Days Gone By (Zombie Survival|Mature|IC|Dead)

[Dernland]

James realized fairly quickly that his rifle was long gone. He saw refugee after refugee, survivor after survivor be stripped of weapons that they had no license or proof of ownership of. He had none of the sort for his sport rifle. It was his of course, a gift from his father shortly before the outbreak hit but he definitely didn't think to grab the receipt before everything went to hell. The line was being split up now as more soldiers began screening, hopefully moving things along a bit faster. James was moved to a new queue and found himself first in line and stepped forward.

James extended his military ID and drivers license, standing at parade rest. "Lieutenant Lake, California National Guard 146th Airlift Wing. I need to speak with the CO here about either shipping out west or being re-assigned here. I have no permit or proof of ownership for my weapon and will relinquish it upon request." He said curtly, looking the man in the eyes.

[Parcia]

Ryan Emberson
Rochester Airport
September 27th of 2017

She couldn't really tell what the boy's intention was, mostly because most had never paid her that much attention, and because she never really interacted with them on a personal level...and while Vern was a boy...he was more of a man then anything, and a big brother if anything at this point. Likely against her better judgment, she hefted her kit and walked over to the older teen. "Either im hearing thing or..." She choked. Like a proper damn school girl, she choked.

"Oh? That actually worked?" I whispered to myself as the girl went closer to me. When she arrived in front of me, she said "Either i'm hearing things or..." Her delicate voice escaped her mouth, but she choked, and that ruined the moment. Well, might as well finish her sentence. "... you heard me whistle at you?" I smile, "My name's Ryan, nice to meet you." I say while holding out my hand for a handshake.

She blushed a little, the older boy picking up her choked sentence with strange ease. She reached out and shook his hand, her other one clutching the .380 pistol n her jacket pocket. "Julie, you...you trying to get out of New York too?"

Her little voice in her head slapped her self. OF course he is trying to get out, everyone is trying to get out! Come on Julianne, your one of the smartest teens in the US and you get googly eyed over a...cute boy talking to you?!"

[Axis Asteroid]

Alison Wilde
Rochester Evacuation Center
September 27th, 2017

Turns out the wait wasn't nearly as bad as they expected after all. When the lines were split into several queues, Alison acted quickly and maneuvered her way to the front of a new queue with her charge in tow. She presented her Nevada Driver's License and Firearms Permit to the soldier screening the line, informing him of the type and number of firearms on her persons in addition to the Glock 17 Prince turned over to her.

"Everything seems to check out." The man in uniform remarked after a cursory glance. Then he noticed something on her license. "Didn't think I'd be talking to a veteran now. What branch did you serve?"

Alison smiled. She knew it was a good idea to get the veteran's designation on her ID. "Same as yours. Semper Fidelis."

The man blinked. "Well... I'll be. Semper Fi." He handed back her license and permit with an approving grin. "Where'd you serve at if you don't mind me asking?"

"Afghanistan." The answer was automatic. "Served in CLR-3 of 3rd MLG." Third Marine Logistics Group in other words.

The fellow marine nodded in understanding. "Glad to finally meet one of y'all. I got a couple more years myself before I'm discharged." He then noticed something behind her. "My bad, looks like I'm holding the line up. You can go ahead with your little brother. Everything's good here."

Alison didn't bother correcting the man as she dragged the silent Prince into the terminal. Thankfully, her charge was rather perceptive and knew when to talk and when to stay silent, like he did just now.

"Make sure to keep this with you at all times." She remarked as she returned the pistol to the young teenager, who quickly pocketed it inside his internal suit pocket. The two then made their way to a pair of open seats in the terminal.

"I can see the pig holding some coffee." Prince gestured to the distance with a nod. She followed his gaze and saw the cop who cut the line from earlier holding a cup of coffee. "I want coffee."

"I'll get you some." She promised, coming to a stand.

"No." The young heir frowned, prompting her to sit back down. "Later. I'm just hungry right now. Give me an MRE."

Alison hesitated for a brief moment before zipping open her Rucksack. "We have to ration these. We only have two left." She cautioned, just as her charge bit his lip, as if in deep contemplation. She knew he wasn't really hungry or thirsty for that matter since they just ate prior to arriving at the airport. The only question was what exactly plagued him so.

"I'm having nightmares." Prince admitted after much hesitation. He then began fidgeting, clearly restless. He pulled out a switchblade and began twirling the blade around his fingers with practiced ease, a bad habit of his. "Of the infected. I can't help but feel like this is only the calm before the storm. That things will get much worse before they get better."

The redhead didn't reply immediately, eyes transfixed on the blade that danced across her charge's fingers. "I'll protect you. Don't you worry about it."

When Prince didn't reply, she opted to survey the terminal as she sat by his side, taking note of any choke points and exits, anything that could be used to their advantage in case the airport was compromised like the Intercontinental was. Ideally, she would scope out the building on foot, but she didn't feel safe in leaving Prince alone in fear of him getting into a fight, or worse injured due to his admittedly sub par self defense skills.

She then noticed two teenagers, a fifteen year old girl and an eighteen? Nineteen year old boy conversing with each other. If they were flirting, she could only hope the latter was eighteen instead of well, an age above minority. The law was clear in that regard. Stranger danger and all that.

[The Knockout Gun Gals]

Kim Lee Hoon
Rochester International Airport Evacuation Center, New York
September 27th 2017

Kim watched as the line moved on and on. He was with several others ROK's embassy staffs who hadn't left the city or tried to but failed. Smuggled themselves to another city or nation are not even an options, for being more dangerous than the currently available option of flying out from New York. Kim sat down while waiting for the line to moved. But to be honest, it's taking so long it made him worried about his safety and the others.

Kim looked to the other lines, and the others seemed to be more agitated than him. Who knows what exactly made them agitated and worried like this, but then again there might be no reasons for the agitations and worries that they have.

[Anowa]

James extended his military ID and drivers license, standing at parade rest. "Lieutenant Lake, California National Guard 146th Airlift Wing. I need to speak with the CO here about either shipping out west or being re-assigned here. I have no permit or proof of ownership for my weapon and will relinquish it upon request." He said curtly, looking the man in the eyes.

The private at the desk looked up. "Congrats El-Tee. You're one of six legit officers in the evac zone, and one of two for the Army." a moment later a USMC PT belt was handed to the ARNG Officer, "That's so people know you're one of us military types, since you don't have a uniform as of current. Go easy on the guys here, they're from all over hell's half acre, even got a guy from Alaska. Anyway, you'll have to talk to Captain Cook in the next tent over to actually get into contact with the chain. Other than that, Martial Law is still in full effect. Next!"

Bethany Nash
'No. The gun is my uncle's. I'm not handing it over,' she signed with a slight unconscious tremble to her gestures. Bethany looked up to the taller woman, her gaze hardening, but she lacked the impactful physicality to intimidate anyone much less a trained soldier who, quite frankly, looked fed up with the many problems an evacuation center of this size was bound to have. The girl had no choice in the matter, she knew this, but her mind was growing frantic with the thought of losing the only thing Uncle Will had given her (at least, the only thing currently on her person), and so she was stubbornly refusing to go along with the soldier's reasonable request if only to stave off the melancholy churning her insides. Given the choice she'd choose anger over sadness. Her hand cut one last time through the air: 'This is all I have.'

