Post by Slayer_22 on May 8, 2016 23:57:39 GMT -6
"10 and 2, 10 and 2." Sam whispered to himself, placing his hands on the appropriate parts of the steering wheel. It was his first time driving a real passenger. Not his mom or dad, who would always insist on taking over the wheel. Every time, without fail. No, this time he had someone that would believe in him. Someone that wouldn't insist on taking over the wheel.
A warm hand made contact with his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. "Stop worrying, Sammy. You got this." Turning his head, Sam locked eyes with an angel. Figuratively. The vision of beauty's name was Agatha Moss. A brunette with a smile that could light up a room, a voice that was impossible to ignore, and an attitude that was just as likely to lend a smile as it was to smash in a window. Some might have seen flaws in her, the anger and attitude. But Sam never did. Just hurdles you'd have to get past to see the real her.
"It's a lot easier with you." Sam flashed a warm smile, before turning his eyes to the road. "Whatever you say, Sammy-boy." Sam could hear her chuckle and felt the brush of her arm leaning over to change the radio station, "What kinda music ya up for, Sammy?" Agatha questioned, flipping through various different stations. "Whatever you want, beautiful." Sam grinned, he wasn't good at much, but he was excellent at delivering cheesy compliments. "Oh, Sammy. Keep that up and I'll be swimmin' in these pants of mine." Agatha's voice was drenched in sarcasm, but the comment itself managed to get a chuckle from Sam.
Sam turned his head from the road to watch Agatha's lips form into a grin, "Now this, this is much better." She began to slap her hands against the dashboard to the beat of the song, a classic AC/DC song: 'Thunderstruck'. As Agatha slapped her hands against the dash, hitting it with her fist the moment it says 'THUN' and 'DER', Sam tried to keep his cool driving down the road. Keeping with the speed limit, watching the road, being a responsible driver.
But something felt wrong. Nothing he could place his finger on, but something he could feel in the pit of his stomach. It made him feel uneasy, uncomfortable, like he was in danger. Sam took a deep breath. "Focus on the road..." Sam's own voice felt like a calming element. He didn't understand why he was so uneasy, he had been driving for almost a year now. Everything was going great.
"Hey, Sammy?" Sam turned his head, "You want me?" Agatha leaned forward. "You miss me, don't ya, Sammy?" Sam cocked his head, watching as his girlfriend closed her lips and went in for a kiss.
Then he saw it. Pale, perfect skin peeling back into something gray. It looked like stop motion. Jagged, rough motions as individual shapes peeled back. The skin seperated to reveal another layer of gray. Of decomposition. Cracks in-between dried, dead skin made visible reddish black splotches of dried blood. "Don't you miss me?" The high pitched voice, one that wasn't Agatha's, slammed into Sam's eardrums. The creature's mouth outstretched into something more fitting of a bite, revealing yellowed and broken teeth, stained with years of neglect. The woman he loved had devolved into a monster, who began thrashing in her seat. Held back by only the seatbelt keeping her locked in place.
A car horn echoed through his mind, and his first reaction was to face forward. Then, blackness. A jolt forward, intense pain. He already knew what had happened before his eyes could open. A crash. After a couple of seconds, Sam could open his eyes. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to face the monster beside him.
"Sam..." It was normal. "Sammy..." A hand squeezed his shoulder. "Agatha?" Sam kept his eyes closed, he didn't want to see. "Sammy...don't look." Feeling began to come back, his head was lying against the steering wheel. While his hand had an intense pain, and every attempt to move it led to pain. "Don't look, okay?" He could hear her ragged breath, but he wanted to look. "Close your eyes, okay." The voice was coming behind him. Agatha was in the back seat. "Keep'em closed, everything's gonna be fine." Sam, against every fiber of his being, every bone in his body, and every bit of common sense, opened his eyes.
