OUTBREAK (Survival, Reboot) - IC

[Beiarusia]

-> OOC <-
• The Pub •
OUTBREAK: A Survival RP

T H E M E

It happened so suddenly, the beginning of the end.

Millions have been infected, the victims of a plague unlike any other once before witnessed in the brief history of mankind. A deadly contagion that, within weeks, has brought the most powerful nation to its knees. Quarantine has long since failed; countless have died, and many more have been consumed by the ravages of illness. Others have suffered a worse fate. Now, in the aftermath of ruin, a new dawn is soon upon us. For those fortunate enough to have survived, whether by fate or sheer determination,
things will never be the same.

No help is coming.

No safety exists.

Will you, a survivor in the twilight of human civilization, discover the truth of our death?
Or will you succumb to infection?

---

---

DAY 31
Monday, August 10, 2015
74°F (23°C) - Cloudy

Samantha Tallow
McAllister's Pet Supplies, Chicago

The girl had spent the night sleeping in a dog’s kennel. Admittedly, it was quite comfortable, more so than a regular bed even what with the abundance of blankets and soft bedding, and while not for the claustrophobic the plastic walls did give a much needed sense of safety when outside there was none to be found. There was even a restroom with functional plumbing. Had there been food the girl could maybe justify staying a bit longer, but no matter how safe or comfortable she was there were more pressing concerns that had to be addressed before the coming day was out.

Namely, finding her father.

Her father was a CFO for a multinational corporation and had been in the United States for business. Samantha, his only daughter, had accompanied him as she had many times before when not in school. They had been on their way to the airport to leave for home when the attacks happened, although it wasn’t until much later that the girl was privileged to the knowledge of just how bad the situation had become, by which point it was already too late. Her father, however, was optimistic even as the civilized world fell to pieces around them, but if he truly was hopeful or else lying for the sake of his daughter Samantha would never know. He’d never tell. As for where he was now, the night before yesterday they had been separated by those things while attempting to find a safe passage out from the city. They had a plan to meet up should something like this occur, but given the state of the city it had been slow going for the girl as she had to be even more considerate of her surroundings given her disability. Still, she couldn’t be too far from where they had planned to meet and no doubt her father was awaiting her. Maybe his optimism had worked in the end.

Samantha crawled out from the kennel and stretched, feeling a bit exposed in the darkened store but otherwise having no cause for alarm. The pet store hadn’t been touched by the riots save for a broken window and a mess in a few aisles, and better still no animals were sold here, meaning Samantha did not have to contend with the thought of finding the poor creatures dead in their cages. A thorough search of the building had turned up nothing or importance, and after doing her best to lock the door to the manager’s office she had fashioned herself a bed for the night. Now it was simply a matter of making certain she had everything before leaving.

Her backpack was sitting atop the kennel and hadn’t been touched. A paranoid thought to be sure but one couldn’t be too careful given all that had happened. Inside it were some spare granola bars, a portable radio (which was useless to her), flashlight, and most importantly her sketchpad, plus a few other odds and ends. Clothing wise she only had what she wore currently: a t-shirt with black leggings, denim skirt, and a pair of fuzzy boots that weren’t all that great to run in. She’d been wearing the same outfit for almost a week now and was entirely self conscious of her need for a shower.

Satisfied that everything was where it should be, she slid the backpack over her shoulder and cautiously made her way out from the little office. The empty store greeted her. Samantha made a quick round through the aisles (and the restroom), and finding nothing to be wary of she set off for the storefront, but had she been thinking long term she would have snagged a few cans of dog food along the way. The girl was simply oblivious to the fact that she, a human, could eat such foodstuffs. The front of the store was mostly intact other than the smashed window. The registers were empty but not broken into, the lanes were tidy, and warm light was filtering in from the glass entranceway in a way that was almost inviting. Outside was another matter entirely. The street was desolate and more than a bit foreboding. Not as bad as downtown, but Samantha was reluctant nonetheless to leave the relative safety of the pet shop. Steeling herself, she stepped up to the broken window, glass shards cracking underneath her feet, and slowly she peered outside like a meerkat poking its head from a burrow. Nothing but the lonely echo of what had once been. Slowly she emerged from the store and took stock of her situation.

She wasn’t very confident in herself but regardless she had to push ahead. The girl allowed her father’s optimism to give her hope and thus determination, and slowly she made her way down the street, eyes alert for any danger that may well sneak up upon her. The girl’s only lasting concern was whether or not she was heading in the right direction.

[Monarchy of Japanada]

John Wilcox

John walked through the streets of Chicago with his trusty axe in hand, perfect for splitting infected heads, slashing their heads off, breaking windows and multiple other things as well. The streets were filled with trash, abandoned cars, broke windows and the regular corpse every once in a while. He had previously eaten a snack of cold vegetables and meat cooked at a nearby series of small stores, just enough to not sicken, toss and turn your stomach. John was lucky to keep up his composure, ever since his father passed he barely saw a friendly soul, and never traveled with any, likely they were busy, too paranoid or thinking this world was too much to bare, like they were going to put a bullet through they're brain, cut up they're skin and punch themselves out cold, John couldn't say he blamed them though. He continued to stroll on, carefully scanning his surrounding every which way, only to see an infected shambling. He slowly moved over to a bench, letting his body slide down and stay next to it. Thankfully the thing moved away, and John was able to sneak through an alleyway to another street.

[Krytonus]

Wallace Pines.

It had been a long time since Wallace had left his apartment. Generally, this was nothing out of the ordinary, but this was the longest he had ever spent without going outside. No midnight trips to the 7/11 for snacks, no excursions out to the movies, or even to take out the trash.

This was because of The Apocalypse.

It had started pretty simply. Some crazy contagion was spreading but the government had it all under control blah-de-blah-de-blah. Wallace, being far superior intellectually to the average fool, had known that things were not going to get better and, in his last venture outside the apartment he had stocked up on as much food and drink as he could buy and then boarded up the door. It was a pretty sweet plan. He had plenty of Pepsi Max and snacks, he had his laptop and he had electricity.

Electricity had gone first, but Wallace had expected that. He'd wisely invested in a solar charger, which he was forced to precariously shove out of his window and keep in place with a spare plank of wood to reach the sun and therefore keep his laptop running, but it worked. And so even as Chicago was bathed in darkness, Wallace's pale, sweaty face was lit up by the familiar glow of his trusty computer.

His days were spent whittling away the hours playing whatever he had saved. He'd gone overtime downloading as many games and movies as he could onto the thing before the internet inevitably went out, so it wasn't like he was stuck for content. Meals now consisted solely of Pepsi, Pringles, Jerky, Cheetos, Skittles and whatever other junk food had been most affordable when Wallace had purchased his stockpile. But even Wallace was starting to get sick of the same Sour Cream and Onion Pringles.

It was around the end of the second week when Wallace realized he was running out of food quickly. He'd tried to ration, but not even the literal Apocalypse could embiggen his self-control enough to stick to the plan.

And now, it was finally time to leave. He was almost completely out of food. He had a couple cans of Pepsi left, but his food supply had been completely emptied. He'd packed his bag with everything he needed, he'd grabbed a baseball bat, and he was ready to go out and show the world how much of a hero he really was. He walked slowly up to the door. It was still boarded up. Wallace clenched his fists.

"I will be prisoner here no longer." he whispered. The door didn't reply. Wallace turned around to face his apartment. There was a pang of sadness in his heart. He was sorry to leave it. But it was time.

"It's time." Wallace said. With a grunt, he swung the bat against the planks of wood. The bat immediately bounced off and smacked into the side of the wall. Wallace yelped in surprise. He sighed and took a moment to compose himself, then stepped back and raised the bat again, like a sword. Then he launched forward, yelling for glory. This time he smashed through the barricade and with a triumphant grin, Wallace opened the door into his hallway.


"Haha!" he laughed. "I am free!"

On the other side of the hall, something stirred. It twisted and shook at shocking speed, spinning to look at Wallace. It was Wallace's neighbour, Terry.

Or rather, it had been.

Terry howled and charged towards Wallace, running on a leg that was clearly broken and twisted in the wrong direction, making movement stuttered and unnatural. Wallace screamed and closed his eyes and swung the bat. There was a resounding clonk and another, more high-pitched howl as Terry was thrown backwards by the blow. Wallace opened his eyes to see Terry's skull had partially collapsed. This had seemingly angered Terry, but not stopped him.

"Fuck!" Wallace screamed as he clocked Terry over the head again. And again. And again and again until Terry's head looked like strawberry jelly.

"You can't beat me you leftist fuck." Wallace spat.

Fucking liberal SJW prick. No wonder he got killed so easily.

With another heavy sigh, Wallace took one more look back at his apartments as he wiped Terry off of his shirt. Finally, he hitched up his backpack and descended the stairs down and out of his apartment, into the streets.

[Futrellia]

Windsor Fire Station 1
815 Goyeau Street
Windsor, Canada

Here i was. Back at my former home away from home, Station One. This was where me and a dozen or so other men worked, ate, slept, talked, laughed, everything. As i stood in front of the station across the street, i had to stop and look at it. It wasn't spic and span, nice and new, and it certainly didn't seem home to anybody anymore. The glass doors were busted out, the first three bay doors were wide open, though there were no tankers or engines, no bustle of the call, just silence. The wind blew slightly, and my eyes snapped to the bright colors of the maple leaf flag suspended above the lobby on a light grey pole. A distant gunshot shook me awake from my dream state staring at the station. All of the pain, worry, paranoia, and fear rushed back into me and i sprinted for the front door, my .32 Tiger drawn and loaded, six rounds into it. It was a shitty pistol, something my granddad brought back from Brazil, but it was better than nothing.

The interior was trashed. The tables, chairs, everything was thrown around or missing. As i explored deeper into the vehicle bays, all of the racks were picked clean, the bunker gear, turnouts, helmets, everything. I just hope it was worth it. As i creeped through the vehicle bays, i had arrived at the secondary building: the bunks, kitchen, meeting room, weight room, laundry room and storage. I never wanted to leave Windsor. I had my apartment boarded up, enough supplies to last a solid three months on rationing, before my fuckin' neighbors pulled one over on me. Came cowering to my door, crying, screaming, saying the bandits were going to kill them, so me being the righteous one, opened the door. Guns drawn, they corralled me into a corner and proceeded to take everything. Picked my kitchen and storage clean. All of my food, basic supplies, gone. Left me with my pack and gun and told me to stay safe before leaving. I would have drawn on them, i swear by the lord, if they weren't packing a twelve gauge and an AR. I was left with nothing, so here i am. Loaded up, scavenging around for whatever i can find, coming to my old work, trying to find something that can sustain me for my trip to Detroit, then to Chicago. While i searched through the nearby living room, i couldn't help but think back to my mother, who was working in Chicago when everything here went down. She never called, texted, messaged me on Facebook, nothing. Maybe she was picked up and shipped to the FEMA stations around the city, maybe she was killed, or maybe she was run out of town. I honestly didn't care about the first and last option, but if she was dead, there would be nothing left for me. I'd try to leave Chicago, make it down to some of the other towns around that area. Anywhere but Canada. Before i abandoned my duties, all of us remaining Firemen just huddled around the TVs and radios of our station, trying to hear the news through the loud sirens. Ontario was pretty much on fire, there was no city in the province that was doing okay. London, Hamilton, Toronto, all of 'em were on the brink of collapse last i heard, and that was only local news. We never heard or saw anything about the state of the rest of Canada, never knew what happened to the Prime Minister or Parliament Hill, not that we much cared, they obviously couldn't save us.

I slowly pushed open the heavy wooden door that entered into our dorm, my pistol raised, my breathing calm. As i moved the door completely out of my field of vision, i could see the damage. Beds were knocked on their sides, mattresses thrown about, dressers, coffee tables, a few of them burnt laid strewn across the hardwood floor. I could tell that it was all soaked, most likely from the fire suppression systems. There was nothing left worthy to be picked for me, someone else got all of it. Just from the way the dorm and living room looked, i knew there was nothing left anywhere else, why would there be? I needed to move on.

