[R] The Walking Dead - IC - (ALWAYS OPEN)

[Ryokokalin]

It had been days since Wilhelmina had seen that first walker in the town. So far none had made it to the farm. Not a lot of people to attract the attention of the walkers, since it was just her and a few chickens. She still worried about the potential threat. It was only a matter of time until they came.

Wil sat in front of her safe which held all the guns, ammunitions, and valuables of her family. She stared at the hulking, black beast. At the moment she was debating whether to leave the farm or stay put. She knew that she couldn't stay forever, no matter what. She needed to find other survivors or information about her parents. Yet she was afraaid of what setting out would bring her. That she would have to fight and struggle. That maybe she wouldn't find good people and fall victim to the walkers or even other humans.

She needed to choose before it was too late. Wil wanted to at least attempt to fight back and find others. She couldn't just sit around here farm any longer. She sighed, realizing that she should probably start prepping to leave. Soon she would attempt to find others, once she managed to somehow put together supplies. Now, that would be a headache. Just how would she manage to actually locate groups of surviors and bring her supplies?

[luxwolf]

Sans Lupo had spent most of the night on the couch where a bag of sour gummy worms, paraphernalia and cannabis were scattered on the floor. After hours of adjusting from four uncomfortable positions, he managed to sleep long enough for an emerging, brief dream about a farm where labradors slouched on a porch. The door slammed him awake. That was typical of Ryan coming home in the middle of the night, but this time, flesh and teeth shot through Sans' body like a filmy chill. Scrambling to his feet, Sans paraded the glass bong above his head, just about to shout curses but he froze. He recognized the shadow that stared back at him. He whispered to his roommate, "Ryan."

In the murkiness, the pair of eyes shone mistily. The silence unnerved him a great deal until he heard a quiet sniffle. Ryan's hand closed the door and turned the locks. They stood there, getting an earful of each other's useless panting. Sans grabbed a lighter and took a hit. He stifled a cough and said lowly, "Thought you were out of Georgia by now."

"That's mine," Ryan reached for the bong and had himself a hit, shaking his head, "It took too long on all the highways going out of the city. 85 was the worst, airports on both ends. Everyone shot each other. Didn't matter why. He got bit, he's lying about it. She doesn't deserve this, let's save her the misery. If the walkers ain't got you, fear did."

"Walkers?" Sans perked at the name.

"That's what I kept hearing out there," Ryan anchored to the couch and buried his face in his hands. Bliss was rushing to his head now. He sniffed and looked straight at three closed doors. "Did Troy...?"

Sans cut him off, "No."

It was asinine to think that Troy'd return alive. The idiot had told them the other day that he'd kill a million zombies by driving a Hanzo sword through their hearts. And despite their insisting how futile that was, he refused to listen. No, Troy was definitely one of the walkers somewhere around a strip club tonight.

"Figures," Ryan murmured. "What's the plan?"

Sans shot a vulnerable look his way, "Hell if I know. If there was a zombie flick made with a happy ending, I f*cking sure didn't see it. First guess would be head for the wild. If you know how to hunt, we might have a chance."

"There's parks all around Atlanta, but I'm talking about outside Georgia. We gotta get away. And don't tell me Florida."

The thought of the peninsula being blocked by hordes of groaning death hadn't occurred to Sans until now. Ryan was right. To go there was suicide. Sort of. He tried to remember what the state of Georgia looked like. "What's north of us?"

"Tennessee and... North Carolina," Ryan coughed here and there, harder each time. "Then there's the national forest that... goes up into Virginia. We should head for DC. Probably best place to be right now."

Sans cringed at how much louder Ryan hacked into his hand. What they talked about no longer mattered; Ryan was clearly suffering from something. Then Ryan stared at his cupped hand for a moment, unblinking, before he left the couch, flicked a light switch, and entered the kitchen. The sound of droning light and running water hissed throughout the apartment, and Sans knew. His roommate had coughed up blood in that hand.

Sans peered out the window and saw a few walkers limping down the orange-lit asphalt. One of them stopped to look back at him. Maybe Ryan was right. Maybe DC was the safest place to be right now, but just how many miles away was that? He soon found it became difficult to think. The faucet water was too loud and still continued to plunge.

"Jesus, how much water do you need?" Sans remarked with a touch of annoyance.

The lack of response dawned on him. He looked back. The light in the kitchen flickered.

Sans didn't want to do it, but he was compelled towards it. The water was as relentlessly pounding as his heart. He turned the corner and saw Ryan in front of the sink, shirtless and gawking at an unfurled bite wound above his thigh.

Ryan awkwardly pivoted, his face drained, his eyes shining but expired.