CWO Hannah "Mack" MacDougall, CANSOFCOM
Rochester Int'l Airport Evac Center, New York
September 27th 2017 // 7:48 PM

Hannah mentally sighed, sentimentality would be the end of the girl. She reached down for a drawer on the desk, pulling it open, she produced a tag, on it was a list of info for the owner of a weapon. Hannah stared a hole in the corporal's face as he looked at the senior enlisted woman, as she handed the man the travel tag. Her somewhat sisterly instinct would likely be the death of her. "Not a word, Corporal."

The man nodded, "Ma'am." A stamp later and a scribbling of info and the manila tag was prepped. On it was the girl's name and date of birth, as well as the weapon's description. Hannah handed the girl her ID, and strapped the tag around the gun's lever. Hannah's hands started flicking a bit fast but they should've been fast enough for the girl to follow, "Next tent over is the 'waiting room' you'll be given a ticket for a plane and asked to be seated, you'll be asked to board when a plane has an opening. Stay civil and don't let anyone know you don't actually have a permit."

The Corporal had already called for the next person in line, and Hannah's eyes had already shifted back to the crowd. There was a lot of movement, most of it was people simply shifting from foot to foot. But there was a helmet of a US Marine wandering to the line's rear that MacDougall could clearly see. Her ears, despite having years of combat strung through them, were still quite accurate.

"Hey Buddy, you alright."

What came next was incoherent, but what came next was clear as day, and just as terrifying.

"Oh Fuck!"

The ear shattering boom of the man's Mossberg going off was enough to cause everyone in the room some measure of tinnitus, and the rain of gore upon the surrounding crowd of people behind the man he shot was a stark contrast to the tent's dull grey.

Hannah grabbed the girl and pulled her into a carry, before stepping out of the way of what seemed like the entire tent scrambling for the exit to the terminal. Sans those 40+ people now covered in infected viscera, already starting to succumb to the virus. The one the marine shot was un-fucking-phased by having half it's neck reduced to pulp, and the sinew and bone that still held the former man's head in place pulsated in uniform cancerous growths already moving to create a gap of replacement tissues, as it's gelatinous blood pulsed out of the veins like tooth paste, clotting nigh instantly.

The average time it took for the virus to gestate was 6 minutes, in some cases it could go as high as half an hour, to as low as 12 seconds.

More than a few of those showered in gore were the former, setting off a chain reaction of infected as more and more people in the line started being grappled and killed, the helmet of the marine disappeared, either trampled under the feet of panicked men, women, and children or in the process of being eaten alive.

None of the soldiers in the room had a clear shot, not with all the civvies present. And the highest ranking officer present was her, so she acted, "Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!"

As Hannah moved with by her side, a few soldiers followed, and a few of the more gun-ho ones stayed behind, either knowing that a line had to be held, or foolishly thinking they could deal with the situation.

Pvt. Damian Thule, 1569th Transportation Company. (ARNG)
Rochester Int'l Airport Evac Center, New York
September 27th 2017 // 7:45 PM

Gunshots were what woke Thule up, and his mind was already wandering to what was going on, but in seconds it settled on the inevitable.

"Fuck me dead." he leaned up and out the truck's windshield, surveying the truck's immediate surroundings. No one else was around, all of them had headed to the bunks for rest, Damian knew that, he was the only one in the whole platoon that slept in the trucks he was supposed to drive.

This line would go nowhere fast, and the line was already breached. He had two options, one of them more logical than the others. Looking out the back, he took a quick look at what he was carrying one more time, from the boxes it looked like ammo, but from all he knew with everyone just packing what they could, where they could, it might've been four tons of baby wipes.

Turning back around he keyed the ignition, flooring it as he took off across the tarmac. The Major was his priority, the US had already lost enough senior COs, and it didn't need to lose another.

[Calindelo]

Ryan Emberson
Rochester Airport
September 27th of 2017

She blushed a little, the older boy picking up her choked sentence with strange ease. She reached out and shook his hand, her other one clutching the .380 pistol n her jacket pocket. "Julie, you...you trying to get out of New York too?"

Her little voice in her head slapped her self. OF course he is trying to get out, everyone is trying to get out! Come on Julianne, your one of the smartest teens in the US and you get googly eyed over a...cute boy talking to you?!"

"What a beautiful name." I say in response whilst smiling. "Yeah, my father and i are bound for the west coa--" I get interrupted by a gun going off, i quickly grabbed Julie and pulled her close to me. Everybody was screaming, and a lot of people were running, creating a stampede. "Shit..." I say to myself. I turned into Julie who was startled by the situation, well just startled, i didn't expect her to still have her shit together. "Hey, i'm gonna get you back to the man you're with, but at the moment, i'm here to protect you." I said to her, whilst holding her face.

Adrian Emberson
Rochester Airport
September 27th of 2017

I sat down at one of the airport waiting chairs, i stretched my back while sitting on the chair. "He's an adult, Adrian. he can handle himself." i whisper to myself. I slowly closed my eyes for a quick power nap, but that didn't last long, as i hear a gun fired, followed by screaming. I quickly stood up and pulled out my gun, people are running for the terminals, i observe the people running and i fail to see Ryan. Shit, shit, SHIT! I already lost everyone i love, i can't lose him too.

[Ormata]

Colt Isometsä
Rochester Int'l Airport Evac Center, New York
September 27th 2017

The boom of the Mossberg made him flinch; he remembered sounds just like that, before, bastards who had to see their enemies, often, before shooting. The rest of the guys, they often just sprayed into the brush because some goddamn fuckin…yeah, because some prick was in there with a rifle, picking-off the pilots in the choppers or hitting the guys as they made it off, because some prick in there had grenades and tossed them out like free tickets. So Colt flinched; it reminded him of days he most certainly didn’t want to remember, days when it was hot as hell and they came from nowhere.

A bit of wetness fell against the back of his neck, like spit but lukewarm, and the old man looked to his right, seeing the landscape before him. A young man, hell maybe in his twenties, had a little boy beside him, and his head was covered in red gore and puss. It was over his eyes and over his head, just a blanket of dripping muck, and one eye could just about see through it. In that eye, Colt saw something he’d seen before, just that absolute feeling of terror that glints off the light and goes deep into the core. The kid wasn’t much better, his free hand using the sleeve to try and wipe it away from his face and failing.

The man looked at Colt for just a split second, that eye of terror staring before turning into one of fear for...something, drawing-out a pistol with his hand and aiming down, awkwardly, pulling that trigger. Another layer of gore got added into those little moments, and then he tried to aim upwards, between his chin and the sky. A convulsion got to him, muscles spasming without thought, and the gun got dropped-down.

"Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!"

The stampede had already started, people shoving up from Colt’s behind, and he looked-away, running with them. There was nothing he could do for the man; if he drew his pistol, well, that would take too much time and he could hear them behind, changing and screaming and...Colt didn’t look. He couldn’t look. If he drew-back to hit the guy with his bat, well that would take too much time too, would be too unwieldy. There was nothing he could do.

[Torrocca]

PFC Lewis Rogers, 29th ID
Rochester Int'l Airport EC, New York
September 27th, Day 137

The split-second of action, the ensuing panic, and all the chaos that accompanied it was, in the lightest of terms, as clear as the day itself. Rogers, still dutifully watching the queue lazily progress, only caught a glimpse of the marine off to his far left approach someone. He moved as slow as the line itself, and said something to the someone he'd approached; what it was, he had no idea. It didn't matter. What came next, though, did.