As i exited through the lobby and out from whence i came, i looked across the landscape. Across the street was the shopping mall, where i heard voices from within, and passed it by. The parking lot was fenced off, blue tarps had decorated the inner portion of the fence. The parking lot was being used by PSC, or Public Safety Canada, to round up all those who hadn't been infected into school buses and get them the hell out, towards London, the larger city next door. Apparently they thought going deeper into Canada was the answer. I continued walking on, past Goyeau Street, turning right onto Tuscarora Street. I knew i wasn't far from the Detroit Windsor Tunnel. There were going to be no stops into Detroit, and i knew even going there was going to be like walking into hell, but if i played it right, i would survive, find my mom, and make something out of this. Or die trying.

[Ontorisa]

Outside of Chicago
1425 Hours
Day 31
PFC. Carey Mitchell
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

The quiet rumble of the HUMVEE on the broken pavement was the only redeeming and peaceful factor of the ride out of the shitshow formerly known as Chicago. For the entire ride, everyone in Mitchell's HUMVEE were dead silent, simply reminiscing over what they had witnessed in the city, and what had happened the day before. O'Brien's HUMVEE being overrun by those things, Zulus, the military called them, the carnage on the streets and the chaos on general. Order had been lost, control had been lost, Chicago had been lost. And now, Renegade 2-3 was on a mission to establish a safezone? Looking out of the HUMVEE's window, Mitchell simply looked at the countryside of the various suburbs and hastily constructed defences that had been abandoned not long after being completed.

"Fuck." Renegade 2-3's leader, Sergeant Derek Thompson growled as he looked to his left out the window. "Think we just found Hyena 6 boys."

Mitchell raised himself to look out the left side of the HUMVEE, only seeing the skeleton of a downed MH-60 Blackhawk, its carcass continuing to burn as a few scattered bodies could be seen thrown around it. Hyena had been another US Military company that had been fighting the Zulus in Chicago. Hyena 6 was their commander, and obviously, the guy was more fucked than the situation was right now. Shaking his head, Mitchell let his head rest against the HUMVEE's window again. The entire situation was demoralizing as it was. 2-3 had effectively been cast out from the rest of the company, given a mission that made no sense, had no clear objective and were now wandering outside of Chicago, trying to figure out what they were going to do. They would have to figure out something, since none of the vehicles had an infinite supply of gasoline.

"Listen, Sarge, I was thinking," The front passenger, Corporal Victor Kellsman, spoke up after a period of silence. "There's a small school near by in Wheaton. We could set up shop there."

"It's too close to the Zulus, Kells." The man sitting next to Mitchell, 68W10 Nathan Callahan, spoke up, a bit of anger in his tone. "Too close to home too, I don't want to face those things again, just in.. case..."

Callahan's voice trailed off, heavy with emotion, before he looked out of the window again. None of them knew what to have expected when they had been deployed to Chicago. Many had thought it would've just been a simple show of force, just to tell the local populace to fuck off. Those things, when they had heard the screams over the global channel, were horrifying, even more so in person. And to see what those they felled did not too long after? All of them had saw a Zulu or two in a weekend warrior's uniform. It was terrifying to think of, and that this fate might have befallen to their brothers in arms?

"Cally," Mitchell finally spoke, his throat dry, tight, as he struggled to get the words out. "We have to stop soon, we have a mission. Donnell gave this to us, and we're gonna complete it. Right Sarge?"

Mitchell looked at the rearview mirror, hoping to catch his sergeant's gaze. Instead, he got the side of the combat helmet, as his sergeant focused on the road ahead. Sighing in frustration, Mitchell returned his attention back outside, passing by a small cluster of suburban houses. A family or two could be seen, hastily packing in light of the news occurring in Chicago. With the military pulling out, it was effectively an announcement to pack your shit and get out before they got to you. Thompson at the front cursed, before activating his radio.

"All Renegade 2-3 elements, halt. We have a few civies up ahead flagging us down." Thompson spoke quickly before looking back at the men in the HUMVEE. "Stay frosty. We look after our own first from here on out."

In front of the HUMVEE, a few men and women stood in the middle of the road, waving at the HUMVEES as two cars could be seen behind them, a slight distance apart, their front lights bashed out from a collision of some sort. The accident obstructed the road, preventing the military vehicles from progressing, much to the annoyance of ever single soldier in Renegade 2-3. The small convoy of 3 HUMVEES and the FMTV carrying the Safe Zone equipment, halted As the HUMVEE gunners scanned the area, keeping a sharp eye out for anything suspicious, the soldiers dismounted, Thompson and Kellsman approached the civilians. Eventually, Mitchell was motioned to follow them right after.

"Listen, you have to help us, we need to leave now!" One of the civilians pleaded, pointing to the car. "Don't you guys have some sort of way of moving the cars?"

"Listen buddy, we have fuck all to help you right now." Thompson snarled before looking at the cars. "We're stretched thin as it is, and we cannot afford to divert any of our assets to fix, this."

Emphasizing the point, Thompson threw his hand up, pointing to the cars. Slight lie in Thompson's statement, as far as everyone knew, there weren't anymore US Military assets left in Chicago. Either they were foolishly holding out somewhere in the city, they had escaped and left the area or they were overrun and had fallen to the Zulus.

"Come on, please, you guys are the macho guys right?" The civilian grabbed Thompson's ACU jacket, prompting Kellsman and Mitchell to raise their rifles and point them at the man. "Please! I don't want my family to be stranded here!"

"Hands. Off." Thompson growled in a low tone as he looked down at the man's hand. "I won't repeat myself. You don't let go in five seconds, and I'll have someone put a round in your head."

The civilian let go, stepping back a few feet before resting against the car. The rest of the civilians looked on in horror at Thompson's threat. They had just went from being the good guys to being no better than the things that they were running from. Mitchell lowered his rifle as Kellsman kept his trained on the man before shifting his aim to the rest of the civilians. He then lowered it once he concluded no one posed a threat to the troops anymore.

"Now, move your fucking cars." Thompson ordered the civilians in the most menacing tone he could muster.

"The tire's popped." Someone spoke up in a quiet voice.

"I don't give a fuck, move them." Thompson held his hand up and twirled his finger as the troops began to move back into their vehicles, the civilian cars after some time moving off of the road.

The convoy proceeded, Kellsman behind the wheel of the lead HUMVEE this time as Thompson looked out the passenger seat window, clearly contemplating what he had just done. Threatening civilians like that, what was he becoming? Mitchell wondered this as he laid back in the HUMVEE's seat, continuing to look outside, thinking about the events that had just occurred.

---

Safe Zone Echo-6
Wheaton, Outside of Chicago
1600 Hours
Day 31
PFC. Carey Mitchell
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

The squad had gone through with Kellsman's suggestion of the school in Wheaton. It was located on the top of a hill, had a nice view of the surrounding area and if Mitchell's military instinct told him anything, it was easily defensible. If something were to want to attack the Safe Zone, it or they would have to either follow the winding road upwards, or scale the steep hill itself. After that it or they would have to breach the chainlink fence that had been there before the troops got there. It was everything that Mitchell had hoped the Safe Zone would be: dull, bland and looking more like a prison than a place for people to escape to.

After helping to set up another large medical tent, Mitchell looked around at the now 8-man squad, everyone busying themselves with some sort of work, whether if it was helping to set up the Safe Zone, or standing on top of one of the portable sections of the school, keeping an eye out for any sort of trouble. Kellsman passed by Mitchell, lugging a piece of wood or some sort, towards the front entrance to the Safe Zone.

"Kells," Mitchell called out, causing the Corporal to turn, swinging the piece of wood around to face Mitchell. "How the fuck is a group of eight men supposed to garrison a supposedly fully functioning Safe Zone?"

"Lots and lots of luck." Kellsman smiled slightly, readjusting the piece of wood on his shoulder. "I don't think we're gonna stay here if no one shows up. Anyone who's not a dumb fuck left weeks ago once word of this whole shitshow in Chicago broke out. Those people who are dumber than a fucking brick are more than likely either dying or dead right now. If no one shows up, we kept our mission to Donnell, and we'll be getting outta here."

"Say if we do complete our mission and no one shows up, what do we do then? Where do we go?" Mitchell asked, dusting off his hands and taking the piece of wood off of his fireteam leader's shoulder and putting it onto his own. "Back home? I'm pretty sure this, disease, whatever it is, would've hit Virginia."

"Dunno, way above anyone's paygrade here." Kellsman shook his head before taking off of his helmet and scratching his head. "I think we should head west, always wanted to see the Rocky Mountains before I got eaten alive by a dead cannibal."

The two soldiers shared the joke, chuckling before Mitchell carried the piece of wood to the entrance of the Safe Zone where Specialist Daniel Michaels was busying himself with setting up a handmade sign that said:

Safe Zone Echo-6
United States Military

"What's that?" Michaels asked Mitchell as he approached with the piece of wood.

"Kells was bringing this over, I decided to help out." Mitchell replied before pointing at the sign. "What's that for? And why do you need so many pieces of wood?"

"I figured we might as well make an effort of making this place look official." Michaels groaned, looking down the road. "I mean, we're hopefully not gonna be here for very long. I hope not. I wanna get moving before Chicago catches up."

"Yeah but-" Mitchell turned his attention to the road, where both he and Michaels noticed a car speeding down the road before making a sharp turn onto the road that led.. up to the Safe Zone. "The fuck? Yo! Sarge! We got incoming!"

Thompson rushed out, his combat uniform on and his rifle at the ready as he scrambled to Mitchell's position.

"Zulus?" Thompson gasped, catching his breath.

"Civies." Mitchell replied as the car neared the top of the hill.

Squad Leader: SGT. Derek Thompson
Squad Medic: 68W10 Nathan Callahan

Fireteam Renegade 2-3 A
Fireteam Leader: CPL. Victor Kellsman
Fireteam Rifleman: PFC. Carey Mitchell
Fireteam Automatic Rifleman: PVT. Henry LeBlanc
Fireteam Assistant Automatic Rifleman: SPC. Victor Alfredsson

Fireteam Renegade 2-3 B
Fireteam Leader: CPL. Tim O'Brien [KIA]
Fireteam Rifleman: PVT. Andrew Sanchez [KIA]
Fireteam Automatic Rifleman: PFC. Eddie Princeton [KIA]
Fireteam Assistant Automatic Rifleman: SPC. James Lannugan [KIA]

Fireteam Renegade 2-3 C
Fireteam Leader: LCPL. Simon Lances
Fireteam Rifleman: PVT. Will Garcia
Fireteam Automatic Rifleman: PFC. Chris Franson
Fireteam Assistant Automatic Rifleman: SPC. Daniel Michaels

[New Finnish Republic]

James Koski

Uptown Chicago

Day 31

It's quiet...

This was the first thought that popped into James's mind as his eyes suddenly shot open. Careful not to make any noise as he did, he slowly inched his way out of the small shed that he had called home for the past several days. He had become so accustomed to the sounds of screaming, gunfire, helicopters, and even the occasional explosion, that the seemingly tranquil morning put him on edge. Reaching towards his waist, he grabbed his sidearm from its holster and cocked back the hammer, prepared to fire at anyone or anything that might have been waiting for him outside. At a pace that only someone with the patience of farmer could possess, he finally made his way outside. After several minutes of scanning his surroundings, James breathed a sigh of relief and put his sidearm away. With a grunt, he began to stretch out, various aches and pains silently screaming out at his brain as he did. An all too familiar rumbling in his stomach caused him to reach into his pocket for what remained of his food. A meager supply of peanuts and berries was all he had left as well as a bottle of water. He sighed as he ate what would likely be his only meal of the day. He'd have to go scavenging around once more. Same old shit, I guess, he thought as he reluctantly began to sneak his way across the grass of what was the Sydney R. Marovitz Golf Course.