He could feel the tears begin welling up immediately. "Mom?" In the passenger seat was his mom. Her brunette hair strewn about in every direction, dyed with fresh blood. Her dead eyes were locked on Sam's. "Mom...?" Sam asked to no avail. He knew it was useless. The more he looked into her eyes, her soulless eyes. The more he looked at the blood flowing freely on the dash. He knew what was happening. Sam, still feeling pain in his hand, lifted it towards his mother. It was broken, the index finger was dislocated and it was limp, but he kept reaching. Hoping a touch could fix everything.
It didn't. Nothing changed. Touching her face just made his hand pulsate with a pain he wasn't used to. It felt like hours had past, but it was just minutes. Minutes of staring at his dead mother. The sounds around him were gone. All he heard was the blank static of the radio. She was lying in a pool of her own blood. And it was HIS fault. Then a smash. A twist. Metal scraping. The door beside him was ripped off it's hinges. Something began pulling him out. And sound returned. "Whhhyyyyy did you do it, Sammmyyy?" A high pitched voice. Sam didn't care. The monster was there, now looking him in the eyes. Grey, decayed skin. A smell of rot. Wearing tattered clothes. It began to tear into him. Ripping and tearing, laughing with it's high pitched, shrill voice. Soon joined by more. And more. And more. He couldn't feel anything anymore.
Sam woke in a sweat, another nightmare. It was the same setting it always was. The crash. The one his mother was in, Agatha was in, the one that made him leave. All because of his idiocy. What kind of mechanic could put in an airbag incorrectly, he always found himself asking. The answer was someone that didn't deserve the life he had. That's why he left, 5 years ago and some months ago. 17 years old, running away from everything he loved. It was a coward's move, but something that saved everyone the trouble of a screw-up.
Now, the world had turned to shit. People dying, coming back as corpses with a meat only diet. Sam had little info outside of Idaho and Nevada, both of which seemed to be completely devastated. Whatever had happened, it hit hard and travelled fast. He wasn't sure about the rest of the world, what was going on the other side of the US. Or even other parts of the world. Deep down, he had hoped that places had survived, managed to stop the dead in their tracks outright.
Gathering himself, the 22 year old surveyed the room he was in. It took a moment to remember, the massive headache saw to that. It was the back room of an old tailoring shop. Sam had taken refuge inside for the night, waiting until the morning to continue his run. Sam had driven particularly far from his camp, taking to a nearby town in order to fill his truck with everything he could find. He had been clearing the stores lining a street, one that was packed with stores of every nature.
It's surprising how many things, when everything was normal, that people would ignore or treat as non-essential, things to be ignored in an emergency situation. Bug spray, asprin, tools. Small things you'd regularly pay no mind to that could end up saving your life. Then there were the more needed items: clothing, food, water, soap, antibiotics. Sam, surprisngly, had gotten a little of everything. It had taken a few days to get it all, dodging hordes and killing stragglers that managed to spot him.
It was his decision to go alone. He wanted to move quickly and pack as much into his truck as he could, using as few supplies as possible. If anyobe else came along, he'd be endangering them. That was not something he would do. Never. His runs were, for the most part, solo.
Sam picked up his bag and cracked open the door quietly. Empty, just like he left it. Sam prepared his weapons and walked out. His weapon was quite the gnarly sight. A rust and blood tipped pitchfork attached to a pump-action shotgun. He wasn't absolutely sure on the make or model, but he had heard Remington from one of his campmates. So, he went with that. The weapon in of itself was surpringly effective, good for taking out enemies quietly or loudly, groups or single enemies. No matter what end hit, everything it touched wasn't gonna get back up. The shotgun was fine, but the pitchfork was worn down. The ends bent down, sideways, and upwards. Rusted, bloody, and the top piece was a bit wobbly. But it hadn't fallen off yet. Good thing, too. He had welded it on to the shotgun itself, creating one deadly item from a single one. Simple concept, complicated execution.
Keeping the weapon and bag on different shoulders, he inched out of the back room to get a good look at the outside. Sam was greeted with something lovely: a lack of dead. There were a few scattered about. They always reminded Sam of vultures. Perching in areas they felt comfortable in, and then watching. Waiting. Listening. They always had a way of finding their next meal. And they were patient about it.