The walker lurched at him with open arms. Sans recoiled, backing to the wall and stumbled to his knees in the living room. He crawled towards the door that looked now so far out of reach. His ankle was gripped. The walker dragged him back with guttural screams of thirst. Sans grasped the bong and rolled onto his back, "I'm sorry."

He smashed the blunt glass through its skull and it downed to the floor in a second.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated until he grew to like the sound of running water.

[LegacyDreams]

Ilia was on the verge of screaming but refrained herself as she swung a metal baseball bat around, keeping the walkers back. She looked around as a few more joined the group. She couldn't hold it back. She was going to scream. Ilia didn't stop until she noticed her little brother still alive, holding some back on the other side of the cold tar road.

'Oh my god. Jason.' She thought as she took some risks and pushed through a couple. Ilia made her way to her twelve year old brother.
''Jason. Are you okay"? She whispered. Jason gave a small nod.

''Someone help!'' They heard someone scream. A little girl. Jason recognized the girl and took off to go help her. He fought most back with a corn knife. Jason brought her back after finding a broken off metal piece with a sharp end for her to fight with. There was the little group.

(I will be adding Jason and the girl later...)

[Lost]

~Christopher Myles Lowe
~Gun shop; Atlanta, Georga

Swiftly Myles dug through the display cases for working and light handguns, snatching whatever he could find and shoving it into a bag that hung over one shoulder wide open and ready to receive what little supplies he could gather. The store looked as though it had already been picked over once or twice and all that was left was a pair of handguns and two boxes of ammunition to fit the models. Surprisingly a good turn out seeing as how he wasn't expecting anything. Coming back his unruly, dark, curly hair, he shoved a few other knives, gloves, and rope that he happened to find there as well. Excited about his turn-out, he turned and started back towards the door swiftly and quietly, to where Michael was waiting for him. However, a soft thud caught his attention and within seconds, he was knelt on the ground, leveling his pistol at the mind's eye of the zombie shuffling towards him. "Shit," He murmured, figuring the noise of the shot would only bring attention. Without another thought, he stood just as the walker lunged to clomp down on his bicep and swiftly ran a blade he had pulled from his boot across the zombie's throat. It stumbled and Myles' hit the back of its knee, bringing it down to the ground easily. With the knife, he drove it into the walker's temple and it twitched before falling completely down onto the ground, dead. Just to be sure, however, Myles kicked in the zombie's skull until it resembled a pile of bloody mush.

~Michael Anthony Ross
~Outside the gun shop; Atlanta, Georga

Tapping his foot gently to a rhythm he'd come up with, Michael kept silent and on guard in the shadows of the waning summer light. Michael was the more energetic, talkative, sweet guy of the two-man team he had with Myles. His friend was...well...In the simplest of terms: the tortured soul. Of course, everyone had the right to be a tortured soul when you lived in 'Zombieland', it's just that Myles had always been this way. He'd always been reserved and aloof. On guard when it came to feelings and people. He didn't trust feelings or people. 'Feelings could be faked and people could fake them easily.' Michael never quite understood what Myles meant when he tried to explain how he felt. Usually, Michael would just frown, nod, and drop the subject; Myles wouldn't complain.

Crouched by a burnt out shell of a car, he'd been standing watch for only about five minutes when he could hear Myles' gentle footsteps crunch on the broken glass that had littered the gun shop. Turning his head briefly, he quickly averted his gaze again to keep on the lookout and only started to get worried when he didn't feel Myle's presence near. The sound of more glass being crushed and then the soft moan of a walker sent Michael up off up onto his feet and over to the doorway, though by the time he got there, Myles was wiping the zombie's blood from the blade he used to kill it. "What took you so long?" Came Myles' soft, southern drawl. Michael sighed and shook his head and retorted with, "You're impossible to keep up with, you know?" Nodding to the bag, Myles silently handed it over and Michael grunted at the supplies he'd acquired, "Alright, c'mon, we'll go make camp a street over." And silently, the started to slink about in the shadows in search of a new campsite for the night. Tomorrow, they'd planned on finding survivors.

[ElizabethStark]

Here they were, finally at their aunt's utility store. Ester turned off the engine, and sighed. There were a couple walkers heading their way,"Great, a couple have noticed." She shrugged on the backpack and grabbed her machete which she threw in the back. Opening the door cautiously there were no walkers close to the car, she would need to take out the two who were about nine meters away. Anna was climbing out of the car from Ester's end. She shut the door silently.

"Hand me your knife," Ester said commandingly. Anna did so without objection. With a swift flick of hand she sent the knife flying, lodging it in one of the walker's skulls. The walker slumped to the ground,"Next." With her machete she waited for the next one to approach close enough for her to strike. Once it did, she sliced it's head in half easily.