The past weeks had been a blur ever since the attack had begun. He'd been in the middle of watching the Cubs taking on the Cardinals when he noticed a man next to him suddenly cough of blood onto the people below him. Before anyone had a chance to react, the man had collapsed onto the ground. Paramedics arrived shortly after, and the game continued on. It wasn't until after the game was over did James begin to hear of the sudden outbreak that was sweeping the entire nation. Like many others in the city, he tried to evacuate but traffic had been jammed to a standstill. By the time he had made his way to the outskirts of the city, it was too late as the National Guard had put the city on lockdown.

With no other choice, James made his way back to his hotel that was several blocks north of Wrigley Field. He called his parents and informed them that he wasn't going to be able to make it back for awhile, but he'd do everything he could to make it back. They did their best to act strong for their son, but James could detect the fear in their voice as they realized that their son was in the middle of the epidemic. James tried to remain calm, but as the virus began to spread faster and faster throughout the city, his parents' fears were realized. By the time the information blackout had occurred, James had already began to prepare for the worst. He bought as much food as he could find, which wasn't much by that point in time, and began to look for other places to hunker down.

He had been lucky to go when he did, as by the time he had made his way to the eastern outskirts of the city, riots had begun to engulf the city. Those were dark days, as James did his best to lay low and avoid confrontation with anyone else. He couldn't avoid everyone though, and he found himself up against a wall as three other men brandished knives, prepared to kill him and take anything of value off of his corpse. With no other choice, he reached for his revolver which he carried as a concealed weapon permit holder. He never thought he'd need it, but as he put a bullet into the nearest man, he was glad he did. The remaining two men scattered, and soon James was left alone with the bleeding corpse of a man below him. While it would've been unthinkable before then, he began to loot the man's body. He didn't find much of anything besides a handful of food and the man's knife. James decided that the knife would be too valuable not to take, and so with a bit of reluctance, he took it from the man's dead hands.

It was several days after that was when James began to feel extremely ill. As he hunkered down in an abandoned apartment, he believed that he was going to fall victim to the disease as well. He thought back of his life back home in Nebraska, and cursed at his luck that he had to end up in middle of all of this. He stayed there for several days, coughing, vomiting, with an intense fever, with no sort of medication to help him get through his days. He was prepared to die at any moment, so when he woke up one morning with his symptoms gone, he thought he had somehow gone into the afterlife. However, a quick look outside told him otherwise, and soon the realization hit him. He must have been immune to the deadlier strains of the virus and hadn't succumbed to the feral state that many other had fallen into after becoming infected.

Realizing he had cheated death, James was suddenly filled with a sense of direction. He was determined to make his way back home to Nebraska and find out what had happened to his family back home. No matter what the cost, he wouldn't waste his gift, meager as it may be, and he would use this second chance to the fullest extent.

Soon after this, he began to renew his searches throughout Uptown Chicago, careful to avoid confrontation with both the survivors and infected that roamed the city streets. He may not have been the most educated person, but he had enough common sense and experience in the outdoors to give him the advantage over the mindless ferals and the street-gangs. After several days of travel, he found himself on the outskirts of the golf course that was directly to the east of Wrigley. He was able to find the abandoned shed as well as a handful of supplies from the clubhouse.

Now, several days afterward, James continued on his search. While plenty of cars still had gas in them, the streets were either blocked off from the abandoned traffic or purposefully barricaded by the streets gangs that called the city their home. This meant that a car was out of the question, but so was walking. His only choice was to try and find a motorcycle skinny enough to weave through traffic and thus get him out of the city.

So far, however, he'd yet to find one. He'd come close one day, but a pack of infected kept him from grabbing the bike. He was forced to ditch it, and when he revisited the area several days later, it was gone. And so, he continued to search for a means of transport while also scavenging around for supplies. He had a few ideas on where to hit up, and his first stop would be Wrigley Field. It was filled with the dead and infected, but it was also a treasure trove for preserved food and drinks. It would be risky, but in these dark times, not doing anything was more dangerous than doing something.

As he made his way down the street, he couldn't help but lightly hum an old song that randomly made its way into his head.

You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done

[Anowa]

The Twins
Midwest Sporting Goods
DAY 31

Midwest Sporting Goods, a small brick building dedicated to the various recreational sports of the Midwest (though if you couldn't figure that out you had bigger problems), though the big old sign out front made it clear what they were really dedicated to: A Crosshair overlaid with "GUNS" in big bold letters.

It was to the point at the very least.

Though the sound of a duo of footsteps came upon the scene. Ironically, the woman with the shorter stature of the two had heavier footfalls. Cameron Oosthuizen, despite being five inches shorter than her 6'2 brother, she had a little over sixty pounds on his 182 pound mass. A result of her absurdly dense physique. Also resulting in turn, her capability to punch through plate glass with little difficulty.

With a rather subdued sound of previously mentioned glass shattering, Cameron reached up to unlock the deadbolt, only to find that the door had already been opened.

Kyle sighed, "Well, that's not a good outlook."

Cameron swung the door open, expecting nothing short of a full horde to come bearing down on them, "There has to be something left. Not everyone in Chicago knows what the fuck to grab."

Kyle nodded, understanding her rather abrupt reasoning. Chicago wasn't really a NRA populated city, most everyone in the city probably grabbed the scariest looking gun rather than the one that was most effective. He very much assumed that there would at least be a few bows and revolvers, while Hi-Points would be fortunately absent.

The store was dark, something fully expected seeing as the power lines went to absolute shit after things went downhill.

The sound of a low growl alerted the two to a walker's presence within the building. Kyle readied the measly hammer he had on him, while Cameron drew her own firearm from her rib holster, flipping the safety off. Kyle shook his head before speaking in a low tone, "Please don't give me tinnitus again."

"If there's more than four I'm using it."

"If there was more than four we'd notice by now."

"Says who?"

The growl came closer and popped into view from behind a pre-fabbed aisle. the dangling sign indicating that it was once for dried bait and fishing tackles. "Says him." The infected man's arms looked purple, likely broken, and the splits in the skin showed infected openings where bone jutted out, he broke his arms doing something. Kyle strode forward, and swung the claw end of his hammer into the top of it's head. Infected or not, acute brain trauma was not something you simply shrugged off. The once neurally active man dropped stone dead to the floor.

Kyle turned around, a small spatter of blood obscuring the vision of his hazmat suit, wiping it away he shrugged, "Let's get searching shall we?"

And search they did. Though their search was... well. Short on luck.

A single M1A, Judging from the etching on the action, it was a Springfield S16 CQB. Though it had a few magazines near it -albeit all were empty- the bolt was firmly locked in place.

Kyle gave his two cents as Cameron attempted to pull the bolt back, "You're gonna need a breaker bar or a miracle to open that."

Cameron stopped, and looked at her brother, "Ya think so huh?"

Kyle returned in his signature deadpan, "That wasn't a challenge."

"It is now."

"For fuck sake." Kyle shook his head, "I'm gonna have a final look around, try not to fucking shoot yourself alright?"

Cameron snorted, "You know me, ever cautious."

[Shark isle]

Chestnut Grove Theater
Pop,pop,pop. Alan looked around nervously as he popped his popcorn. He had no idea if the infected outside could hear the popcorn maker. As the popcorn finished popping, Alan scopped some out and placed it in a bucket and walked into a adjacent theater. He sighed when he saw the empty theater. He remembered when this place was jammed packed full of people eager to see what the new summer blockbuster had to offer. That was now replaced with a unnatural silence and darkness. " I wish this didn't happen", Alan thought to himself." I remember so many great memories about this place. Especially the New Year's Eve party the manager threw for the employees". Alan chuckled to himself as he thought back to that night. It was his first year as a usher for the theater and was already invited to what his coworkers called a "legendary" party. The party wasn't legendary, but it was memorable. Especially the part where Clint, his manager, got drunk off a spiked punch bowl. Alan thought's suddenly turned grim when he thought about Clint. Suddenly, horrid flashbacks of Clint being disemboweled just outside the theater door echoed through Alan's mind. Alan then thought to himself," Why was I such a pussy!? If i had helped Clint, he would still be alive! What the fuck is wrong with me!?" Alan than started to breakdown and cry right in the middle of the theater.

[Kirt]

Tyson Ruth
Near Midwest Sporting goods

Tyson had been traveling non stop from Des Moines, except for some obvious stops here and there to grabs some stuff from gas stations and hotels. There hadn't really been much to see, but the going was slow. The interstate was bogged down with barricades accidents and just random bull crap laying all over the place. Most of the drive was spent on the shoulder going around it. On the plus side he still had a bunch of old tapes in his truck to listen to.

Tyson had hoped he'd come across someone along the way, to at lease get an idea if going to Chicago was even worth it. But he hadn't seen anyone. Not one damn person. Which in itself he thought incredibly odd. But then again he was probably the only one dumb enough to try and take a main interstate this far.

Once he had finally hit Chicago it just got worse, the roads were basically impassable by vehicle. And his truck, although oozing personality, was too loud and too big to navigate through the mess. He pulled into a driveway of a house that appeared from the street unoccupied. Easing out of the truck he made his way up to the door. The door was hanging open. Tyson stepped inside taking a peak around. The entire place was ripped to shit. Furniture broken, walls smashed up in random place, clothes laying around. It even looked like someone had tried to unsuccessfully set fire to a couch in a sitting room.

Tyson began to make his way upstairs. Three doors lined the left hand side of the u[stairs hallway. Each one with a large, thick slash of red paint from top to bottom corner. At the far end of the hall, in the same red paint, “INFECTED” written as large as possible, the paint bucket laying on it's side nearby with, dried paint splattered all over the floor.

Tyson grabbed the bucket and touched the paint with his finger. It was still pretty wet. Had a nice skin on it, but it was still paint. Tyson brought the paint can out side and grabbed some cloth that was lying on the floor by the doorway. Walking outside Tyson set the paint by the garage and forced the side door open. The garage was empty. He opened the main door and parked his truck inside. Once inside he closed the door and painted “INFECTED” on the outside of the garage door. “That'll keep yousafe old buddy” He made a note of the street name on a piece of paper in his Wallet, “Prarie Ave and Shields”

Tyson figured he needed to find a hospital, courhouse, police station. Anywhere he might find someone to tell him what the hell was going on or at least help him out. Because right now he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't have a fuckin clue what he was doing. After starting down the street a ways he caught a sign for a sporting goods store. “Good as anything else right now” he thought and headed toward the shop.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Echelon Apartments

He had been engulfed in darkness. His eyes took in the black that surrounded him, and he closed his eyes once more. There was no difference. He opened his eyes again (at least, he thought he did) and found his hand fumbling around on his bed. He stood up, bare feet welcoming the crummy carpet that awaited them beneath. Clement moved slowly through his room, feet sliding across the carpet. He didn't dare move quicker or lift a foot, lest there be corner to stub his toe or a vent to trip over. He hit a wall, and then shuffled his hand until it felt a round metal shape in the dark. He turned it, and the door it was attached to opened.

He stumbled into the living room, only vision brought to him by cracks in the curtains. He opened them, squinted, and winced. Graham and Elizabeth were laid out in the living room, the bedroom theirs tomorrow night. This would be the worst part of his every other morning ritual, if it weren't for the dreams.

His nightmares had flared up since the beginning of the outbreak. They were varied in length, some went on for hours and some for minutes. None were vivid, but he remembered all of them in that hazy way you reflect on most visions that plague one’s sleep. He’d be standing over an ancient oak dresser in his room, old dentistry tools littering the top of it. Or maybe he’d back home, chased by a pack of wolves into his own house. Sometimes he’d have dreams about getting told off by an angry patient of his, or a needle pining for his bicep. The worst ones he had encountered so far however, had been the ones where he was falling. Clement always thought he had tumbled off the couch or bed or wherever he was sleeping. He’d wake up in a hot sweat, heart pumping like a pipe.