Sam stayed against the side of the buildings, the shady areas that offered little in the way of visibility, and made it to his car. Sam quietly stashed his bag in the trunk, taking a look all around. It was clear. But something seemed off. He wasn't sure he heard much beyond a couple of moans, but the corpses knew something he didn't. They were walking, heading off in a direction that led to who knows where. Sam hid next to his car, watching them intently. He couldn't help but ask himself if he should follow.
The moan that came behind him was all the answer he needed.
-
The sun in Nevada always seemed brighter than anywhere else. It wasn't, but it always seemed that way. Like it just wanted to be hotter and brighter there than anywhere else. Today was no different. Living in the hot Nevada sun was a grate, one that led directly into a sewer. The grate itself, however, was being used in a way that was completely unexpected: an alarm. Much like roosters in old cartoons, it was a young brunette's way of waking up at a very specific time. Not the best alarm clock, but a damn good one. The lack of clocks made it almost impossible to tell when it was, but to her it was time to wake up.
Feeling the hot rays slowly burning her face, she shifted in her make-shift bed and began to stretch. The floor was never comfy, no matter how many old clothes or blankets you stacked under you. It was always rough, flat, and infinitely unforgiving. The girl yawned as she always did, a permanent piece of her daily routine. Wiping her eyes, attempting to force the feeling of sleepiness from her body, the young woman sat herself up and looked around. As always, the sewer was dark. But, the natural light provided just enough to see around her. Various other bodies laying in different positions, all peacefully sleeping.
The girl's name was Emma. She was one of the eleven survivors who found themselves stowed away inside the sewer. Though, the current count wasn't eleven, it was a rounded ten. At first, Emma couldn't help but question Ari, their leader's, judgement. A sewer, of all places, seemed like a place that would be easily found, easily overrun. A wet, smelly, disgusting place to live. But they had been surviving for months now. And that, in retrospect, made it all worthwhile.
Emma sat herself up off the uncomfortable wool blanket she had placed down, stretching her limbs every which way. Hopping to her feet, Emma picked up her bedspread, preparing to fold it, when a teddy bear fell out. Emma snatched up the teddy as well and, after giving it a quick snuggle, folded her bedding into a semi-neat pile. Emma dropped everything alongside everyone else's belongings, which had all been haphazardly thrown or folded off into their own little corner. It wasn't hard to tell who's was who's, but it was hard to keep the corner itself neat and out of everyone's way.
"Milaya." An accented voiced called out from deeper within the sewer's cave-like canals. Emma felt a tug on the side of her lips as she made her way to the room that the voice had emanated from. "Sit." A young blonde woman quietly spoke, her gorgeous features lit by a small fire underneath her. The young beauty had an accent, one that managed to be an enormous tell as to where she had been raised: Russia. Emma plopped down, sitting criss-cross applesauce as she admired the woman's perfect visage. Her features were admittedly soft, but with a underlying strength underneath you could not ignore. Piercing blue eyes, neatly trimmed hair, a calming smile, and an expression that was kind in nature, not something you'd see every day. The woman had small tufts of hair out of allignment, or smudges of dirt along her face, but they were generally easy to ignore.
"Hey, Ari." Emma spoke, in a soft tone. Arina Orumov was quite the woman in Emma's eyes. Beautiful, strong, a natural leader, and the person she had decided to spend her life with. Despite the age difference, Emma had managed to find a way into the woman's heart. A daunting task at first sight, but one Emma had accomplished with ease. It came naturally. She always liked to think it was because they were soul mates. "I made us breakfast. I was planning on surprising you after it cooled off but beggars cannot be choosers, now can they?" Ari delivered a wink, forcing a nervous giggle from Emma. "Thank you..." Emma leaned into the pot on the side of the fire, examining what was inside. "Chili and beans..." Emma's voice reeked of sarcasm, "awesome." Arina grinned in response, pulling out two bowls from a makeshift pile of various cooking and eating utensils beside her. "I know it looks bad, dear, but you must eat. We have a big day ahead of us."