Ester looked around for any other walker's before entering the utility store. When the location was clear she crouched next to Anna and said,"Stay in the car while I make sure everything's safe inside, can you do that?"

Anna said firmly,"Of course, no problem." She headed back into the car keeping down so she wouldn't be seen. Ester felt a little nervous, but Anna was safer in the car than in the store while she would check if it was clear of any walkers. Ester headed for the entrance to the store, it was unlocked of course. The lights were flickering slightly, the store was small and seemed empty of any living or dead. Walking through the aisles there was nothing to be seen surprisingly. Checking behind the register she could see a body laid across the ground facing upward. Seeing the light red hair she knew who it was. Their aunt.

Ester gasped and quickly turned away while covering her mouth with her hand. She slid down against the wall feeling tears build up. She was expecting this, she shouldn't be shocked. Get yourself together dammit!, she thought to herself.

Ester stood back up and removed her hand from her mouth slowly. She hopped other the register facing her now dead aunt, machete in hand. She had to do it. Grasping the machete firmly in both hands, she lifted it into the air and brought it down hard against her aunt's skull, directly to the brain. She immediately removed it and before hopping back over she took her aunt's key from one of her pockets.

She headed over to the truck to grab Anna and return to the store. They were now both in the store, Anna won't be able to get over the register, she's too small. Thank God.

"Where's auntie?" Anna said with deep concern. Ester ignored her, suddenly very exhausted. She grabbed Anna's hand and headed to the back of the store to the backdoor which held her aunt's office. Unlocking it, she peered inside looking for any walkers, there was none. She pulled Anna inside and locked the door behind her, the door was very sturdy and hard to break into because it held most of her aunt's money. There was a king sized mattress across the floor, had someone been here? That was never there before, but the door was locked... Odd. However Ester didn't question anything else.

She flew herself on the mattress, Anna laid beside her and said sadly,"She's dead, isn't she?" The way she said it made Ester want to scream. Anna had said it as though she expected it, it hurt somehow.

"Yes," Ester simply said keeping any emotion out of her voice. After that everything got quiet and soon the world began to fade from Ester's vision.

[LegacyDreams]

As the three ran, Ilia in the middle, the zombie population slowly decreased. Eventually they came across Myles, stopping to look at him. Jason looked up at his sister with a very small nod. She looked down at him just in time to catch the nod. Ilia patted him on the head once before letting go of the twos hands and slowly walking up to the guy, not wanting to scare him or anything to make noise.

''Hey. Your not injured are you?'' Ilia whispered to him, standing a few feet in front of him. She loomed back to make sure the two were still there. Ilia then looked around for any nearby zombies but didn't see many. She gave a slight sigh, quietly though.

[Porcelain Doll]

Rochelle was startled when the man had pointed his weapon at her, he probably thought she was a zombie. She looked into his eyes, they looked quite tired. Rochelle would be surprised if anyone could sleep properly through all this chaos. The girl relaxed her shoulders and gave the man a friendly smile. Rochelle was some what happy that she had found someone, someone alive other than her sister and herself. She was starting to think that they might be the only ones left.

Rochelle walked closer to him and tucked a lose hair strand behind her ear. "It doesn't matter anymore. As long as you aren't one of them, you're okay in my books" the girl whispered back as she stopped looking in his eyes. She didn't want to creep him out. Rochelle took his hand in hers and shook it. His hand reminded Rochelle of her farther's hand, rough but warm. "My younger sister is downstairs and my parents.." Rochelle began to say as she fought back the tears. "My parents are still out there somewhere" she finished as she took a glance at the family photo on the bedside table.

Rochelle forced herself to not think about them for now, she would find them later. "I'm Rochelle Smith, by the way and my sister is Ruby" Rochelle smiled as she dropped his hand. "Got any family? friends?" she asked him curiously as she took a seat on the double bed. Rochelle wondered how he had been coping, has he been all alone all this time? Rochelle couldn't imagine herself going through all this by herself, it was already a struggle with two people. "How have you been coping out there?" Rochelle asked as she gave him a sympathetic look. She hoped that the man would be sticking around for a bit, perhaps he would be able to help them. They could work together, like a team.

[Ryokokalin]

The sun peeked out over the trees that surround the Engel farm. Wil's trip was now about to be set in motion. Instead of leaving earlier that week, she had put off prepping with excuses like, "I can't choose what to bring" or "the garden's still producing". It was when she realized that she was giving these excuses to the 3 hens that were her only companions, that she finally started to pack.