Graham and Elizabeth had begun to awaken, the light bringing them up. “Sorry.” Clement frowned, not sure if he really meant it. Graham and Elizabeth had settled in nicely, judging by their groans and gripes about waking up. Graham rubbed his eyes, now sitting up on the other end of the fouton as Elizabeth still rolled. “What? Oh… no, you’re fine. Me and her need to get out there, anyways.”

Clement nodded, clothing himself in a bathrobe and looking into the kitchen cabinet. The kitchen and living room just so happened to be connected together, the only other rooms on his second story abode being the bathroom and his bedroom. It was a nice place, with a flatscreen by the windows and a fouton, couch, and loveseat. He pulled one of the water bottles from the cabinet, then grabbed two more and set them down on the granite countertop, in front of the microwave. They sat there while Graham and Elizabeth got dressed, bubbles formed at the top of the bottles.

After about fifteen minutes of readying up, Graham stepped towards him holstering his pistol, and a police baton was swinging from Elizabeth’s belt. “Well, we’ll be back in a bit, Clement.” Graham reassured him, Elizabeth fiddling with the police baton. “Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I don't feel right just sitting around here.” Clement asked, a nervous twinge to his voice. “No, really. You can go check things out tomorrow if you want. But somebody’s gotta hold the fort.” Clement nodded, smirking. “I guess so. I’ll probably just wander the halls for a bit. Look for some keys, maybe find you guys a new room. Guess I’ll read a book or something after a while.” He patted Graham on the back as they left, both giving their regards to him. Clement fell into the love seat, eager to get started exploring after a good read.

***

US-34

Elizabeth Powell was in the passenger seat of the pickup truck, this blue Ford four seater they had found just outside Echelon. A beat up old truck, she had taken to calling it Old Reliable. And reliable, the truck was. Their stuff in the backseat, with enough to stick in the bed.

“So, Walgreens, huh?” She wondered aloud, kicking her feet up on the dash while Graham dodged wrecked cars and the occasional infected. “Yup. Figured it’d have some overlooked items we could use.”

She tied her hair up into a ponytail, stringing it through the back of her cap. “Agreed. I don't know about you, but I am dying for a pack gummy worms. Sour ones. They better be sour.” She smiled, thinking of one of the sugary candy. God, how she missed candy. Graham grinned behind the wheel, sniffling. “Yeah, me too. We’ll be there soon. Maybe I can nab a pack of Juicy Fruit.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Fuck Juicy Fruit.” Graham looked towards her. “Hey, if you’re into that.” He smirked this devious little smirk before he even finished, and Elizabeth laughed and punched him in the arm. “Oh, shut up. Juicy Fruit loses its flavor after, like, ten seconds.”

“Those are ten seconds of bliss, alright?”

“If you say so.”

After a few moments of silence, Graham turned and Elizabeth opened their conversation back up. “So… Clement said he might find us an apartment. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Graham kept his eyes on the road, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. I wish we could have gotten one earlier, but… I just don't feel safe sleeping without a lock. I know, it’s probably safe, but… I dunno.” Elizabeth nodded, tipping her hat up. “I hear ya.”

Graham pulled into the parking lot of the Walgreen’s, and the two jumped out and suited up. Armed with a crowbar and a revolver, Graham made his way for the front doors. He stopped in front of the closed glass sliding doors, almost hoping they’d open by themselves. Judging by the dark shadows inside, he assumed they would not. He stomped at it, then banged the crowbar against the welcoming rug. A voice startled him, and he jumped back to see Elizabeth’s confused face. “You alright there, pal?” She raised an eyebrow, on the verge of laughter. “What? Uh… just, you know… checking if any infected were inside. Obviously.” She did laugh this time, and still smiling said “Okay, then. Whatever you say. Now get the doors open.”

He opened them easily, pushing the doors to the side and holding them for Elizabeth to step through. She murmured something about a “gentleman” and Graham let the doors close. They stepped through the aisles, careful treading to not alert any infected that may wait for them. Elizabeth almost said something when the two rounded another empty corner to see a lone, bald headed man entranced by a flickering battery powered lamp. It had obviously run it’s course.

Graham looked at Elizabeth, and whispered “Alright, just like the trash cans, right?” Elizabeth frowned, heart beating fast. “Trash cans don't move. Or try to fucking kill you.” Graham shook his head, and motioned for her to follow him.

They moved in, quietly and slowly. They hadn't seen many infected, avoiding most. But this time Graham had taken the position to get rid of this one. They would have to eventually, at least until the military came back. If they ever would.

Elizabeth yelled, catching the infected’s eye before her police baton slapped into its knee. It shrieked; just as Graham’s crowbar came swinging towards it. The crowbar slapped against its cheek, slamming it into a rack full of candy. It toppled over, and Graham kicked it with a grunt. The infected leapt up again, just as Elizabeth swept it out from under its feet with another swipe of the baton. Graham’s crowbar came flying down once, then again, and then again, and then another time, before the creature’s skull was penetrated and it lay in a pool of its own blood.

“Holy fuck.” Elizabeth swore, as Graham took a break from panting like a dog to toss her a bag. “Look at what I found.”

A black bag of gummy worms. “Gee. Thanks.” She said, staring not at the candy but the blood on her shoes.

***

Midwest Sporting Goods

“Next stop.”

“You bet.” Graham replied, wandering into the already looted store. “Betcha it’ll go better than the last store.” He said again, and Elizabeth sniffed the air. “Yeah, maybe we won't almost die. But don't worry, I’m sure the candy will tide us over for the next month or so.”

“God, there was so much. I’m getting a cavity just thinking about it.” He smiled, glanced back at her, and then continued into the building.

And then, they saw it.

One person just standing about, talking. He hadn't heard what she said, but it was almost like she was carrying a conversation with someone. Herself, perhaps? Graham jumped back towards Elizabeth, holding out his crowbar towards the woman. He had heard of looters before, but he had never seen them. He only hoped this girl was friendly. They could use a helping hand back at Echelon, regardless. Elizabeth looked at him, waiting for his response to the newcomer. He drew in a short breath, then spoke.

“Uh, um, hey there. You cool?”

Elizabeth winced, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “What a fucking poet.” She said under her breath, as Graham smiled and dropped the crowbar to his side. She stayed behind him, visible but out of range of a swing of a weapon.

[Altito Asmoro]

Chicago Water Tower
Jung In-hyun

Jung looked on to the outside from the inside of the tower. The tower used to be used for water-related system for Chicago, and for the most part it did succeeded in providing enough clean water for him. And luckily using a portable stove that he found before during a scavenge run was useful for his stomach and for a better water. Paraffin for camping was useful for the energy of the stove, but enough of that for now. There used to be more survivors inside the tower before him, a group of priests and their...followers decided to took shelter inside the tower. Not big, but enough for some. For the most part.

They still here, somewhere. But even though there is running and clean water, the food supply is hardly enough. And with the infected ones out there, it was quite obvious of not safe enough, but some brave souls ventured occasionally, including him. He of course noticed something...odd, as well. Apparently there's more than meets the eye every time he was with them.

"Not safe," he muttered to himself.

He looked outside, this time for another venture. There's a hotel nearby, Langham. He used to visited there as Uber driver, sometimes.

[Imperial Idaho]

Chicago, Illinois, United States of America

James had been awake for probably a solid day at this point, a mix of stressing to not have his plane stolen by road bandits when he landed and of course flying previously mentioned plane. The white Cessna Denali cut through the sky with ease, the logo of Rocky Mountain Air Transport on both sides, Jame's company. From where he was he could see one of the Great Lakes, he had already flown past what he believed to be Detroit, and since GPS was down, he could only guess to be over Chicago. The plane had been returned to James by the Army back in Vermont, and really only because they had no use for it and he was a Veteran. Of course they wouldn't let him refuel after his trip from Idaho, and that led him to his current predicament.

He had five minutes left before the plane would spiral out of control and crash, leaving James to an untimely death and to have the charred cubes of flesh that would remain to be eaten by Zombies.

He had to land somewhere with a long enough strip, but also one he wouldn't forget, and one people wouldn't be able to get to. In his view was a big red building, at least 40 or 50 stories tall he figured, and it definately looked long enough to try a landing. The loud plane engine could be heard for several blocks as he angled towards the big red building. Lowering the landing gear and lining up with the roof, he prepared for a rough landing. One with a good eye could see where he landed, beyond hearing where he was. As the wheels came into contact with the roof, the ground not being prepared for an aircraft landing, the plane rocked back and forth as it slowed to a halt, James grinding his teeth the whole time. As it finally stopped, James gave a sigh of relief that he had landed safe enough.

He quickly scrounged up his gear, some of it had jumped up and fell on the floor during various stages of the flight. He spent a few minutes reorganizing it all in his pack, and when done threw it over his shoulder and opened the door. He clutched his rifle in his hand, his buck knife in a sheath and his waist, he could only have been fortunate enough he was going on a hunting trip and not something else. Before he hopped out he ran back to the cockpit and grabbed a photo. It featured himself, a woman with brown hair, a few inches shorter than James was, and two kids. Both were brunette, one was a boy who looked to be 16, maybe 17, and had a wide smile across his face. The other was a girl, presumably 14, she was around the same height as the older woman was, and also had a wide smile. James looked for a few seconds at the photo, making a private promise to himself, and set it down, going to the door.

He hopped out of the Denali, stilling holding his rifle, and peered around for a way downstairs. If there were any Zombies on the rooftop he would've seen them by now. A small door, leading to a staircase downwards probably, was visible and Sullivan headed towards it. Upon knocking, and attempts to force it open, both hitting the handle with the butt of his rifle and pulling on it, it stubbornly refused to open. Whether it was bolted shut on the other side by someone not wanting people on the roof or just never got unlocked after the riots.

Regardless, he saw nothing more on the rooftop, and headed back to the Denali. He opened his pack and brought out a few things, a mess kit, his propane stove, a can of beans, and his copy of Animal Farm. He set up the small stove, opened the can and started cooking the beans, reading his book while he waited. Once done he shoveled the food down his gullet, he packed his gear back up. He didn't know how to pick locks, and he wasn't sure how long he could stay up here. He did however have a parachute, and after some thought prepared to parachute off the building, to later return if he had any fuel to use. He attached the USAF parachute to his backpack and quickly ran and jumped off the edge of the big red building.

He moved his legs forwards and backwards to steer himself, though the winds of the windy city did most of it for him. After a bit of stressing to recall parachute landing from his days in USAF he landed on top a Burger King, around halfway from Sears Tower. He quickly repacked his parachute, threw it in his bag, and gave a glance around the rooftop of the three story building. With nothing in sight, he began to search the rest of the building.

[Sarejo]

Day 31, August 10th, 2015

Chicago City Hall

Richard sat at a desk in an empty room. It felt both familiar and foreign, and only the name placard on the floor reading "Alderman Turner" told him for certain that this was indeed his old office. Papers lay strewn throughout the room; old memos, law bills, and statistic reports were spread out in disarray, as if a tornado had gone through the room. Furniture lay knocked over and an old bookcase blocked one of the doors into the room, and the other was knocked over lying on the floor, its hinges popped off and the door frame shattered. Rock and bricks on the floor provided evidence of the riots that had plagued the city, and glass littering the floor from the shattered window gave hints at their origin.

Richard sat in his chair and thought over what had gotten him to this point: The infected had appeared over two weeks ago, and it had all gone downhill from there. Six days later, the quarantine had fallen, and Richard abandoned his voters and people, and attempted to escape Chicago with his wife and daughter, but become separated from them when they attempt to flee a horde of infected. That had been four days ago, but he had not seen them since, and he had begun to worry, as they had agreed to meet at City Hall if they had ever gotten separated, and neither Clara nor Diane had shown up to their meeting place. He wanted to go find them, but he knew deep down that he was too much of a pussy to actually do anything to save them if he had to, and he hated himself for it. He pulled a photo of his family out of his wallet and looked at it, smiling sadly at the image of his wife and daughter.