"Oh fuck!"

That sudden scream, the panic in the man's voice, and the ear-ringing shot that rang out all did. He only caught a glimpse of the marine's frightened face, his shotgun leveled to the person, and that person's chest exploding into a red mist and spraying some two dozen or so people immediately around them. The screams from those around him were particularly more dreadful and terrifying than the blood itself - which exploded out in a way the PFC had never truly seen before - and the ensuing panic at the rear of the line, amidst all the chaos, pushed him into action. Once more flicking off the safety to his rifle and leveling it their way, he prepared for the inevitable. But something stopped him, freezing him up where he stood. It was that ungodly sight, the sight of the man who'd just seconds ago had his chest cavity evacuated faster than the actual evac with a shotgun at point-blank. He just... stood there. And he was still alive.

Rogers froze. He fuckin' froze, and he couldn't help but widen his eyes as he watched, as long as he could, what happened to the man and those around him next. Most of it was blocked out by screaming civilians running his way. Another few seconds that felt like hours. And he, for the first time, bore witness to the true chaos of the infected.

"Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!" Yelled a voice just behind him, loud and commanding, and he shook his head. He stopped a second to turn to his immediate right, shouting to the old, bat-carrying man, the Middle Eastern women, and all those other people beside him and screamed, "fucking follow me! LET'S GO!" More shots rang out behind him, but they were seldom heard; he didn't care, he just followed orders, and he ran. He didn't wait to see if the civilians he'd screamed at listened; the whole situation was FUBAR, the infected too much, and his fear too high. He fucking ran.

Between the civilians he pushed past, he could just barely make out the silhouettes of a few soldiers and the Canadian CWO, all making their own mad dash to safety. He raced after them as quick as his legs could afford it, even with his heavy gear. His heart raced faster than it raced when that boy played terrorist, his breath hissed through his mask harder and louder than ever, and every muscle and bone in the man's body ached as he booked it. Yet he would not stop to give neither his heart nor his lungs nor his legs a rest; his fear-stricken mind and every nerve in his body said one thing to him: "RUN!" The nagging bit of conscious still left inside his now primal-driven mind tried to get him to turn, to help, to stay and save as many people as he could, but he couldn't stop. Not then, not when there was nothing he could do. He couldn't make a difference.

All he could do was run.

[Arcanstotska]

Simon Yates
September 27, 2017

Gunshots. Simon heard gunshots and people screaming. At first, he thought it was just an incident, but then, the thought came to his mind that maybe it was the infected. The zombies. The damned walking corpses that feasted upon the flesh of those not yet infected.

Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" Simon immediately got his bat out, and ran. He didn't know where he was running to, he just knew he was going somewhere away from the infected.

[Parcia]

Alex Vernon, Rochester Airport

He had been trying to bargain for a set of winter jackets, and a pair of pants for Julie for some time now, haggling with a man as he tried to offer some of his meager supplies for the winter gear.

The man was...upsetting him, at the least. Changing his prices for no reason, insulting im him in what he guessed to be...Hindu? And Alex was halfway tempted to draw the walther and hold the man up for the gear, even with the armed guards, when the gun fire went off. Snapping his head down the terminal, he saw the splatter of gore and left the man were he was.

Remembering his Classes, he chose to no use the rifle, seeing to many people running around and not enough open space for a good sight line. So he drew the Walther, held it in a ready position, and made his way through the crowd. "Julie, Julie!" HE stopped. A nagging voice int he back of his head told him to leave the girl, that he barely knew her, and she probably is already infected...But he didn't move.

No, to many people have already died. TO many good people...Vern was at least going to go put her down is she really was infected.

Julianne Hoffman.

The shotgun blast caught her off guard, and the resulting splatter barely missed her. She froze, her flight or fight response stuck in a loop. She had a gun, one she at least some what knew how to use it, but...what could she do against 20-30 infected? No, she was going to run. Then Ryan put his hands on her face, and this broke the girl out of her freeze. "I...ok....l-lets..."

She clutched his hand, her own trembling, and gripped the Bersa in her other, the small black pistol being the only comfort, other then Ryan, she held.

[Axis Asteroid]

Jin Prince
Rochester Evacuation Center
September 27th, 2017

Switchblade between index and middle finger. Index to side of thumb. Wrap thumb underneath the blade. Reverse grip. Dip thumb under knife again and saber grip once more. Base of palm always at the grip of beneath the edge. Rinse and repeat. A mechanical process, quick and smooth, as natural as breathing. Movements relaxed, yet firm like flowing water. No jerking of fingers. No tensing of muscles. The blade dancing through the digits with each twirl.

Prince didn't even have to think about it at this point. After much practice, and the countless blisters that came with it, reversing his grip on the switchblade was as automatic as walking on two legs at this point. He could even swivel the grip across all five of his fingers if he wanted. Alison naturally disapproved, calling it a bad habit, and a tacky parlor trick at best, but just as everyone had an outlet to release their restlessness, their pent up energy, his was to manipulate his switchblade whenever he was idle.

Reversing the grip has practical purpose. He reasoned internally as he glanced at his companion. The redhead had her elbows rested on her knees, back hunched with hands clasped and fingers crossed, obstructing her mouth and leaving a pair of salt-grey eyes wandering and scanning the surroundings.

"Wilde, did you bring an Iphone charger with you by the way?" He asked, prompting the woman to lean back into a proper sitting position as she glanced at him.

Then came a deafening boom that split the air. Sudden, unexpected, abrupt. He jumped with a start, spooked like a deer in the headlights, the clamor rumbled through his chest and sent his ear drums ringing like a bell.

It took a second to fully register the implications of the noise. Then he heard the chorus of panicked screams, shrill shrieks and yelps of men and women alike joining into a disturbing melody just as multitudes of people ran through the terminal. Dozens. A hundred. More. Like ants flooding out of an anthill doused with boiling water, alarmed and frenzied as they desperately crawled towards the surface, driven to flight as they sought refuge from the threat.

What's going on!? His stomach felt heavy. Then he saw them. Through the flurry and blur of movement and fright, he saw bloodied figures, malformed and monstrous, clawing and biting into the retreating backs of the refugees furthest from the terminal as their black blood sprayed on those nearest time towards the back of the line. Flashes of gunfire followed as security tried to contain the threat, or possibly cover the escape, but it was only a matter of time.

I won't be an ant. I refuse to be the ant. Came the furious thought, which repeated again and again in his head like a silent mantra, drowning out everything around him. I was born for something greater than to become fodder. Not a bug, but a king!

Alison on the other hand, was already on her feet. Her eyes were hard and focused, keen as the sharpened edge of dark gleaming steel. Nothing like the dazed rut he was currently in. He then saw her lips move, but could not register her words. Then he felt something hit his cheek.

"We have to get out of here!" The woman hissed, her voice dripping with concern than anything else. That's when he realized she had smacked him a few times on the cheek, not too hard to cause pain, but enough to get him out of his stupor.

"Y-Yeah." Prince agreed as he pushed away the woman's hand from his cheek, a sign that he's regained his composure. The redhead then slung the rucksack over her shoulder and stepped in front of him protectively, her arm stretched in front of him almost as a shield as she looked around for an out.

