked upon.

He saw few Infected, but he of course tried hard enough to checked on whether he could avoided them without the need the fight them off. He looked for some stuffs at the abandoned ones, but nothing's useful. Well, there's bathroom kit, but that's probably needed with water as well, for maximum effectiveness. He probably should rest for a while now.

[Wallenburg]

She kept her head low until she made it to the front door and knocked on it hard. “Oh please god, someone be here.” Her face was dripping with sweat, her breathing was ragged and fast, and her muscles were on fire from the stress. She glanced back over to the group as they swarmed the car, thankful that their attention was else where. She knocked again, "Please god some one let me in!" She had to hush her self, trying to not out right scream at the door.

Allison Hayward || Chicago Fire Department, Clinton Street

A nearby gunshot and, following soon after, the blaring of a car alarm seemed to wake up the entire station. Only minutes before, friends and fellow survivors were playing ping-pong in the garage or taking inventory of canned food. The noise outside set everyone into action, with each inhabitant arming themselves as well as they could. Allison herself carried a shotgun strapped over her shoulder.

"We will have Chicago and Blue Island stations on standby until this is resolved. If things go wrong, they will be only minutes away. The supply team has been told to steer clear until further notice. I want Melinda and Evan up on the roof, scanning for whoever is causing that noise. The rest of us cover the doors, and spread out from there. Stay close, keep each other's backs."

Allison and three other survivors walked quickly to the door of the station. The front entrance had once been entirely glass, with a revolving door that let anyone in or out. Since their arrival at the station, Allison and her survivors had stacked filing cabinets along the inside of the glass walls and blocked the revolving door with another, larger one. As they approached the doors, they heard banging coming from the outside, as if something were trying to push its way into the station. All four survivors raised their weapons instinctively.

"Infected?" asked one of them, training a pistol on the door. Allison was silent, keeping close attention for any other sign of movement outside. Then she heard a teenager's voice shout from the other side of the door, " "Please god some one let me in!"

The survivors stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Allison lowered her shotgun slightly. "Open the door. I'll keep my weapon trained."

Two of the others moved forward and grabbed the sides of the cabinet. Pulling with all their weight, they opened a gap of a few feet where a person could walk in and out of the entrance. Both of the survivors took cover behind the cabinet. "All right, come in with any of your weapons pointing to the ground!"

[Krytonus]

Alan.

Wallace Pines.

"I haven't established a proper strategy yet," Wallace admitted. "So right now, I'm just aimlessly wandering this wasteland." Little dramatic flair; maybe it made him sound more intellectual.

Probably, he concluded as he shoved the last of his Filet-O-Fish into his mouth. He offered one to Alan as he chewed. "I had elected to hide away in my apartment, you see. My own little sanctuary. But, alas, I ran out of food, so here I am. I've only been out on the streets for like, a day."

[Anowa]

The Twins (And friends)
National Guard Armory, Midway Airport
DAY 32

The wake up didn't take to long. Besides Kyle replacing his socks with a cops to prevent trench foot, wasn't much else to do. So they all filed in to the truck once again, and made their way south.

Despite the noise of the truck, there wasn't much attention from the infected, so little that it was a bit worrying. Kyle had called it a 'herd response'. The Infected, havinf lost their higher brain functions were resorting to the primordial mammal brain functions. This meant they were forming into groups, herds, and eventually hordes. Eventually it'd just become a wall of flesh. All the reason to get the fuck out of Chicago and into the rockies.

As they arrived at the Armory it was a sad sight. A rolled humvee sat blocking the entrance, as the shredded bodies of a few ARNG personnel lay scattered across the roadway. Though both of the twins found an upside to their situation.

"You still got the ratchet set in there Kyle?"

"Yup."

"I'll leave you to it then."

The dense woman looked at the others and continued, "You three should probably search through these bodies. We probably shouldn't head in before we're all ready.

As Kyle made his way unloading the full belt from the affixed M2 Browning mounted on the vehicle, Cameron took a look inside. Within she spotted a glorious occasion. SINCGARS.

Crawling through the broken windshield she started fiddling with the radio, is squealched on much to Cameron's joy, through a smile she started tuning through the channels. "Thank you God." She picked up a signal, no doubt military due to the frequency.

Sighing she spoke into the reciever, hoping someone else was still alive. "This is Agent Cameron Oosthuizen of the United States Secret Service to any active United States Armed Forces units remaining in the Chicago metropolitan area, come in over."

[South Mauristan]

-cut-