She had removed all she could from the safe. Two deer rifles, her father's shotgun and her old childhood one, a compound bow that her mother used, her father's glock from work, and a few knives were what she decided to take along with their respective ammo and a some arrows. She left a few others in the house in case someone else came along looking for shelter. And she supposed she could always return if need be. Deciding what to leave had been the hardest part. The guns reminded her of her father and the fact she might not ever see her parents again.

She slung her duffel bag full of food, canned things and other food that would keep, and the pet carrier containing the three chickens into the car. Those chickens didn't seem to be in the best of moods due to the cramped space and squawked loudly, telling Wil how they felt. "Hopefully, they won't make too much noise," she spoke out loud. She'd keep them around until they outlived their usefulness or she ran out of food for them.

Climbing up into the driver's seat, she looked back into car, checking that she had everything. Guns, check. Food, check. Chickens, check. Extra fuel, check. Everything she deemed necessary to take and could carry if need be. That was it. No more putting it off.

Wil started the engine and began the drive out her small farming town, towards where she hoped to find other survivors and not too many walkers.

[TheShadeofBlue]

Isaac relaxed considerably when she became friendly. The tension in the room was gone, and for the first time in quite a while, he didn't feel anxious or weary. He leaned against the wall, placing the crowbar against the adjacent wall. She introduced herself as Roshelle and her sister was named Ruby, whom he gathered was downstairs.

His expression softened a little at the mention of her parents. He was reminded of his own predicament, causing him to remember why he set out on this hellish journey in the first place. Still, he looked at Rochelle, young, and terrified. He thought about her sister, even younger. He'd met a few people on the way here from California, but nobody this young or alone. It was always groups of about a dozen or so. He'd seen more than a few people die in some truly gruesome ways, but he'd never come across anybody truly alone, except for himself, of course. He snapped himself out of his internal musings to reply to her questions.

"I'm Isaac Marlow," a self-depreciating grin spread to his face. "Dr. Marlow, in fact, not that it matters much anymore..." He took a seat next to Rochelle on the bed, clasped his hands together and gazed out the window.

"I was in California, I just earned my PhD in microbiology when...all this....happened." He said. "My family lives in South Carolina. I can't just forget about them, I want to know if they're okay. I've come across a few people, we'd work together for a while-" he stopped and laughed gently for a moment. "Besides those guys who robbed me anyway...but whatever, I've been able to get by. "

It was at that point that Isaac realized how lonely he'd been on the road. When you're fighting for your life and so focused on physical safety, maybe such concerns aren't noticeable. He glanced over at the young girl for a moment. Maybe he'd stick around for a while, just until things got cleared up with them.

"Anyway, don't worry about me, I'm fine. What about you? You're not planning on staying here, are you?"

[bluemoon]

The fingers of fear that had wrapped themselves so tightly around Bridget’s mind slowly released their grip as she ran through the city. She paid little attention to where she was going, her main concern concentrated on avoiding any contact with the undead. She quickly outdistanced the first group that had been attracted to the sound of the broken window, but her footfalls pulled more out of hiding with every second that passed. With great effort she slowed, taking the first good look at her surrounding. She had left the residential area and found herself in the business district. There were fewer places to hide and more broken windows than intact ones.

Breathing heavy with her hands on her bent knees, Bridget breathed in deeply, trying to catch her breath. Her father’s voice continued to echo in her head, calling her a coward and a fool. For seven years he had been dead, but like the walkers, he refused to stay down, manifesting himself as the voice of reason in her subconscious. His lessons were hard learned, and even now, she found she couldn’t escape them. Knowing the voices for what they really were, she still found herself reacting to his memory, often times seeing his ghostly image as a result of her overactive imagination. It had to stop. She had to do what she knew she must. Despite her reluctance to put herself in more danger, she would look for other survivors in the city and help those she could. With her decision made, she breathed easier and hushed the unwanted criticism in her mind.

Staying alert, with a butcher’s knife in her hand for protection, Bree moved to the closest building and stepped inside, the broken glass crunching loudly underfoot. The mini-mart was picked clean of anything useful, scattered debris littering the floor like discarded toys. Bending down, Bree picked up a hairbrush, running her thumb along the bristles absently. She knew she wasn’t alone, the smell of death reaching her long before anything else. With ungainly steps, a corpse stepped out from the aisles, attracted to the noise of her entrance. Perhaps a lawyer in his present life, the walker was dressed in a soiled suit and tie, his left shoe missing along with his toes. The street lights only allowed her to see a few details, but she was sure the decay was minimal. She left the same way she had entered, leaving the walker alone to his meanderings. In this fashion, she began perusing the stores for survivors, only engaging with the walkers when no other choice was available.