He was not idle himself. Hazel-blue orbs surveyed the premises, darting in between the panicked throng of people running to and fro in every direction in a confused hysteria of tangled limbs and flesh. God, there were so many. Countless fearful eyes. Accompanied by the sounds of tapping feet, the soles of various shoes trampling over the terminal floor. He even saw people crash into each other, causing sporadic fighting and aggression that only added to the chaos. Pure anarchy in other words. Amidst the torrent of shouts and yells, he almost missed the authoritative voice coming from the reception tent at the front of the terminal. Almost.

"There!" He pointed, prompting his companion to follow his finger. He was too far to clearly hear what was said or shouted more accurately, but he was perceptive enough to spot the blur of movement from the tent and isolate it from the interplay of chaotic flurry in the terminal. In the distance, between the running bodies, they saw a uniformed woman fleeing in a certain direction with handful of other troops. They recognized her as the same lady who was gesturing hand signs at the front of the line outside.

"We need to follow them! The military will know where to go!" I hope. He urged, the last part left unsaid as he turned to the redhead.

Before the last word even left his mouth, they were already on the move, with Alison grabbing his hand as she sprinted towards the group of retreating troops, with him in tow. The two of them trailed the handful of fleeing security, dodging and weaving through the crowd as they did so, jostling and shoving through the distressed assembly when necessary.

It was a race against time, and they planned to win the gold. The alternative was to become fodder for the ever advancing undead, a prospect that seemed more and more likely if they stayed in place.

[Calindelo]

Ryan Emberson
September 27th of 2017
Rochester Airport

 

Julianne Hoffman.

The shotgun blast caught her off guard, and the resulting splatter barely missed her. She froze, her flight or fight response stuck in a loop. She had a gun, one she at least some what knew how to use it, but...what could she do against 20-30 infected? No, she was going to run. Then Ryan put his hands on her face, and this broke the girl out of her freeze. "I...ok....l-lets..."

She clutched his hand, her own trembling, and gripped the Bersa in her other, the small black pistol being the only comfort, other then Ryan, she held.

I'm not really an expert where to evacuate from an airport, let alone zombies being the problem. When she grabbed my hand, i could feel her trembling with fear, well i can't blame her, if she isn't here, i would be probably pissing my pants and crying in a corner, calling out for my father. Now, the only option i have in mind was go with the people running for the terminal exits, there's no way, at all, i'm running through the crowd.

I held her hand tight as we ran with the crowd, it was only about 10 seconds of running when i heard Julie's name in the distance. I looked behind my back and see the same man that she was recently with looking for Julie, but she didn't seem to notice, at the same time, i hear my name being called at my left, and i see my father spinning around trying to look for me. I was stuck in a decision, i either run back and go with the man, or go with my father. Considering my father was closer, i thought about going with him. But what about Julie? Won't she feel bad that we left her brother, father, or whatever behind? Well, the man was buff as fuck, i think he can wrestle 10 of these zombie fuckers at once. My father can handle himself right? He survived an encounter with an islamic terrorist back in NYC, saved countless lives in a fire, and he arrested a lot of the most wanted men in Rochester. I was nearly pushed to the ground by the crowd, i realized i need to make a decision NOW. I'm sorry Julie, but we can look for the man later. We ran both ran towards my father, and boy was my father happy.

Adrian Emberson
September 27th of 2017
Rochester Airport

"Ryan! Ryan! Where the hell are you!?" I exclaimed. i spun around looking for him, until i spot him, with a girl..? I hug my son after he went towards me, after letting go, i said "Look, i heard a soldier instructing people to go to the hangars, both of you, stay close, and follow me." I didn't have time to ask about the girl, and i just shrugged it off for the moment.

I went a different way than the other people are going. "Dad? Where the hell are you going? The sign says the hangars are this way!" Said my son,  i replied "Rochester International Airport Hostage Crisis, i know the layout. This way is faster."

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Jennifer Sloan
September 27th, 2017
Rochester Airport Safe-Zone

She looked at the boy, rolling her eyes as he practically cursed her name to the heavens. How the dipshit even knew it was her who snitched was beyond Jennifer; but he was gone now, and his angsty cries of revenge were not to come to fruition. The line moved up once again, the boy’s waste of space taken up by more worthwhile folks.

A dribble of snot dripped from her nose, the cold having a worse effect on her than she thought. Or perhaps it was that rush; the rush of imprisoning some dumb teen for what would likely be the rest of his life. Guilt swarmed her for but a second, but then she considered that perhaps she had done a service for the boy. He’d probably be safer in his cell, where he couldn't get killed or kill himself. He was dim, and she could tell this by his vacant cries and ridiculous plan of sneaking into the safe-zone with a gun. Regardless, he was gone now. Officer Carpenter and DeLesseps had stayed behind when the kid got hauled off, standing at attention with their arms at their sides. Jennifer shivered and shook, and then

Officer Graham Carpenter
September 27th, 2017
Rochester Airport Safe-Zone

It was done. The boy was taken off and gone. Officer Carpenter’s hand glanced against his pistol, a zap of stinging pain searing through his arm. The man swallowed, his backup, DeLesseps, standing right beside of him for support. Graham supposed he needed another pill right about now, and if he could just flip a tablet up over his tongue he’d be better. Much better. But there was no option right now, not in front of everyone here. They’d think lesser of him, of course, of course they’d think lesser of him who wants a drug addicted alcoholic cop on their team especially one that killed a kid especially one that can’t control himself from

He shuddered in the cold, stretching his fingers out in his gloves. Everything would be okay. They were gonna go in the hangar soon, he’d get to slink off into some restroom and pop a Xanax in there. And then that’d be it. But he still hated himself. Why? What had he done wrong, other than a dumb teenage mistake (murder) and a few bad decisions of substance abuse, under duress. He sighed, looking up at the crowd, and then

Clement Willoughby[
September 27th, 2017
Rochester Airport Safe-Zone

Briefly, he considered the possibility that his ex-wife was still alive. Clement supposed he felt an obligation towards her and his infant son, who were both likely rotting in some Texas Safe-Zone, if there even was one. The first days of the outbreak were but flashes in the dark to him, some thief in the night having stolen the memories away. He remembered the brief news reports, the few pictures that brave (now dead) journalists had snapped, the stories the survivors on the Internet had told. And that much was really it. He had gotten out of New York City the second people started eating each other, the very second any sign of his own danger had come into view. He was a coward. He supposed that was why he didn’t know, would never know if his wife (ex-wife) and son made it out of their home and to safety.

Clement gripped the slugger, hands rubbing the stiff bat nervously. He pushed his glasses up his nose, tearing at his upper lip with the bottom row of teeth. He’d probably die here. Clement didn’t want that, no, he didn’t want that at all, but he felt terrible, felt awful… but that was a constant for him, wasn’t it? Clement Willoughby, the depressed psychiatrist. Way to tell’em, Clement! He had in fact often thought of the old Tear that plank outta ya’ own eye, sucka! adage, derived from the Bible. It was funny then, that this apocalypse was one of Biblical proportions. Of course, Jesus hadn’t descended and taken all the good Christians up into Heaven, so then Revelations was off the table. Unless of course, there were no good Christians in this world…

His thoughts continued to drift, and then

Samuel Wayfield
September 27th, 2017
Rochester Airport Safe-Zone

Samuel Wayfield was nibbling on an apple slice, while Apple headphones were fastened to his ears. He chewed, eyes glancing back and forth to see if any other refugees were watching him with eager optics plastered in their sockets. Of course, nobody was paying him any attention. Why would they pay a small teenager like him any attention? They had their own problems, and he had his. In fact, Samuel had decided he wasn’t anybody’s problem anymore. Not for the moment, anyways. His parents were dead now; he supposed he had gotten over it the best he could for now. It had only been a few days since they passed, so yeah. He was doing the best he could considering the circumstances.