Emma sighed, she still wasn't fully prepared for today. They were going to go on a scavenging run. Four of them: Mick, Ari, Emma, and Ana. They were going to gather supplies, as they had been doing every week, for an even bigger run. One that could ensure their survival and improve their quality of life if they were actually capable of pulling it off. Their. Plan was simple: Take over a prison.
Outside town, about 2 miles from their current home, was a large prison. One with high walls, guard towers, fences, and everything you could want from a zombie survival fortress. The only problem: it was inhabited by zombies. Ari had been planning to take the prison for 2 months now, slowly gathering supplies needed to force the operation to go off without a hitch. It wasn't easy, however. It involved weekly scav. runs and daily mini-runs. Just to grab small essential things so they could stockpile and prepare. If even one item was missing, it could all be over.
Emma took a bite of the chili, flashing her girlfriend a smile. Ari always seemed to cook their food to perfection. Even something as simple and mundane as chili with beans felt like a gormet meal when it was cooked by her hands. Or maybe that was just Emma overexaggerating. Maybe it was just her presence that made everything taste better. Shrugging off the feeling, she locked eyes with Ari. "You sleep well?" Emma asked, making sure to take another bite after. "I would say so. It was pleasantly quiet last night, no?" Ari took a bit of her own, swallowing it before getting too many bites in. "Yeah. Was kinda surprised. Yesterday a bunch of them crowded the door. Me and Ana spent, like, basically an hour throwing rocks at trees before we were clear." Arina smiled at Emma, responding simply with, "Resourceful."
Emma scooped up the last chunk lect in her bowl and scooped it along the side and then directly into her mouth, placing the bowl to her side. "That was delicious." Emma rubbed her stomach, "You always make awesome food." Arina nodded, "I think I've heard you say that enough to believe it myself." Ari leaned in and pinched Emma's cheek, receiving a forced giggle in response. Arina moved back to her own spot, trying to finish off her own meal. Emma grinned and flipped herself onto her hands and knees, slowly crawling towards the blonde. "I love you, Ari." Arina raised her eyebrow with a grin of her own. "Do you, now?" Emma maneuvered around the fire and slowly crawled on top of Ari, who leaned back in response until she was on her back. "Yeah. I really, really do." Emma leaned in and delivered a kiss, one that seemed to last forever. When they finally parted, Ari had a smirk, "I love you too, lyubimaya." Emma found herself going in for another kiss when a voice interrupted.
"Hate to break up the love fest, lass, but you two ain't the only ones eatin'." Ari was still beaming, "We'll have to finish this up later, dear." Emma managed to put on her best pouty face before getting up alongside Arina. The man who had spoken up, he harbored a heavy Irish accent. You could almost smell the alcohol hanging off his words, the gruff about his voice. But the man Emma knew, Mick O'Connor, was far nicer than he'd let on. Mick was basically the muscle of the group. Despite being fairly old, he was tough as hell. Emma had seen him cold cock a zombie once, hitting it so hard that it's neck had snapped.
Mick himself didn't look like someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. His black, stringy hair had grown somewhat long from it's original, much shorter, style. He had quite a beard, as well. It was less long and more filled in. Looking like something you'd see on a lumberjack. But shorter, of course. Barely reaching off of his chin. He bent down, giving out a quiet grunt before picking up the now room temperature pot of chili and bringing it into the other room. Emma and Ari followed, seeing how almost everyone had woken up. Probably Mick's work. He'd usually be playing look-out for the latter half of the night before, and wake everyone up in the morning. Part of his routine. It had also become part of everyone else's.
"Yay!" Two child's hands raised into the air when she saw the food. It was Eliza. Mick's great grand-daughter. A small black haired little girl who never went without a dress. Sitting next to Eliza, and Mick's regular ol' granddaughter, was Sara. Sara was the type of girl everyone wanted to be friends with in high school. A stereotype. The popular girl, the looker, the one who skipped through life without a care in the world. She brushed her hair aside and stroked her daughter's hair to fix anything loose or out of place and began staring at the food.