A noise brought Richard back to his senses, and he looked around nervously, sweat already beginning to form on his body. He crept slowly, his body shaking, to the door and looked out. He saw a small dog, it looked like a Boston Terrier, eating out of a trash can. He relaxed a bit, but when the dog saw him, it started barking loudly, backing away. Spooked and scared that infected may be attracted to the sound, Richard bolted for the exit and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He sprinted as fast as he could out of the building, and not looking at where he was going, tripped over a chair that was strewn about, and he fell and skid in the street, scratching and cutting himself on broken glass. Seething in pain, he got up and continued running as far away as he could, the echoes of the dog following him through the crowded streets littered with cars, checkpoints, and bodies. He ran north, towards the Langham Hotel. "Maybe there's someone there... Maybe Diana and Clara are there...", he thought, and ran as fast as he could towards it, avoiding several infected groups along the way. He had to stop halfway there, and doubled over breathing heavily. He limped and stumbled the rest of the way, and when he got there he leaned against the building, catching his breath. He ducked into the lobby, and surprisingly it was empty. Going into the back security room, he closed and locked the door behind him, finally getting his first good breath and break since leaving City Hall. He pulled a granola bar out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and ate it, also taking a long drink from his water bottle, now dangerously low. He thought he saw the Water Tower nearby, and thought he'd go there tomorrow and see about getting more water, if there was any fresh water left. Until then, he'd wait here.

[Tayner]

Luke LaForge
Abandoned Suburbs
Day 30

The view from the rooftop was quite clear, giving Luke a clear line of sight down the street that he was inhabiting. He had spent time cleaning every house, and checking that the wooden fences that surrounded the houses of the cul-de-sac were still intact. Afterwards he set up defenses, boarding up many of the broken fences and many of the houses' windows, along with setting alarms all around. He had also set up a shanty on top of the roof of the building with the best line of sight in the neighborhood, a combination of wooden planks, sandbags, tarps, and other supplies. The shanty served a dual purpose, being a rather nice sniper's nest, and a secure place to sleep, which was always good.

It had taken Luke weeks to set this little camp up, with him setting up shop only a few days after people started eating eachother. However, finding all the supplies was a major pain in the ass. Of course, he had collected plenty of food and water from the houses, but the building materials weren't as easy to find. He had to loot some hardware stores and sheds for enough wood and nails to fortify the place, but he didn't realize he forgot the hammer until it was too dark to go out looting again.

That was what, two weeks ago? Luke thought.

But clearing the place out before that was a major pain too, going from door to door, room through room on nearly a dozen houses killing the undead. He double checked and triple checked to make sure, and then he piled all the bodies up in the center of the cul-de-sac and burned them until the ashes were blown away by the wind. Nearly thirty corpses serviced as fuel to that bonfire. And keeping other zombies out when he was building was shitty too, with Luke having to deal with a fair share of close encounters.

But in the end it was pretty worth it. Luke had plenty of provisions and tools along with some knives and axes stockpiled. He had his cache in the house he built the shanty on, using the garage as a storeroom, and the old bedrooms as workshops and even an armory. The building had a utility over luxury vibe to it, with very few chairs or tables, but a lot of storage containers that he pulled in from the other houses.

With all the furniture he discarded, be built a makeshift wall across the entrance of the street, with a dresser with it's interior shelves and back torn out to serve as a rather shitty gate. At least Luke had enough sense to bar it shut so no theifs could sneak in. He used his best carpentership to build it sturdy, but it looked like shit and probably couldn't hold against a major horde. It managed to keep the stragglers out long enough for Luke to pick them off however, which worked just fine.

It was high noon when Luke decided to go scout out the high school school north of him, so he went to his planning room. The room had a table in the center with a few city maps sprawled over it, along with a few non-functioning radios. The walls had sticky notes posted all over them, with reminders of necessary chores written in sloppy handwriting. The room was lit by candle, with the sunlight being shut out by the barricades like the rest of the house.

Luke looked at the map on top of the pile, which had plenty of red sharpie markings over it. They represented buildings that were already scavaged, areas that were overrun, and military checkpoints he had scouted out. Few places in downtown were marked as looted, while most of the surrounding buildings in the neighborhood were cleared. Kelly High School was north of the icon that represented Luke's camp, with a military marking and overrun symbol over it. Before his radio quit, he heard about the Army trying to set up a FOB there, but the other night he had heard a massive ammount of gunfire and explosions.

Luke was too busy patching up a breach in his perimeter to check it out, but in the days following he hadn't had much trouble from the zombies, and he hadn't heard the engines and small arms fire that he had heard before, so he deducted that the base had been overrun.

After writing his mission in the log he had kept, and geared up, he set north, out of his compound. On his way out, he ignored his sticky-note reminders, having tunnel vision.

---

Luke LaForge
Kelly High School, Chicago
Day 30

God I wish I could find a pasig of binoculars. Luke thought to himself as he approached the school. He had to get too close for comfort to get a good sight of the zombies in the area, but he remained undetected. The building had shown signs of military fortifications, with hesco walls, sandbags, watchtowers, and even a machine gun nest. Along with the military vehicles that were in the parking lot that was surrounded by a half collapsed chain link fence, the place looked like it could currently be garrisoned.

Well, besides the half finished construction of some of the fortifications, the collapsed fence line, the overturned vehicles, and the few walkers limping around.

The place was definitely overrun, and Luke could only feel sorry for his brothers in arms that had been lost defending it. They didn't have much of a chance, making so much noise so close to the city, but they probably knew the risks, and by the look of it, they took a hell of a lot of zed with them.

Luke stopped his thoughts from wandering too far, and picked up a glass bottle and chucked it to the far side of the parking lot, the shattering noise drawing away the zombies in the area. Luke made his move, running as quietly as he could to the nearest vehicle. He opened the door of the humvee and stuck his knife in the zombie that was strapped into his seat, killing it. After cutting it from out his buckle, Luke pulled it out of the vehicle and grabbed anything of value.

A few cans of dip, some spent mags, a flashlight, and a map was all he had time to grab before he moved to the next vehicle, a logistics truck. He climbed in the back to find a few crates. He opened the few closest to him, and he found empty sand bags, a few MREs, and a few road flares. Luke decided to leave the reflective safety belts behind when he went to exit the bed of the truck when a walker had grabbed his ankle. He looked down to see the thing pinned under a crate, and with a sufficient stomp to it's helmet and it was disoriented enough to release him.

When he jumped to the ground he assessed the situation. The zombies were starting to lose interest in the shattered glass that had drawn them away from their normal activities, and were starting to disperse from the huddle they formed in the far side of the lot. Luke decided he had time for one more vehicle before he had to bail, and maid for the MRAP that was a few yards from him. He pulled open the doors, and entered the back of the obese SUV to find any useful supplies.

He first checked the turret, and he unloaded the .50 cal MG's half spent ammo canister and put it into his bag with the rest of his supplies. Next he grabbed the expended M4 mags and as much of the nearby brass as he could, until he heard a voice.

"This is Seccond Lieutenant Enos Grey, calling anyone with a set of ears. Me and what's left of my platoon are held up in the auditorium of Kelly High School, or FOB Kelly. The Zed are pounding at the doors and we're low on supplies, requesting assistance, over." Luke nearly jumped out of his gear at the voice, but he identified the source, the radio in the cab of the truck. He reached for the mic when a hand grabbed his arm.

Luke retracted his arm quickly, as he took note of the zombie in the passenger seat. The guy had sat quietly there, unbeknownst to Luke, but it nearly took a bit out of him. I should've fuckin' paid more attention. Luke thought as he unseated his knife with one hand and his pistol with the other. He went to strike the zombie as it tried to crawl back to Luke, but he failed in his attempt and only provoked the zombie. It tried to lunge at him, but Luke pulled the trigger, landing a bullet in the zed's dome piece.

"Fuck!" Luke yelled, an intense ringing taking over his hearing. He waited a second for his ears to stop ringing when he felt the vehicle rock. He returned to the turret, to see four zombies pushing up against the driver's side of the truck, and more on their way. Luke quickly fired a few rounds killing the closet threats first before bolting down and out the vehicle's rear. As he was running he noticed a red fuel canister sitting next to the truck he looted earlier, and he snatched it on his way out, stopping for a few seconds to deposit it to his bag before continuing his run out of the danger zone.

He made a run south, with a few zombies in tow. He cut through an old fast food restaurant, turning back and shooting three rounds at the pursuing zed, striking one in the head, and another with two center mass. He sprinted out of the building, nearly tripping over a crawler and saw that a few zombies were exiting the High School. At least I drew some zombies away from the LT. He thought as he returned his eyes to the front. He saw two zombies in his way, and he raised his pistol and fired.

Boom click click click

The pistol responded, firing it's last round before being empty. The bullet striked the first zombie in the throat, knocking out it's spinal cord, and Luke grabbed for his knife to stab the second one. He couldn't find it, so he quickly pistol whipped the second zombie and ran, looking back to see the horde he amassed.

Holy fuck! He thought, looking at the zed, nearly a hundred, with the closest only a few yards behind them. He felt the adrenaline pumping as he ran as far and fast as he could. After two minutes of running, he found himself far enough away from the horde to be unnoticed, and he bent over to take a quick breather.

After a few seconds, he straightened his back, and looked around. A few lonesome zombies in the alleyways, but nothing urgent. Luke reloaded the pistol and holstered at, while he reached for his knife. His sheath was empty. He didn't have time to contemplate how he dropped it when he realized where he was.

Downtown.

While some areas of downtown were remote, like the one he was in now, others were overrun. It would be a pain trying to evade the various hordes and packs of zombies that roamed around. After nearly an hour of sneaking through alleys and down side streets Luke had returned to the suburbs. After 30 more minutes he found his camp, and entered it. However, it wasn't long before he realized something was off.

He heard moans that were too close to be outside the wall. He quickly made for his house on the far side of the camp, and entered. He checked every room before dropping his bag in the storeroom. He put on a tool belt and grabbed an axe and went to go secure the neighborhood.

After dispatching a few zed, he found the place where they entered the perimeter, a fence on the east side. The whole thing was knocked over, nearly a three meter wide portion of picket fence that had been broken down to splinters. Luke killed all the zombies in the area outside of the fence and went to work gathering wood, sandbags, and other supplies to build a makeshift wall where the gap was.

Nearly an hour later, he had rebuilt a sturdy fence line that was plenty reinforced to prevent stuff like this from happening again. He returned to the storeroom, and logged everything that he looted.

Day 30 Log
Out: Standard gear for looting missions
Tools to repair permitter
In: Two cans of tobacco dip
44 fifty caliber rounds
4 expended 5.56 mags
32 spent 5.56 brass
About a half gallon of fuel
One map
Tools
Standard looting gear (-12 .45 rounds and a knife)
Other misc items.

Luke didn't particularly love or hate logging everything, as he regularly logged everything back in the Corps. It certainly helped keep track of everything, but after a while it got annoying. He soon returned to the planning room and quickly jotted down notes of what happened on the mission for future reference. On his way out, he noticed a particular sticky note that he overlooked earlier.

Check perimeter for weak points to reinforce

He chuckled at the irony before returning to his sniper's nest. The sun was setting, and he was left alone with his thoughts. He initially kicked himself for overlooking his reminder on the sticky note, and then for trying to secure an area too big for himself to maintain alone. Then he hated himself for being alone, but pushing the bad memories out so he could avoid them. He then reached the conclusion that he would need help to continue on like this, so he would try to bring people to his camp to maybe start a settlement.

First he started a fire with the zombie corpses he killed, hoping that the smoke would draw people near during the final hour of daylight, hoping it would turn up results. Then he went to go fix his radio, maybe he could contact someone that way. After fiddling and tinkering with it he managed to get some less than stellar reception with it, but couldn't raise anyone. He would have to find a new one soon, or get some more parts to fix his. The next day he would have to put up some signs to see if people would see them and come.

He tried to find others before, but he usually didn't put so much effort into it like now. Before he would simply do a few hails over the radio, or try to do smoke signals over a campfire (quite literally). Luke would spend the next few hours tinkering with the radio and trying to contact someone before going to bed.