His foot tapped along to the music, his skin shaking his skinny frame back and forth. He loved the cold, yet despised it at the same time. Sam watched his breath leave his mouth, flowing through the air as hot smoke now. He sniffled, wincing. And then

Jennifer Sloan

the world exploded. Instantly, the rush returned to Jennifer, guns firing and blasting off into the night. She glanced around, head spinning with adrenaline delight. Huh, that’d be a good name for a desserrttttt…. She droned on in her mind, feet taking control of her and stomping her through the crowd. She was close enough to the front of the line she supposed, now just a few spots behind the deaf girl. Blowing past the zombies, clawing and groaning for their flesh and blood, she ran

Officer Graham Carpenter

and he ran

Clement Willoughby

and he ran

Samuel Wayfield

and he ran

Jennifer Sloan

and she ran. Things were only getting worse for them, Jennifer herself fumbling into her vest pocket as emotions rose to the very brim. Pulling out just what she needed, that being her trusty inhaler, stuck the end into her mouth and blew medicine into her mouth. And then she was back to running, dropping the inhaler into her pocket and

Officer Graham Carpenter

then DeLesseps was right behind him, as they finally approached Mack’s side of things. Graham reeled around, the screams and gunshots piercing his delicate ears. The officer’s pistol was already out, aimed at the mutant freaks that were having a buffet in the form of refugee. He saw DeLesseps running at him, and then one of their heads exploded right next to him. Graham’s eyes widened, gore and brain matter splattering DeLesseps. He stumbled at Graham, who took a step back.

”C-Carp-p-pent-t-e-e-rrr…” Were the last words Private DeLesseps ever spoke, before Graham fired two bullets, one zipping through his throat, and the other shooting in between his eyes, DeLessep’s nose now hanging by a thread of cartilage. He dropped, smacking against the ground. Graham looked past DeLessep’s body at the crowd of infected, then turned around. Some of the civilians weren’t going the right way. He’d have to

Clement Willoughby

leave them behind. They groped at his clothes, begging for him to take them with him, but Clement just ran. It was too late for them, they were already infected, they were already dead. And that was the fact of the matter, he decided, when an infected launched itself at him with a frightening grin on its face. At least, it looked like a grin to Clement. He saw the shiny molars covered in sinew and flaps of skin, and then the once-human zipping past him. Clement had barely dodged, running past the soldiers now, seeing the signs pointing him towards the hangar. He swallowed, following along

Samuel Wayfield

the path as best as he could. He had taken his headphones out, draping them over the back of his neck. They flopped along Samuel’s bony skin as he took off, spit accumulating with grandeur in his mouth. Some saliva dropped out, but he wiped it off with a free hand. He had dropped his apple slices back there, the fruit trampled under foot much to his dismay. He really liked Granny Smiths. He followed along the signs, and then Sam made

Jennifer Sloan

it to the hangar, taking no time

Officer Graham Carpenter

in getting to directing the citizens to where they were supposed to go. His hands were shaking, down two bullets after the firefight with DeLessep’s face. Graham grimaced, looking around as passing people came by. A man with thick rimmed glasses, a girl in a bubble vest and a baseball cap, a boy with earbuds over his neck, a man and a woman (perhaps a couple? He hadn’t seen much love in their body language, though), an old man who looked straight outta In the Heat of the Night episode, and then came the other trio.

A man, a boy, and a small girl were conversing near one of the signs. Graham glared at them, squinting to try and get an idea of just what they were plotting. They must have been a family, he initially surmised. Where’s mom? He thought, answering the question himself. As he continued studying them, he surmised that had their own plans of where to go; the fucking idiots were going to get themselves killed. He jogged to them, his pistol in his hands. “Hey! Follow the signs you three, none of the other paths are safe! Come on, let’s go!” He yelled at them, the blizzard picking up and blowing towards them. He only hoped that they heard him...

[Beiarusia]

Bethany Nash
Rochester International Airport Evacuation Center, New York
September 27th 2017

The woman didn't respond. Instead she reached down to a desk drawer, grabbed a tag, and after some scribbling attached said tag onto the rifle's lever. She then signed, 'Next tent over is the 'waiting room' you'll be given a ticket for a plane and asked to be seated, you'll be asked to board when a plane has an opening. Stay civil and don't let anyone know you don't actually have a permit.'

Bethany was silent for a long moment, not entirely sure she'd understood the woman's gestures, but slowly a smile crept into existence, breaking the near-hostile irritability with a softness that threatened to overflow as bottled-up emotions bubbled all-at-once to the surface, emotions that had been stifled as the world around them came crashing down. A sliver of happiness. The lanky teenager very nearly hugged the older woman, but she stopped herself, knowing it would be awkward for the both of them, and so merely signed, 'Thank you.'

Something changed then, the look of the woman going from weary to tense, and without warning she grabbed onto the teen and dragged her away from the crushing mass of panicked refugees, and with a small glance Bethany witnessed the chaos erupting behind her as men, women, and children succumbed to the virus, her blood going cold upon seeing the infected man standing amidst it all with neck torn asunder and tumorous growths congealing like gelatin. Fear gripped the heart of the girl like a tightened vise, and with it came the memory of the little town Uncle Will had called home being overrun, so far removed from the horrors of the world and yet the horrors had come to them instead. The cries and gunfire and the blazing inferno that had gutted the small downtown. The survivors, refugees, scrambling away with whatever they could carry with nothing left but the ideal of safety looming in distant Rochester. Bethany was frozen, moved only by the soldier dragging her along, but as a little boy tore into the flesh of his mother she willed her legs to work and followed after on her own volition, afraid to die, but more afraid to become like them.

The pair, Bethany and the soldier named MacDougall (as indicated by her uniform), pushed through the crowd and, in moments, were outside in the frigid September air, the world having gone white as the blizzard worsened overtop them. The refugees scattered like a stampede but with less focus, less a herd and more a free-for-all, pushing and shoving and pulling, going in every direction without so much as thinking and hindering the soldiers that were attempting to guide them to safety, and worse, preventing those trained and capable from combating the infection as it tore after in their wake. The whiteout conditions didn't help matters none. Many headed for the terminals, but MacDougall stayed on the tarmac, moving towards the hangars that, like the terminals or ATC tower, could not be seen in the obscuring whiteness. Bethany followed after like a duckling having latched onto its mother.

Gunshots joined the cacophony of screams and shouts and cries, a noise that Bethany could not hear, but it was loud, deafening, and as soldiers yelled they opened fire, striking infected and refugee alike, staining the snow red and yellow with push. From the whiteness stumbled a man, bleeding, collapsing in a pool of his own blood after mistakenly being shot by those he'd believed would save him. Bethany tore her eyes away from the sight and kept running. Her lungs burned and, mentally, she cursed the smoking habit she'd picked up.