The rest of the group was easy enough to notice in the dim light. Ana, the red haired Russian little sister of Arina and best friend of Emma. Agatha, the loner and former rocker. Then there were the three college kids who were lucky enough to have their asses saved. Trevor, the one who was always ridiculously photogenic, very handsome too. Almost impossible to ignore, looked like he would have ended up a model. Phil, the guy who had the oddest ability to just 'fit in'. You would never notice him in a room of people because he'd just fit in so well. And, finally, Fred. Fred was an odd one. Much like Emma, in a way. A lot like her, actually. Emma had actually found a friend in him, especially since he had a ridiculous library of comics in his backpack.
Ari passed about bowls to the entire group, filling their bowls up the same amount until there was nothing left. Everyone began scarfing on their food, as Ari came back to sit next to Emma. Of course, Emma immediately attached herself to Arina's arm. She squeezed, "Sometimes I just wanna hold you close, feel your heart close to mine. And just stay there, in that moment, for the rest of time." Ari let out a chuckle, "Aerosmith, Emma? Really?" Emma giggled, resting her head on Ari's comfortable arm. "It's romantic. Don't blame me. Jeez." The two shared another laugh.
After everyone had finished their meal, the four planning to actually go out began to gather their things. The plan was for four of them to raid a place about 3 miles out, a town they hadn't actually hit yet. Emma, Ana, Ari, and Mick were the ones to go out. A quick drive to the place itself and then a run to get the supplies. Emma and Ana, who had scouted the places out, had already drawn a map and marked off places that were too dense with zombies. Their system for drawing out the map was something both girls were proud of. Emma would keep to the rooftops, finding a good vantage point to get the layout down to pat. Ana, on the other hand, would keep to the ground and gather information. Zombie density, if supplies were likely, possible survivors. Then they would estimate the risk vs. reward when the time came.
"Hey, Em." Ana draped her arms over Emma, giving her a hug. "Hey." Emma cracked a smile, squeezing the smaller girl as hard as she could before letting go. "You excited?" Ana asked, digging through Emma's bag and helping her get the necessary items while Emma outfitted herself. "Nah...more like...stressed. Scared." Ana frowned. "Now, that won't do. You need to calm down, everything will be fine, dear. We have Ari and a big burly Irish man, the likelyhood of something bad happening is slim." Emma nodded in response. Ana was always there to calm her down, and it made going forward a lot easier. Even when her stomach was in a knot with stress, Ana had a way of relieving it.
Emma picked up an old looking rifle. It was something she had picked up in an old house. She had fired them before, it came with knowing Ari and Ana, but it always felt heavier than it looked. Maybe the thought of firing it, having a reason to fire it, made it all the heavier. She slipped the rifle onto her back, using a strap fashioned from old pieces of rope and a belt. Turning to her friend, Emma locked eyes with Ana. "You ready?"
A warm hand made contact with his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. "Stop worrying, Sammy. You got this." Turning his head, Sam locked eyes with an angel. Figuratively. The vision of beauty's name was Agatha Moss. A brunette with a smile that could light up a room, a voice that was impossible to ignore, and an attitude that was just as likely to lend a smile as it was to smash in a window. Some might have seen flaws in her, the anger and attitude. But Sam never did. Just hurdles you'd have to get past to see the real her.
"It's a lot easier with you." Sam flashed a warm smile, before turning his eyes to the road. "Whatever you say, Sammy-boy." Sam could hear her chuckle and felt the brush of her arm leaning over to change the radio station, "What kinda music ya up for, Sammy?" Agatha questioned, flipping through various different stations. "Whatever you want, beautiful." Sam grinned, he wasn't good at much, but he was excellent at delivering cheesy compliments. "Oh, Sammy. Keep that up and I'll be swimmin' in these pants of mine." Agatha's voice was drenched in sarcasm, but the comment itself managed to get a chuckle from Sam.