[Anowa]

The Twins

Cameron finally decided that pulling the blt open wouldn't suffice, so she braced the stock against the ground, and all but stomped on the charging handle. That set the bolt free, as a steel cased round fell out... It wasn't a .308 round, it was a AK round. "For fuck sake people...."

Midwest Sporting Goods
“Uh, um, hey there. You cool?”

Cameron looked up from the round now rolling on the floor. Spotting someone with a crowbar at the door. She raised an eyebrow, before pulling the S16 CQB into a more fitting position, "If I wasn't you'd have known by now." Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the pale green hazmat suit of Kyle's slowly and lowly move from the backroom into a far aisle. Something within his grip that wasn't a hammer. She continued, "So, any particular reason why you're here? Because the place is fresh out of ammo." she lightly kicked the AK round across the floor to them, "Unless you have an AK."

As Kyle flicked into view again, Cameron realized he'd grabbed a rubber practice gun and held it one handed, his hammer ready to strike. He was out of the new man's view. But ready to make a beeline if need be. It clicked in Cameron's mind that her lapel pin was still on her jacket's collar. That might help diffuse things.... Hopefully.

[Helsary]

Johnny ''Chains'' Daffers


''Where in the fuckin' world is it?!?'' Johnny shouted as he violently dragged his arm across one of the shelves in the back storage room of the pharmacy he broke into ten minutes earlier. He didn't expect a reply to his question, but he received one: a long, thick growling that kept approaching him in the dark storage room, the only source of light being the door to the front desk, which he left ajar.

''Oh, here we go, motherfucker...'' he whispered, grinning and grabbing his pocket knife. ''Come here, buddy...'' he said. louder this time, as he slowly navigated his way towards the place he heard the sound from. Eventually, he bumped into a figure resembling a human. It was one of the infected, his white coat making him more visible to Johnny.

''Found ya, punk!'' he shouted as he thrusted his knife through the infected's neck, just as he was about to try and bite him. The thing made a few gurgling noises before collapsing to the tiled floor. Johnny then crouched next to it, grabbed his knife back and wiped it clean on the thing's coat, before pocketing it again and beginning to search the infected's coat.

''Now, let's see... Oh, here you are!'' he exclaimed as he grabbed a ring of keys from one of the pockets of the coat and stood up again. He immediately made his way to another door, leading further inside the pharmacy, and used one of the keys to unlock the heavy steel door, kicking it open afterwards.

''Here's Johnny!'' he shouted, laughing, as he grabbed his lighter and sparked a flame, creating enough light for him to find what he was looking for: Several boxes of pseudoephedrine tablets. He quickly stuffed some inside of his backpack, before leaving and locking the door once again, holding onto the keys. He walked out of the building and onto the street, after which looking around: It was relatively quiet, with only a couple of infected aimlessly shambling around, but it didn't seem like they noticed him. He made his way in the opposite direction, eventually spotting a relatively unaffected building.

''Midwest Sporting Goods, huh? Oh well, guess it's safe enough for me to smoke some in there, if nothing else...'' he said to himself as he walked towards the shop, but, just before reaching it, he spotted other survivors by that same building. He quickly withdrew both of his pistols from behind his belt, flicking the safeties off and aiming them at the individuals.

''Hold it, cowboys!'' he shouted in order to attract their attention, keeping steady aim on them. ''Drop your weapons! Nice and slow now!''

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Midwest Sporting Goods

"If I wasn't you'd have known by now." He drew in a breath, Elizabeth emerging into view now. “Listen, we don't want any trouble.” She stammered, seeing the woman pull her rifle into view. Graham’s eyes followed it, and he swallowed hard. He could see the bullet shattering his heart or head in advance, and he drew back a bit. His revolver was at his left side in case he needed to rip it out. She’d be the faster shot though, wouldn't she?

"So, any particular reason why you're here? Because the place is fresh out of ammo." The woman said, and Graham shook his head. “We dropped by the Walgreens just down the street. Found some candy, if you’d like any. We just figured we’d swing by here, just to check. By the way, I’m Graham, and this is Elizabeth.” Graham watched the AK round roll towards him, bumping into his toes and rolling back a few inches.

He looked at her clothes, noticing the USS lapel pin on her breast, and he looked up and smiled again. “So, are you Secret Service then? Because of your pin, I mean.” While hopes danced about his mind, Elizabeth frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Or did you steal it?”

Graham turned to look at Elizabeth and shook his head.

“So, uh, anyways. You looking for a place to stay? We’re holed up at the Echelon Apartments a ways from here, and we’ve got plenty of empty rooms. Just me, her, and my cousin Clement.”

Elizabeth frowned, glancing back and forth from the woman to Graham. He noticed her out of the corner of his eyes, and one quick nod was enough to make her reluctantly stop. “We could always use the manpower. Womanpower. Whatever.”

''Hold it, cowboys!''

Graham’s eyes widened when he heard the gun safeties flick off, and with a slow, gradual turn laid eyes on the new newcomer. Two guns and a Mohawk greeted him, and he almost laughed if it were not for the barrels aimed his way. ''Drop your weapons! Nice and slow now!''

Graham sat the crowbar on the floor, but Elizabeth kept the police baton strapped to her hip. She would have made fun of the hair or the two guns, he knew, but the odds of this likely insane man shooting them were too high.

[Independent States of Tula]

Vladimir Ivanov
Windy City Firearms Inc, 6338 W Roosevelt Rd, Oak Park, IL 60304
Day 31

"Urgh..." Vladimir moaned as he sat up from his improvised bed which consisted of a cold backroom floor and nothing else in a small, nondescript single story grey building with a green roof.

It hadn't been a comfortable night's rest, but it had been relatively safe considering he'd found a key that let him lock the backroom's door, besides the Mosin-Nagant and it's ammo that had been all of use that Vladimir had managed to find in the looted store. To a degree Vladimir was surprised that people had even known to loot the place, there wasn't too much fanfare besides a sign by the door on the outer wall of the building to show that this was a firearms vendor's location. Though to be fair, if people were looting while the internet was still working Vladimir was sure this would've shown up on Google Maps or something.

"None of that matters now though." Vladimir whispered to himself as he grabbed his rifle and made his way to the locked door, unlocking it and pushing it slowly open.

Vladimir scanned the room in front of him carefully, it was the ransacked lobby of the gun-store, a complete fucking mess of broken glass, a few spent shell cases, and destroyed and empty gun racks. Vladimir shook his head at the sight but paid it little mind, he had to leave, he couldn't stay here...he had to move and find more supplies. Food, water, a sidearm even, something else...something more. And so move on he did, south on route 43, and then west on route 34 on what was called Ogden Avenue. However, something caught his eye as he was walking down that road, something off to his left on another main street...this one called Plainfield Road.

All the way down there he saw what looked like a big yellow sign with half a bulls-eye on it. There were also a few other stores along the road, including a 7-11 and a Family Dollar, Vladimir was light on food and water...so he figured he might as well try out the 7-11 and then see if he might not have some luck finding a sidearm at that place with the bulls-eye. However, as Vladimir was walking to the entrance to the 7-11 he heard someone yelling just further down the street.

"Ah great, fucking people, just what I needed right now." Vladimir whispered to himself once more as he moved out back to Plainfield Road to see the commotion.

From there he had a great angle on the big brown building with the big yellow sign outside of it, and what he saw was a man just outside the plate-glass storefront holding out both his arms like he had two pistols in his hands and aiming them at something inside the store. Obviously someone was in there that he didn't like and Vladimir knew it was none of his business, but at the same time...he had something Vladimir wanted...a sidearm (or in this case two it looked like). Just at the backside of the 7-11 was a big green dumpster, and Vladimir wasted no time in moving to it and resting his Mosin-Nagant on the container. He made sure that the rear sight was set for it's 100 meter marking, the first marking it had, because the distance between him and that man was probably about 80 or less meters. Vladimir kept his rifle steadied against his shoulder and aimed center-mass at the man's back, taking and holding a deep breath Vladimir's finger slowly began pulling on the trigger of the M91/30 Rifle, the front post and rear sight lined on the man's back. Just then Vladimir exhaled and once all the breath had been released and he was at his calmest, Vladimir added the last needed weight to the trigger and a loud roar signaled that a 7.62x54mmR round was now downrange.

[Parcia]

C/SMS Heartford, Samanth, "Red"
Day 31, Mercy Hospital & Medical Center, Chicago IL.
Floor Two, Quarantine room #6

Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up in the cot. The first thing that came to mind was the absence of a headache...or the tell tale warm drowsiness of a fever. All in all She felt fine...for some one who suffered possible infection.

Her hand reached up to her bandaged right arm and she winced. The scratches underneath had stopped bleeding during the night and had clotted, which told her something was off. Something was off about the whole situation.

She had gotten the scratches 12 days prior while trying to help a elderly women in the lobby who, who would have guessed, turned out to be infected. She managed to keep them under wraps and clean for some time, holding her self up in a isolated ward of the Hospital for other infected while her conditioned had worsened. No one figured out why she didn't turn in hours like the others, but it was clear she was infected. Over the past 4 days her temperature steadily increased and her head began to feel like some one was constantly hitting it with a Jack hammer, but she had managed so far. A pair of Guardsmen in CBR gear had finally extracted her from ward as the last patients died and deposited her in the air tight room. Leaving her with her 24 hour pack, some other basic supplies, and locked the door behind her.

She has honestly expected to not wake up from the fever induced faint and even in her deluged mind, murmured a prayer for her family as she slipped off to dream land. The glint of medal caught her eye and she snapped her head towards it. She didn't know much about guns, other then the pistol classes her da- Jay took her on when she turned 16, but she recognized it. A...1917? 1918? 1911? She couldn't recall. She did recall that it was a hefty pistol that fired a loud, but heavy hitting round.

She looked around the room and spotted her 24 hour bag, the doctors bag she had been wearing, and the Radio tucked in to her web gear belt along with her knife and flash light. As she sat up more, she noticed a little piece of paper folded on the small camping chair next to the cot.

To the little Rojo Estraya who patched my sorry ass up,
On the off chance you do wake up, we left you your kit, the Doc's bag, and an extra side arm we had on hand, Hope you survive this, planned on buying you your first drink when you got older.
Staff Sergeant Fernando.

The Latino man came back to mind as soon as she read the Spanish embedded in the letter and a small smile formed on her face. Her kindness had been relayed, even if it was on a hunch. She swung her legs off the cot and planted her feet on the floor. She got up, a little wobbly, and retrieved her boots and BDU jacket from the table and slipped them on, remembering to slide the laces inside them to prevent her from tripping...again.

As caught the glint of light from the metal tanks and sighed. Despite the Chicago being a Free For all, and it not being uncommon to have crack shots take shots at her, she had earned them. She un-clipped them from her collar and tucked them in to her bag.

It took a bit of experimentation, be she was able to fit the gun, its holster, and the extra magazine on to her web belt. When she got to the doctors bag, she took a moment to lay its contents on the table.

A half used roll of gauze, some regular band aids, a trio of alcohol wipes, a small bottle of H2O Saline, some sterilized wire, a pair of medical sheers, a single scalpel, a set of (3) rubber gloves, a face mask, a box of (6) 600mlg Ibuprofen, a small roll of duck tape, a thermometer, and set of clean syringes, still in there packages.

She sighed at the missing contents, but at the vary least it was more space to carry things. Slipping the strap over her head and setting the bag to hand on her left (as to not mess with her draw) she looked around room one last time. She spied the cot and a thought ran through her head. She walked over and took a look at the blanket she had been using and a light bulb appeared.

Taking care to get it as small as possible, she folded the blanket in to a square and tucked it in to her pack. She again turned towards the door and reached up to the handle. She turned it once and had just opened it when the sight of an alive, and vary infected soldier appeared with in inches of her own. Blinking through the shock, she threw her weight against the heavy door and closed it, hearing the click at the door locked in place. She scrambled back and drew the gun at the door and waited with her back against the wall.