Then again, she could really use a cigarette after this.

A grey shape could be seen moving through the whiteness somewhere up ahead. A truck most likely. Soldiers, perhaps, coming to reinforce the breached safe zone, or else abandoning the people if only to save their own skins. Bethany didn't know nor did she care. She could only keep running. Run. Faster. Cold air doing little to help her troubled lungs. She gripped her backpack and rifle strap tighter and followed after MacDougall as if her life depended on it.

It most likely did.

[Calindelo]

Adrian Emberson
September 27th of 2017
Rochester Airport

As we ran to the end of the isolated corridor, we came across an emergency exit, directly leading to the tarmac. I opened the door and the cold air of the blizzard blew in front of us. I didn't thought of it, but i forgot that none of us is wearing winter gear. I tell Ryan, "Ryan, grab her and cover her as hard as you could. Get out now!" Both of them quickly exited the airport and as i was about to go, i noticed a NYPD officer, was yelling at us, i presume that he wants us to go back there. I give the officer a stern look before exiting through the emergency exit myself.

As i came down the fire escape, i can see Ryan hugging the girl he's with, well, i can't blame him, as that's probably the only way both of them can keep warm. I look at the horizon, looking for the hangars, and alas, i found it. I pointed at the direction of the hangars and said, "Come on, hangars are over there. Stay alert and stay close to me."

[Torrocca]

PFC Lewis Rogers, 29th ID
Rochester Int'l Airport EC, New York
September 27th, Day 137

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit oh fuck oh shit," Rogers gasped out between each exasperated breath, running like hell after the CWO, the deaf girl whose hands were grasped in her clutches, and the entourage of fleeing soldiers and civilians trailing behind them. A greater cascade of gunfire erupted behind him, most likely cutting into the crashing tidal wave of civilian and infected alike without a care of discrimination between the two. He didn't dare glance back; he didn't know how close the infected were to him, and he didn't want to know. He just wanted out. His lungs, like his skin, burned in the cold, his vision grew watery, and his heart thumped painfully quick, but he didn't care. He knew that the Canadian knew best where to go, and he wasn't going to miss his one opportunity to get out.

More erratic, terrifying screams pierced his ears from behind him, as soldier and civilian alike likely succumbed to the swarm of infected individuals, and heavy footsteps could be heard crunching into the snow just behind him. His eyes widened; he glanced back over both shoulders, at last, to see he still had some distance between himself and the infected but, at the same time, still had some distance between himself and the rest of the soldiers. Dreaded peril set in, harsher than those lonesome childhood nights when one braved the darkness, and he feared more than ever of the worst of his predicament. The screams, the gunfire, and all the sounds of the chaotic mess behind him drew nearer, and his only respite seemed to draw further. Panic began to set in.

"Hey! Wait! WAIT!" he yelled ahead as best he could, hoping those ahead of him would hear, hoping they wouldn't abandon him.

Hope.

It was all he had left, among the millions of burning emotions of fear and uncertainty.

[Dayganistan]

Nisreen Al-Ghazi

It almost happened too fast to process. There was the shotgun blast, followed by mass panic as bodily fluids were launched through the air, converting anyone they touched into infected. She had to get moving, she was of no use to stay and fight. She didn't have a gun or any other sort of weapon to defend herself with. A nearby soldier called to follow him and Nisreen tried her best to keep him in sight while being pushed along with the rest of the crowd, trying to push through. Some other soldiers had started to open fire, Nisreen hearing the unfortunately familiar sound of sonic cracks as bullets flew past her. But in this situation it would take more than a few stray chunks of supersonic lead, steel and copper to get her to stop. No, she's survived artillery fire, cluster bombs, anything the various warring factions in Syria could throw at the civilian population. She refused to let some bullets and people infected with some disease take her out. She continued to push through the crowd, slowly catching up to the soldiers who had initially ordered people to start moving.

Soon she was outside in the abnormal cold for late September. The blizzard had gotten worse, the wind and snow blowing directly into her face. She at the very least had something on her head in the form of her hijab. It wasn't much to keep the cold and snow away, but it helped just enough. Most of the civilians who had made it outside started to panic, splitting into different crowds moving in different directions and dragging along anyone unlucky enough to get caught up. Nisreen tried to stay focused on the soldiers, she couldn't see them through the blizzard and the crowd she got caught up in, but she could hear their voices, voices ordering people to stay calm and follow them. She pushed her way through the crowd towards the voices.

"Hey, you're going the wrong way!" a voice near her shouted. But Nisreen ignored them. The soldiers were her best chance of survival. They had the weapons to fight off the infected. They probably were the best way to get out of here and get to somewhere safe. Her best chance of ever having the possibility of seeing her family again.

Nisreen was soon able to push her way through the crowd, finally spotting soldiers and the few civilians who actually listened. They were moving towards the hangers. Nisreen started to run in the same direction, hoping to catch up with them.

[Parcia]

Julianne Hoffman

What happened next was mostly a blur, Ryan yanked on her hand and she nearly dropped her gun as the two teens made it over to a large man who she guessed to be his dad.

The next thing she knew they were running, the sound of gunshots, screams, and flesh being torn from bone were all she heard. The cold hit her like a bucket if ice to her brain, and she suddenly remembered about Vern, about how he promised to keep her safe, and how she just left him there.

AS the two of them huddled there in the snow, trying to make it to the hangers while freezing their asses off, she spoke. "we...we have to wait...for Vern!"

Alex Vernon.

He was having his own problems. The infected were growing in strength, and he had lost Julie. Keeping the walther level, he tried to move against the crowd, only to be pushed back. Then he saw it, one of the infected. It's throat torn open and it's face covered nd dripping with blood. He raised the gun and fired once, twice, a third time. The first two hit its upper torso, causing to stagger before the third put golf ball sized hole in its skull.

The sight if more of them broke him from his concentration. A spike of fear rise in his mind and he turned and booked it towards the same exit door that (not known to him) that Julie and Ryan had escaped out of.

[Dernland]

James Lake

"Only six officers?" James thought to himself as he took the PT belt from the Private. He gave the man a nod before moving towards the exit door and away from the main horde of people. James stopped and took a moment to maneuver the sickening neon belt to fit underneath his pack, allowing it to stretch diagonally from left shoulder to right hip. He hadn't used one of these in a long time. He was about to exit and find his way to the Captain's tent when a few scattered shouts and a sudden bang shook the room. James looked back and was shocked to see his uncle Jonathan walking in through the cabin door, snow blowing in from the night's storm, an unusual bit of weather for mid fall.

"Jonny?" James' mother, Alice said, bounding up from the couch with a smile. James had only recently arrived from LA and was going to spend the week celebrating his birthday with some of his relatives. Jonathan, a few of his friends, and James' father had all gone hunting and shouldn't have been back until much later in the night, if not the next morning. "Back already? You only left a few hours ag-" Her smile faded as she noticed the blood that soaked her brother's arm. "What's happened? Where is everyone else?" Jonathan stumbled forward, groaning in pain as his body began to convulse. Alice rushed to him, shouting to James as she did so. "Go get the first aid kit! Now!" James didn't hesitate, he ran upstairs straight to the medicine cabinet and was about to return when he heard a bloodcurdling shriek from below, followed by two deafening gunshots.