Sam turned his head from the road to watch Agatha's lips form into a grin, "Now this, this is much better." She began to slap her hands against the dashboard to the beat of the song, a classic AC/DC song: 'Thunderstruck'. As Agatha slapped her hands against the dash, hitting it with her fist the moment it says 'THUN' and 'DER', Sam tried to keep his cool driving down the road. Keeping with the speed limit, watching the road, being a responsible driver.
But something felt wrong. Nothing he could place his finger on, but something he could feel in the pit of his stomach. It made him feel uneasy, uncomfortable, like he was in danger. Sam took a deep breath. "Focus on the road..." Sam's own voice felt like a calming element. He didn't understand why he was so uneasy, he had been driving for almost a year now. Everything was going great.
"Hey, Sammy?" Sam turned his head, "You want me?" Agatha leaned forward. "You miss me, don't ya, Sammy?" Sam cocked his head, watching as his girlfriend closed her lips and went in for a kiss.
Then he saw it. Pale, perfect skin peeling back into something gray. It looked like stop motion. Jagged, rough motions as individual shapes peeled back. The skin seperated to reveal another layer of gray. Of decomposition. Cracks in-between dried, dead skin made visible reddish black splotches of dried blood. "Don't you miss me?" The high pitched voice, one that wasn't Agatha's, slammed into Sam's eardrums. The creature's mouth outstretched into something more fitting of a bite, revealing yellowed and broken teeth, stained with years of neglect. The woman he loved had devolved into a monster, who began thrashing in her seat. Held back by only the seatbelt keeping her locked in place.
A car horn echoed through his mind, and his first reaction was to face forward. Then, blackness. A jolt forward, intense pain. He already knew what had happened before his eyes could open. A crash. After a couple of seconds, Sam could open his eyes. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to face the monster beside him.
"Sam..." It was normal. "Sammy..." A hand squeezed his shoulder. "Agatha?" Sam kept his eyes closed, he didn't want to see. "Sammy...don't look." Feeling began to come back, his head was lying against the steering wheel. While his hand had an intense pain, and every attempt to move it led to pain. "Don't look, okay?" He could hear her ragged breath, but he wanted to look. "Close your eyes, okay." The voice was coming behind him. Agatha was in the back seat. "Keep'em closed, everything's gonna be fine." Sam, against every fiber of his being, every bone in his body, and every bit of common sense, opened his eyes.
He could feel the tears begin welling up immediately. "Mom?" In the passenger seat was his mom. Her brunette hair strewn about in every direction, dyed with fresh blood. Her dead eyes were locked on Sam's. "Mom...?" Sam asked to no avail. He knew it was useless. The more he looked into her eyes, her soulless eyes. The more he looked at the blood flowing freely on the dash. He knew what was happening. Sam, still feeling pain in his hand, lifted it towards his mother. It was broken, the index finger was dislocated and it was limp, but he kept reaching. Hoping a touch could fix everything.
It didn't. Nothing changed. Touching her face just made his hand pulsate with a pain he wasn't used to. It felt like hours had past, but it was just minutes. Minutes of staring at his dead mother. The sounds around him were gone. All he heard was the blank static of the radio. She was lying in a pool of her own blood. And it was HIS fault. Then a smash. A twist. Metal scraping. The door beside him was ripped off it's hinges. Something began pulling him out. And sound returned. "Whhhyyyyy did you do it, Sammmyyy?" A high pitched voice. Sam didn't care. The monster was there, now looking him in the eyes. Grey, decayed skin. A smell of rot. Wearing tattered clothes. It began to tear into him. Ripping and tearing, laughing with it's high pitched, shrill voice. Soon joined by more. And more. And more. He couldn't feel anything anymore.
Sam woke in a sweat, another nightmare. It was the same setting it always was. The crash. The one his mother was in, Agatha was in, the one that made him leave. All because of his idiocy. What kind of mechanic could put in an airbag incorrectly, he always found himself asking. The answer was someone that didn't deserve the life he had. That's why he left, 5 years ago and some months ago. 17 years old, running away from everything he loved. It was a coward's move, but something that saved everyone the trouble of a screw-up.