The first loud bang caught her by surprise despite her state and she pulled the trigger in reaction...only to hear the soft click of the trigger. This snapped her out of her shock and she looked down at the gun to find it's safety engaged. Her head snapped back to the door with the next bang and she slid down the wall, still facing the door.

She was trapped. Her survival training finally kicked in and her head snapped to the 4 corners of the room and something else caught her eye. In the far corner, under what appeared to be a few empty supply wrappers and an empty MRE bag, poked out a single odd circular object. Slowly making her way over, gun in hand, she removed the trash and to her delight, found a non cracked, working Gas mask, and Mark 40 or something like that. Another light bulb appeared as another bang rang through the room.

She had to get out, but the thing was blocking her way. She formed a pan in her head. The things were fast, but clumsy, and she had gotten adept at using items and the environment to stop them. She spied the cot and moved it to just in front of the door, not blocking it but in its path. She then thought about how to get the door open with out being so close, and the para cord on her knife came to mind. Un wrapping it from the blade's hilt, she tied one end in a loose knot around the angled end of the door handle and walked back. She took a few breaths and began to pull on the wire when another thought came to mind. She reached down and put the mask on her face, slipping the straps around her head, behind her ears, and making sure it was tight.

Taking one last breath, she yanked the rope and the door handle pulled down. The force of its blow threw the door open and ripped the chord out of her hand. It charged her, intent on ripping her throat out, and tripped over the cot, landing hard on its face. Acting more on feeling then though, she thumbed the safety on the gun, leveled it on the thing's head, and pulled the trigger.

She saw the flash and the sound of the splatter hitting her mask and jumped back. Not taking time to examine her work, she retrieved the chord from the door handle and took the mask off, taking in a deep breath. She clipped it to her belt and made her way down the hall, her gun leading the way.



Loot:
1x Cotton/nylon Thermal blanket, small

Items used:
1x Para-chord, reusable
1x .45 ACP round

[Crockerland]

Evander and Jenelle Dalton

Fosco Park

The August sun shined down on the Fosco Park community center, as it would any other non-overcast day, exactly the same as it had before people started eating eachother, if one were to gaze up at the sky they would have no reason to believe they were living during a catastrophe almost certainly affecting every living person they knew.

The noise, or rather the lack thereof, however, was quite a different story; The once bustling city of Chicago, Illinois was now as quiet as a library, with the sounds of construction workers, vehicles, and people talking to one another in person or by cell phone now distant memories.

A few sounds could be heard at the Fosco Park on the 31st day of the apocalypse, the most notable being a low groaning noise emitted by the one of the undead; It was at one point a man, and it wore a grey hoodie jacket and some ripped bluejeans, along with crocs, and it had a large bite mark in it's right shoulder. The infected drug it's feet and lazily shifted it's weight as it walked forward, slowly searching for it's next meal.
Another noise, which the undead didn't hear, was the steps of Evander Dalton, walking up behind the infected creature, carrying a large rock covered in some dried blood. The infected man walked forward and saw the shadow of Evander, but wasn't smart enough to work out that it was being followed.

Suddenly, Evander battered the former human's head with the rock, causing it to fall backwards down onto the ground. The creature opened it's moth exposing it's uncleaned teeth and let out a sound like a cross between gargling and growling, and it quickly began to jolt up, prepared for a fight. Before the creature could attack, however, Evander slammed the rock down into it's face, smashing it's teeth and skull into it's brain and instantly killing it, sending some blood splattering into his pants.
Evander was irritated that his pants were bloodied, but couldn't think of any better options. The day before, Evander had worn plastic bags around his legs, but that attracted the attention of the infected he was trying to sneak up on, and he ended up throwing his rock into it's stomach, pinning it down while he stomped in it's head.

Evander rolled the rock away and turned the corpse over, searching it's back pockets, though it didn't have a wallet. Evander turned it back over and searched it's front pockets, including the hoodie pockets, but only found a broken screwdriver, the broken metal bit too short to function as a shiv.
Angered at the waste of time and energy, Evander hurled the screwdriver away towards the Chicago PD's 12th district building, which was crawling with the infected. Evander headed back through the main doors and towards the Fosco Pool, where his supplies were. Unbeknownst to Evander, two of the infected followed him and managed to make it to the door before it swung shut.

Evander looked into the pool to make sure Jenelle was still sleeping, which she was, passed out over on the north side of the pool in a pool chair; Since everything was fine, Evander went to the bathrooms, unaware that two infected were just a few meters from him, the two of them being equally unaware of his location.

The undead wandered out into the pool area, one going up the east side towards Jenelle and the other taking a longer path going around the west side. Evander had come back out, taking three rolls of toilet paper he'd realized would be valuable from the bathrooms stalls, but dropping them instantly when he saw the undead.

"Jenelle!" Evander yelled at the top of his lungs, taking out his shotgun and rapidly preparing to fire it. Jenelle woke up and saw what was happening, getting up just in time to grapple with the first infected man, which was wearing all black. The second infected man, who was dressed in a red tracksuit and had an orange goatee, rapidly approached Jenelle, who had no way of fighting them both off.

Evander raised his shotgun and blasted the tracksuit infected with a shotgun slug, sending it into the wall. The infected got up, so Evander shot it again, blowing a hole through it's head and once again knocking it up against the wall, though this time it slid down leaving behind a trail of blood and brain matter.

Jenelle successfully overpowered the second infected and threw it into the pool, grabbing her stungun flashlight and hitting it in the head and it grasped onto the side of the pool. The undead wasn't deterred and climbed up out of the pool, so Jenelle used the stungun part of the flashlight, which, in combination with the infected already being wet, electrocuted it to death.

"Those shots must've rung out for miles, more of those things will be swarming the place within the hour, we've gotta go!" Evander said
"Yeah, alright, I think I've got all my stuff in my pack, what about you?" Jenelle asked
"Yeah, I've got everything I need," Evander said, rushing over and retrieving the rest of his stuff and slinging the shotgun back over his back before heading to the front door.


The two opened the community center door and jogged forward, out of the park and over South Racine avenue, and then across the fire station and onto South Blue Island avenue, following the road northeast and up to West Roosevelt road, which was covered in abandoned traffic. They turned east there and headed down the road.

[Monarchy of Japanada]

John Wilcox, Shedd Aquarium

As John came around the corner he spotted multiple buildings, one was the Shedd Aquarium, he had little interest in an aquarium itself, but it could have good loot, maybe some people holed up there. He could hide in there and have a near infinite supply of water, food as well, assuming any fish were left, or had only died recently enough to not be rotting. Heading over he spotted an infected, it rushed towards him with its fleshy feet, skin rotting of it as it ran. Absolutely disgusting. Grabbing his axe, John put his body in a defensive position, aiming the axe at the vile thing's head, and raising it up. As it became within reach John would quickly slam the axe into the infected's head, slicing through to the brain and disorientating it. John would then pull the axe out, using his legs to kick it backwards into a stop sign, but it was already dead. John would bend down to loot it, but nothing was found, must have died pretty early on to have no supplies. After leaving the corpse behind John would make his way to the aquarium, using tatter from the infected's shirt to clean blood and little bits of skin, flesh and brain from his axe. When entering, the place looked pretty normal, nothing caught the man's eyes, he did take out his flashlight to get a better look of his surrondings though. But then, his eyes caught someone, or something, prompting John to quickly unveil his weapon, and yell "Hey, whose there?!"

[Ontorisa]

Safe Zone Echo-6
Wheaton, Outside of Chicago
1630 Hours
Day 31
PFC. Carey Mitchell
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

Mitchell watched Callahan examine the wound of the civilian that had come out of the car. Three survivors, one of whom had part of their leg torn by something, had basically rolled out of the car pleading for help. The two healthy ones were immediately screened and checked for anything scratches, bites or open wounds. The wounded survivor however, Phillip Desjardins, had apparently had a bad run in with an infected dog, a Mutt the civilians had called it. It was clear his leg was wounded.

"H-How bad is it?" Desjardins pleaded, lying on top of a table as Callahan examined the wound with his bright blue surgical gloves on, that had begun to stain red with the blood.

"Not good." Callahan replied, sending a worried glance back to Mitchell. "I don't know if I'm able to do anything about this."

"W-W-What do you mean?" Desjardins looked up in sudden horror, looking at Mitchell in terror. "Can you not do anything?"

"I can do one thing." Callahan sighed, taking off the glove on his right hand and moving his hand to his sidearm located on his hip.

"No! No!" Desjardins screamed before Mitchell looked over at Callahan.

"The fuck Cally?" Mitchell asked as Callahan's hand hovered over his M9 Pistol. "We're supposed to be saving them, not killing them."

"I've been thinking about how the disease works Carey." Callahan slowly drew the pistol, clicking the safety off. "It's transmitted by bites, scratches and any sort of open wound or bodily fluid exchange. It's also able to cross species, which is even more worrisome. Our friend here's had his foot torn off by a carrier of the disease, a Zulu, and now slowly the disease will be moving throughout his system. It won't be long before he's a Zulu."

Callahan raised his pistol and aimed it at Desjardins' head before pulling the trigger. A loud bang could be hear as Desjardins' head violently swung backwards, blood splattering across the table as Mitchell winced at the sudden carnage. Sighing, Callahan shook his head before looking a Mitchell.

"Come on, help me clean this up." Callahan ordered Mitchell as the two silently grabbed a black body bag and began loading Desjardins into it before zipping it up.

Mitchell was tasked with disposing the body while Callahan cleaned up the medical tent where the "treatment" had occurred. It was no better than the executions Mitchell had seen the aftermath of in Iraq by the insurgency. After dragging the body bag for sometime, Mitchell dragged it into the adjacent field and laid it there. Looking down at it, a pang of sympathy could be felt before he heard someone behind him. Raising his M4 Carbine immediately before wheeling about, he saw one of the civilians who had emerged from the car. Amanda Simberson, or something like that. She had been fortunate to have been out of Chicago when the disaster struck, her family had not been so lucky.

"Is.. is that Phillip?" Simberson asked, standing in the field as Mitchell lowered his rifle. "Is, is he dead?"

"I, uh," Mitchell began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry."

"Sorry?" Simberson angrily said, fury in her voice as she glared at Mitchell. "Sorry? You killed my friend?"

"Listen, it's a security measure. You said that he had some sort of run in with the Zulus, so we had no choice." Mitchell explained, starting to walk back to the Safe Zone before Simberson grabbed his arm.

"You killed him. Like he was a sort of animal." Simberson repeated herself. "You. The fucking heroes of Chicago they were hailing you. You were supposed to prevent this. None of this sort of shit should be happening if you had done your job. You probably don't even know what this feels like, losing someone you've survived with since Day 1."

"Listen here civie." Mitchell forced Simberson's hand off of him. "I wasn't responsible for the defence of Chicago. I was thrown into it. And if you think I'm some sort of emotionless, hardcore soldier, you're fucking wrong. I lost friends in Chicago, guys I've known since the very beginning."

Mitchell left her in the field, making his way back to the Safe Zone. He heard footsteps behind him not long after. Sneaking a glance, he saw Simberson looking at the bodybag, before turning and making her way back to the Safe Zone. So far, the Safe Zone has already had one death, unpreventable, but a death was a death. Once he had re-entered the school yard, with a few white and grungy green tents being set up across the parking lot, Mitchell began to feel slightly better. Callahan stepped out of one of the medical tents, rubbing his eyes before looking over at Mitchell.

"Done?" Callahan asked him as Mitchell nodded. "Civie take exception to it?"

"Could've told me the hot girl was the emotional one." Mitchell grumbled as he stormed past Callahan, making his way to the school's main entrance.