James was shocked back to reality when someone pushed passed him, an officer carrying the young woman from earlier. She was shouting for everyone to run, though her voice was barely audible over the din of the attack and the shrieks of the infected and dying. James didn't disobey the order and ran out onto the tarmac following close behind some of the others. There wasn't a point in turning around and figthing, not unless James wanted to die a painful, bloody death that would likely be followed by a similarly bloody undeath. It didn't feel right to leave so many people behind, but he had to think of a bigger picture, at least, that's what training had taught him. Survive, regroup, fight another day. What did the Sun Tzu say? "Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing" Well the only way to achieve victory over zombies that James could think of was not getting eaten, so he was going to do just that.

[Hastur]

Elizabeth Pryzbylewski
September 27th, 2017
Rochester Int'l Airport Evac Center, New York State.

---

The last week or so had been chaotic. The exodus from her home in New York City back to the old family home in Tupper Lake and then the four-hour trip down to one of the few evacuations zones left in the state, a feat made surprisingly difficult with all the highways packed up for miles. With the odds against her however, she had made it. Now all she had to do was get on one of the planes out of here to the safe zones out west, the last hurdle being the extremely long line filled with like-minded individuals. Leaving a particularly long queue of people all awaiting salvation from those things outside and the incoming blizzard which was kicking up a mighty storm outside. Elizabeth stood there in line silently, slowly edging herself along as another person went through, her hands kept under tailored winter jacket, tucked tightly within her armpits as she tried to keep extremities warm.

She had lost track of time for how long she had been standing there. Had it been a Two hours? Had it been three? She probably shouldn't have left her watch behind during all the commotion in New York City around a week ago. Maybe that would have provided the answer to such an unimportant question, since it was beginning to look like they wouldn't be going anywhere soon considering blizzard that was overtaking them, spreading white snow spiraling down onto the tarmac runways and concrete walk-ways. But at least they had shelter and the military watching over them, keeping them safe with some real heavy firepower, although she wasn't so sure that would stop them.

A feeling of pessimism lurked in the shadows, egged on to come out in the open by the occasional report of gunfire in the distance carried by the howling winds, and the memories from New York City from news reports of it still fresh on her mind. It was hard for her to comprehend one of the biggest cities falling like it did, going from around eight million healthy people going about their day to day business to millions of infected overrunning everything, All within a single work week. Chances were most of the people she met were likely dead or one of those things, with it being lucky that she left town when she did. A nagging feeling of doubt plagued her, if they could hold them back then, what was going to stop them now? Those things seemed nigh unstoppable, unkillable. A reckoning that was long coming to them, or so the preachers claimed on the radio, the line about there being no more room in hell sticking with her, afterwards.

If the bulk of the worlds most funded military couldn't stop them, what were the chances of this place staying up that long? The longer the blizzard lasted, the more people that would be packed into the airport like sardines, with planes being unable to take off. Regardless with how bad it looked, there really wasn't much of an alternative. It was the best she could hope for, and the best chance of her meeting with Patrick again.

Elizabeth glanced ahead of the line, looking outwards towards the end doors of the large military tent, Spotting a Military woman making a series of rapid gestures which she didn't recognize towards a teenager, all of this just viable past the various different heads of inpatient queuers waiting to get inside. Sign language being her guess. Likely what was held up the queue for slightly longer than its already gridlocked pace. Making her craving for a cigarette only more intense as she grew more agitated. Although she wasn't the only one. As the surrounding people seemed similarly anxious and stressed out by with the long wait time. With one person being carted off by a police officer and national guard for attempting to smuggle in a firearm, further fueling murmurs about queue jumpers as some attempted to push themselves forward. Everyone just wanted in safely.

Then all hell broke loose.

A loud report of a gun caused Elizabeth to almost jump out of her skin, her ears filled with a slight ringing as she frantically looked for the source, only to spot her worst fear. A soldier had been hit in the neck with a round of buckshot, his wound spouting growths spouting as a blood like liquid with toothpaste like consistency pulsed out. The close range blast of twelve gauge buckshot had caked the surrounding crowd in blood. It was on so many people, and within minutes those unlucky enough to get hit by the spray, making it into their eyes and mouth.

Within minutes, they turned and pounced on others. The infected were now inside the tent, among them.

"Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!"

The crowd bustled forward rapidly as panic spread through the crowd faster than the illness could. Screams of terror and agony filled the small tent as everyone tried to desperately to push, shove and claw their way out. Elizabeth felt the crushing weight of hundreds pushing forward behind her as she became engulfed in the crowd, unable to see anything, leaving her only one direction to go. Forward. She pushed forward through the crowd violently, her breathing become more labored and strenuous as she desperately tried to navigate her way through the stamped, the infected not far behind, the ground below turning from gravel to a mixture of something uneven and soft. If she had a second to process the scene, she'd realize that she was trampling over people who had fallen under the tilde wave of panic-stricken people. The deafening sound of gunfire erupted from the front as rounds popped off, cracking overhead and through the crowd. Some people instinctively ducked to avoid them, only to meet the same fate as those who lost their footing, whilst most risked the bullets in order to make it to the exit, being hit by bullets in the process. It was pure chaos, with the only thing to do was risk the bullets. Elizabeth wasn't even thinking that far ahead as she continued to push, her mind focused on reaching the only means of survival. She felt a splat of a warm liquid on her face as a round cracked past her head, the person who was pushing in front of her to her right slumping down within the crowd, disappearing below. A few more screams echoed out, lot more people ducked. Giving those brave enough an opening.

Elizabeth was close enough to the front, she could see the small tent door and the whiteout outside. A small enough gap in the wave leading past the few soldiers and civilians that elected to hold the line. Her heart almost exploded from her chest.

This was her only chance.

She and many others darted from the crowd and past the armed soldiers running outside into the freezing weather. Mother nature kicking up a nasty storm. She trampled through the snow as fast as she could, her vision blurred as she could only see a block of humanoid figures running in one direction, heading towards what she assumed was the hangers. Elizabeth had no concept of where she was going, her fear addled eyes unable see anything outside what was almost right in front of her. For all she knew she could be running along the runway or towards the terminal building, but she didn't care as long as it was away from those things behind her. The cold wind slammed against her as she desperately ran for her life, Elizabeth hyperventilating as she gasped rapidly for oxygen, bringing in freezing cold air from underneath her mask.

The gunfire, which was just audible over the howling winds, was beginning to growing more frequent and aggressive, meaning that those things where no doubt going to be right behind them.

[Vacif]

Jules Trouvé
Rochester International Airport
September 27th, 2017 // Day 137

---

Gunfire and screaming. All it took was one guy. One shot. He didn't need the army to tell him to run, but where to run was much appreciated. Get out of gate B and get to the hangars. He could think of why it had gone down like the way it had when he was safe. Regrettably he wasn't exactly in running attire, especially what with 25 some odd kilograms of stuff on his back, but if he survived the next few minutes it'd be worth it. His insulated denim jeans afforded him some nice warmth and protection at the expense of some mobility. Likewise his leather winter jacket did the same. His supplies were self explanatory. Following the panicked masses he shuddered at the though of looking back. Nothing good ever came from it. All he could focus on was the way ahead.

As he ran forth he could practically feel the infected on his heels. He wasn't too far off from those that were splattered by the infected viscera. Soldiers further down the concourse had figured something bad had happened and had taken up positions firing upon the oncoming crowd. This was likely an attempt to control or stem the infection but how they determined who was infected was likely guess work. The infected didn't seem to possess a great deal of high functioning or coordination. He saw some people duck down when the first volley came, while others brazenly sprinted forth and bit the bullet. This was what true desperation looked like. Worriedly he scrunched up his face in determination as he moved forward, his body hunched over, head angled upwards so he could see where he ran, arms awkwardly raised to show he wasn't a threat. It would almost be comical were it not for the life or death situation he was poised in. He could see shooting, hear it, but luckily did not feel it. Before he knew it he'd passed the first group of soldier's who'd defiantly stood against the tide of flesh that was coming, he'd of liked to give them thanks but he knew he didn't have time and they'd never hear it.

When Jules' feet hit the pavement he was instantly hit with the familiar chilly wind of winter. He was glad that he'd kept his scarf and goggles on. He was damn near blinded by all the white when he got out. His breaths were at least some modicum warmed as he took in mouth fulls of air through his scarf. Many had been separated in the mad dash to get outside, but a steady stream of survivors were headed for the hangar as instructed and he was going to keep up. Well he hoped they were headed for the hangars, visibility wasn't exactly the greatest and he wasn't too too familiar with airport architecture. Even through the howling wind and his hat he continued to hear screams and gunfire. Though what he feared the most was when those guns and screams went silent. That meant no one else behind was left, and that the soldiers and fighters had been overtaken. If they died, what chance did he have? All he could do was continue along the loose conga-line to the hangar.

[Anowa]

-

-

---

"Check your Corners."
- US Army Training Manual

---

Military training demanded it, police training requested it, common sense advises it. Situational awareness is the basest and one of the greatest instinctual combat tools that every human could use to their advantage. But some did not heed mother nature's teachings and warnings. In the real world, a lack of situational awareness could result in getting hit by a car, getting mugged, or stubbing your toe, all situations that, while painful, were survivable...

Ryan's pulse couldn't help but skyrocket as diseased hands clamped themselves to his shoulders and pulled.

... But in the apocalypse, where diseased molars within an infested maw clamp down on someone's neck, and rotting nails break the skin on one's arm, a lack of situational awareness was not survivable.

With a massive chunk of flesh in it's toothy grasp, the infected man reared his head back, with a sickening squelch and a crunch of cartilage, Ryan's death was sealed. Even if by some miracle that Ryan were immune to the East Nile Virus, his current lack of airway and jugular arteries would kill him regardless.

Adrian... Well, Adrian was faced with multiple choices. Though whether he could make them knowing his most recent one had resulted in his son's death was yet to be seen, and as Ryan crumpled to the ground, dead, the zombie stumbled, now focused on the girl.

[The Knockout Gun Gals]

Kim Lee Hoon
Rochester International Airport Evacuation Center, New York
September 27th 2017

Kim was waiting in the line, on the other lines. When he stood around, he already exhaled his first asthmatic medication, as he still has some left, but whether or not it would buy him some time would have to wait. As of a sudden noise sprung up to the air, a shotgun of sort. And then it ensued, the massive routine of people running, frantically and desperately avoided the infections that swoop the refugees. "Get to the fucking hangars! MOVE!" was all that was heard when it happened. He ran, he ran, with all of his backpack that remained with him. It was obvious that the zombies are more than capable to chase them. He had to left his co-workers, whether or not they alive, well, that's another thing in the future to be worried of.

He ran, and ran, and ran, until he was outside and on the feet of his are snows. Hangar was the route to go. And thus, he ran there.

[Parcia]

Alex Vernon

He slammed open the door, having swung closed after the last person's attempt to bar the infected inside. That person was long gone, fallowing the stream of people making a break for the hangers. He had another objective at hand. He unslung the rifle, chambered a round, and set of in to the snow. "Julie! Julie!" He called out, his voice barely making a sound over the roar of the blizzard.

Then he heard her scream.

Julianne Hoffman

The sight of the infected man made her jump, literally. The sight of Ryan...of him being bitten in to...she let a blood curdling scream out. As the infected man stood over his fresh kill, she stumbled back. Her instinct kicked in and she remembered what that cold hunk of metal in her right hand was for.

She raised the Bersa pistol and fired off the 6 shots at the man, no, Monster. The 6 rounds impacted his chest in rapid succession, causing him to step back with the combined impact of the .380 rounds. Though, her luck seemed to have gone to shit, as she had missed the one thing Vern had told her to hit: The head.

The zed snared at her and stepped forward, now nearly standing over the girl. Her life flashed before her eyes as it seemed to be it for her. 15 years only to be eaten by some...thing on a frozen tarmac.

Then she noticed the growing shadow behind it.

A black rifle but appeared and slammed in to the things head with a sick whack, slightly muffled from the blizzard. The zombie crumpled to the ground, only to begin to squirm and grasp of the foot of the man. A shoe came down on its throat, hard. The sound of bones cracking and veins splitting open could be heard as a gun barrel was place neatly on its forehead.

It was then she noticed that that rifle looked oddly familiar. A muffled crack range out through the immediate area and the zombie went limp, the .22 winmag bullet burring it self in the brain of the thing that was once human.

Alex Vernon

He held the rifle on the zombie for a split second after the shot, half expecting the bastard to start moving again, but relived to find it not doing so. He slung his rifle and knelt down next to Julie. "Are you bit?" She kept staring at the body of the boy for a few moments longer before slowly turning to him and shaking her head.

Fuck...I think she's slipping in to shock. The thought appeared in his mind. grabbing her by the hand, he pulled her up roughly and pulled her along back towards the safety of the military hangers. He had to keep her moving, keep her going before what she just witnessed set in and she freezes up.

[Imperialisium]

Ekaterina 'Kat' Valery
Rochester International Airport

I hate waiting in fucking lines.

Kat checked the straps of her bag one more time. One more time being entirely an understatement. She had checked it, periodically, almost religiously. For the past hour. The American military was rifling through peoples bags, checking permits, and screening individuals as the crowd shuffled on. Step by step. The weather conditions where getting worse. It was all fucked now. All going to shit. The Americans in all their self proclaimed excellence had fallen apart just as fast as everyone once the infection had arrived on their shores. Nowhere was safe anymore. Unless, maybe up in the Artic. But then you only had so much food and when that ran out you were probably going to starve to death. Indeed, hope was a receding thing. Shuffle. She looked about herself, scanning the faces in the crowd casually, but deep down she was noticing differences. Facial expressions, equipment, personal effects, how people held their hands in their pockets.

Someone fucking k----

GET TO THE FUCKING HANGERS, MOVE!

Kat's head snapped around to the sound. The sound of the Mossberg registered moments before the words did. Shit had hit the fan pronto. People where panicking, screaming, pushing and shoving. Kat wasted no time shoving a man out of her way as the crowd surged in all directions. Overwhelming the few military personnel not also high tailing it to the hangers. A child fell before her. She jumped over the body as she sprinted towards the hangers. Her hand reaching the bow strap to bring it off her back and into her hands to prepare for loosing arrows. People where screaming all around and behind her. She wasted no time in entering the hangers and looking about. Pulling an arrow from her quiver she held the bow at ready. Checking her corners, scanning her eyes back and forth, moving her head left to right and back again. Checking peripherals and behind her as she edged to gain a more tactical view of the situation.