Stepping inside, he looked around at the poorly maintained interior. A pot plant had been smashed, many of the lockers had been torn through and a blood stain could be seen on the floor. The troops knew that whoever that blood stain belonged to had either died somewhere else or had already been killed and burnt or simply disposed of, since a full-building sweep earlier had revealed nothing. Making his way upstairs towards the 2nd floor, he heard a clip of a radio transmission from the principal's office, or as the guys were calling it now: "Thompson's Lair". He made his way towards the principal's office, before knocking the door open, and seeing Thompson laying back in the chair, his face looking much paler than before.

---

Safe Zone Echo-6 Command Centre
Wheaton, Outside of Chicago
1640 Hours
Day 31
SGT. Derek Thompson
3rd US Infantry Regiment, A "Alpha" Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squad

Thompson looked out from the school's principal's office on the second floor. Well, it had been the principal's office, now it was outfitted with various pieces of radio equipment that had been moved from the truck. Military-grade long range and short range radios in order to transmit the announcement about Echo-6, and of course to track CHICOM's orders and movements. So far, Thompson had not been successful in locating a still transmitting source, well, one that was alive. He had already heard multiple distress transmissions, some of whom must have been over a week old still, somehow transmitting despite its creators being torn to shreds most likely.

"To any friendly forces in Chicago, this is Lieutenant Ian Carrigan of the 129th Infantry Regiment. We're currently under heavy attack from a huge group of Zulus and are requesting any support in the area. Our map coordinates are 6-2-7, 9-4-6. Send support ASAP. Out."

"This is Second Lieutenant Enos Grey, calling anyone with a set of ears. Me and what's left of my platoon are held up in the auditorium of Kelly High School, or FOB Kelly. The Zed are pounding at the doors and we're low on supplies, requesting assistance, over."

"This is Sabre 6 to any friendly units in the vicinity of Hyde Park. Be advised we are under attack by a horde of Zulus and are requesting assistance. Advised that the eastern side of Hyde Park has been overrun completely."

"This is CHICOM, Colonel Sam Richardson. I am authorizing the full withdrawal of United States Military forces from Chicago. With the fall of FOB Whiplash in Cicero and the local CHICOM HQ in Kelly High School, we currently have no other options on attempting to maintain the quarantine in Chicago. Any remaining US Military forces in Chicago, you are on your own. Out."

Listening to the progressively more depressing and hope crushing radio transmissions of the various CHICOM elements, Thompson sat at the table, his hand slowly moving the dial of the radio as he wore the headset. It had taken him a while to understand how to use the radio, but eventually he had gotten the hang of it. Finally, after he had heard Colonel Richardson's announcement for the last time, Thompson switched on the transmission on the radio and brought the microphone of the headset to his mouth.

"This is Sergeant Derek Thompson of the 3rd US Infantry Regiment at Safe Zone Echo-6. We are processing civilians at Washington Elementary School in Wheaton for potential extraction from Chicago. Anyone who reads this please respond. If you cannot respond, make your way to Washington Elementary School. End broadcast, out." Thompson listened to the transmission a few times before nodding to himself and put it on loop before he leaned back in the chair and puffed his cheeks out.

The door slowly opened, and Private First Class Carey Mitchell looked in, looking at Thompson, before looking at the radio. Thompson immediately straightened up before glaring at Mitchell.

"Did.. did we get abandoned here? By command?" Mitchell asked after a lengthy period of silence, timid with the question.

"...Yeah, we did." Thompson looked at the radio before he dropped his head to his hands on the desk. "All positions we knew that were held before we left Chicago, either overrun or abandoned."

"Whiplash?" Mitchell asked, testing Thompson's memory. "Arachnid [US Military base located at Oak Park Country Club]? Kelly? The Nest [O'Hare]?"

"Whiplash was the last one to get offed. Arachnid was overrun. Kelly was overrun. The Nest was abandoned." Thompson punched the table in anger. "We're fucking stranded here."

"Did you try raising the Major?" Mitchell stepped forward and grabbed one of the empty seats and pulled up to the radio. "Both on here and on our comms?"

"Yeah. Green's not answering." Thompson answered solemnly. "I don't think the positions at Archer Avenue lasted if Kelly was overrun."

"Jesus Christ." Mitchell's response completely reflected Thompson's thoughts. "What the fuck are we supposed to do? We have no extraction at all."

"We can load the civies in the FMTV, leave Echo-6 here. Head west." Thompson's eyes glimmered with brief hope before it disappeared. "But.. I'd rather complete my mission to Green first. He trusted us with this."

"Because we suffered fuck all casualties until we tried leaving." Mitchell responded, remembering O'Brien's HUMVEE. "Everyone else was completely fucked."

"Listen, Mitchell, it's gonna be not too long before we have an influx of civilians coming here and potentially remnants of CHICOM. But, we're not going to have enough people to keep order here, never mind defend it against a group of Zulus." Mitchell listened to Thompson's thoughts on the situation, slowly becoming disheartened at each sentence his superior spoke. "Even if we're somehow lucky enough to avoid the wrath of the Zulus, we'll have a fucking boiling pot of emotions and pissed off people before someone makes a mistake and sets the whole thing off. We'll have as much control of the situation as we did in Chicago."

"But you gotta have faith Sarge." Mitchell quietly murmured before looking away. "You're the CO now, no one else. Have faith in yourself and your men, and we'll get through this."

Civilian - Phillip Desjardins - (Shot)

[Helsary]

Johnny ''Chains'' Daffers

Noticing the people lowering their weapons, Johnny took a few fast steps in their direction.

''Alright, now what I want fro-Aghhhh, fuckin' hell!'' he shouted, his sentence interrupted by the powerful sound of a rifle just having been fired. A bullet pierced the back of his lower right leg, and he realized that had he moved a couple of moments later, he might have been killed. He quickly fired three shots from each pistol at the individuals in front of him out of pure instinct, while running, as fast as he could in his current condition, and entered a vandalized R.V. that was just a few meters away, dropping on his stomach and facing the door, holding one of his pistols in his right hand, aimed at the door, and using his left hand to search his pockets.

''Fuck, fuck, fuck...'' he whispered, breathing rapidly, as he withdrew his glass pipe, lighter and a baggie of crystal meth from his pockets, still aiming at the door. He placed the pipe's end in between his lips, holding it steady as he opened the baggie and poured about half a gram in, after which pocketing the baggie and heating up the substance with a flame from the lighter, inhaling. In just under a minute, he finishes up and pockets his pipe again, still carefully watching the entrance to the R.V..

''Gotta stop the bleeding...'' he said, a look of pain on his face, as he readjusted his position so that his right leg was in front of him. He used his unoccupied hand to roll his jeans up as to have direct access to the wound, and then, using his lighter, he sparked another flame and began burning at his wound in an effort to causterize it. He had seen it in a movie once, and was unsure if it would work, but he would try just about anything at the moment. Normally, he would have screamed in pain, but the adrenaline rush coupled with the effect of the substance he just smoked on his brain, he was just breathing rapidly and grunting. Eventually, once the bleeding seemed not to be life-threatening anymore, he stopped and resumed his original position, flat on his stomach and prepared for a counter-attack by the other survivors he just tried robbing.

[Anowa]

The Twins

The Druggie

The Couple

The Mercenary

The Druggie... Again

Kyle paused as he heard the voice from outside, "Uhh." Kneeling down a bit he stared through a gap in the boarded up windows, "Is this fucker actually dual wielding? Is he retarded?"

Cameron shook her head, fuck it, she started moving forward obscured by the boarded up windows, towards the newly arrived duo, Kyle caught on and did so as well. As they reached the two the sound of a high powered rifle resounded through the area, if not the whole damn city.

It was followed by a cry of pain an a collection of hasty and poorly placed shots. Hitting wood, glass, floor and concrete alike. Dumb bastard.

Neither sibling hesitated in grabbing one of the new arrivals each and hauling them inside and in to cover. Kyle grabbed the girl, and Cameron the black guy, each ducking to either side of the door before Cameron kicked it closed. "Kyle please tell me you found something other than a rubber gun?"

"Four .308 rounds." He pulled said cartridges from one of the many pockets on his suit.

"Better than nothing."

She unslung the S16 and tossed it to Kyle, who in turn ejected the magazine and began to load it. "Gun shot was a Mosin by the way."

Cameron shook her head, "Of course you'd know."

She turned to the black guy, said his name was Graham, looked a bit like Donald Glover, "You're lucky you found us first. Cameron." She nodded over to Kyle, "Kyle."

She stood a bit and peeked through the gap in the door, she spotted the now bleeding man hobbling into an old RV. An even worse decision. "Kyle, gimme a road flare."

The biologist complied, opening the roadside assistance bag and tossing her the relatively new and dry magnesium flare. Standing Cameron walked out of the door, Kyle popping out and watching her with the newly loaded rifle. It was a simple objective, RVs weren't made of metal and aluminum like most vehicles... Oh no, they were made of tin sheeting, wood, and very flammable insulation. As she approached the vehicle, she slammed her fist into a gap in the siding. Busting a new hole and giving her and opening. She lit the roadflare, and in a fit of both rage, sadism, and hatred for stupid people, she jammed the flare into the hole. The tinderbox of an RV started going up. She gave it thirty second before the entire thing was engulfed.

She back pedaled to a more stable cover. She was betting that the sniper from earlier wasn't going to outright shoot them, given that he likely had a choice of multiple targets, and they chose the crazy one. Likely a knight with a conscious. A bad trait in most cases, not like she didn't appreciate the help.

Now they played the waiting game, until Cheech the Druggie Cripple hobbled out, or he burned alive. Gazing straight at the door of the vehicle, she awaited his response.

[Parcia]

C/SMS Heartford, Samanth, "Red"
Day 31, Mercy Hospital & Medical Center, Chicago IL.
Ground Floor, rear entry


She spun on her heals and slammed her weight again in to the door, finally hearing it click shut. She backed away and winced as a ring of fire surrounded her left ankle. The last 20 minuets of her life had been spent tip toeing around a mostly quiet Mercy Hospital and almost thinking it was clear as she turned a corner and walked in to a hall filled with them. She turned on her heels and bolted down the other end of the hall, towards what looked to be a back exit/emergency entry door...only to slip, roll her left ankle in a painful way that made her spew multiple curses her mother would never approve of. She drew the gun and fired blindly in to the crowd and emptied the magazine and to her surprise, managed to down a few.

Scrambling back to her feet, she limp-ran her way towards the door as the infected climbed over the bodies of the fallen.

Now in the present, she held the gun up as she glanced around the street. She eyed a small book store down the street and checking one last time, wobbled the block and a half down the street.

Luckily the door it self was unlocked and the windows had bars over them on the outside, so all that had to be done to barricade the place was to push a heavy book case in front it. She took a moment to reload the gun and cursed her self for wasting ammo like that and slipped the spent mag in to her belt. Taking the flashlight in the other hand, she did her best to check the corners of the shop and to her surprise found it empty, but also containing a stairwell up to the second floor. The top floor contained two doors. One to what she guessed was a small apartment, and the other to roof access. It was clear, with a single table, with an open umbrella and all, and a single chair obstructing the other wise bare roof.

Taking time to double check her barricade, she was in the middle of dressing her ankle when the radio buzzed to life.

"This is Sergeant Derek Thompson of the 3rd US Infantry Regiment at Safe Zone Echo-6. We are processing civilians at Washington Elementary School in Wheaton for potential extraction from Chicago. Anyone who reads this please respond. If you cannot respond, make your way to Washington Elementary School. End broadcast, out.

The message played on a loop a few times and for the first time in nearly 3 weeks, She smiled. She fiddled with the radio as she got acquainted with it and found the frequency before pushing the transmit button.

"This...this is cadet Senior Master Sergeant Samantha Heartford of SER-171, attached to CHICOM and posted at Mercy Hospital, Echo-6, respond, please, over." It didn't sound half as put together as she thought it did. She sounded more like a scared little girl then a Senior NCO, yet it mattered little, at least there was some one else still alive in Chicago.

She set the radio on scan and went to work on her ankle, wrapping it to keep it still, dowing a pain killer, and taking a swig of her water while the radio scanned through the other channels.

Items used:
x6 .45 ACP