Now, the world had turned to shit. People dying, coming back as corpses with a meat only diet. Sam had little info outside of Idaho and Nevada, both of which seemed to be completely devastated. Whatever had happened, it hit hard and travelled fast. He wasn't sure about the rest of the world, what was going on the other side of the US. Or even other parts of the world. Deep down, he had hoped that places had survived, managed to stop the dead in their tracks outright.
Gathering himself, the 22 year old surveyed the room he was in. It took a moment to remember, the massive headache saw to that. It was the back room of an old tailoring shop. Sam had taken refuge inside for the night, waiting until the morning to continue his run. Sam had driven particularly far from his camp, taking to a nearby town in order to fill his truck with everything he could find. He had been clearing the stores lining a street, one that was packed with stores of every nature.
It's surprising how many things, when everything was normal, that people would ignore or treat as non-essential, things to be ignored in an emergency situation. Bug spray, asprin, tools. Small things you'd regularly pay no mind to that could end up saving your life. Then there were the more needed items: clothing, food, water, soap, antibiotics. Sam, surprisngly, had gotten a little of everything. It had taken a few days to get it all, dodging hordes and killing stragglers that managed to spot him.
It was his decision to go alone. He wanted to move quickly and pack as much into his truck as he could, using as few supplies as possible. If anyobe else came along, he'd be endangering them. That was not something he would do. Never. His runs were, for the most part, solo.
Sam picked up his bag and cracked open the door quietly. Empty, just like he left it. Sam prepared his weapons and walked out. His weapon was quite the gnarly sight. A rust and blood tipped pitchfork attached to a pump-action shotgun. He wasn't absolutely sure on the make or model, but he had heard Remington from one of his campmates. So, he went with that. The weapon in of itself was surpringly effective, good for taking out enemies quietly or loudly, groups or single enemies. No matter what end hit, everything it touched wasn't gonna get back up. The shotgun was fine, but the pitchfork was worn down. The ends bent down, sideways, and upwards. Rusted, bloody, and the top piece was a bit wobbly. But it hadn't fallen off yet. Good thing, too. He had welded it on to the shotgun itself, creating one deadly item from a single one. Simple concept, complicated execution.
Keeping the weapon and bag on different shoulders, he inched out of the back room to get a good look at the outside. Sam was greeted with something lovely: a lack of dead. There were a few scattered about. They always reminded Sam of vultures. Perching in areas they felt comfortable in, and then watching. Waiting. Listening. They always had a way of finding their next meal. And they were patient about it.
Sam stayed against the side of the buildings, the shady areas that offered little in the way of visibility, and made it to his car. Sam quietly stashed his bag in the trunk, taking a look all around. It was clear. But something seemed off. He wasn't sure he heard much beyond a couple of moans, but the corpses knew something he didn't. They were walking, heading off in a direction that led to who knows where. Sam hid next to his car, watching them intently. He couldn't help but ask himself if he should follow.
The moan that came behind him was all the answer he needed.
-
The sun in Nevada always seemed brighter than anywhere else. It wasn't, but it always seemed that way. Like it just wanted to be hotter and brighter there than anywhere else. Today was no different. Living in the hot Nevada sun was a grate, one that led directly into a sewer. The grate itself, however, was being used in a way that was completely unexpected: an alarm. Much like roosters in old cartoons, it was a young brunette's way of waking up at a very specific time. Not the best alarm clock, but a damn good one. The lack of clocks made it almost impossible to tell when it was, but to her it was time to wake up.
Feeling the hot rays slowly burning her face, she shifted in her make-shift bed and began to stretch. The floor was never comfy, no matter how many old clothes or blankets you stacked under you. It was always rough, flat, and infinitely unforgiving. The girl yawned as she always did, a permanent piece of her daily routine. Wiping her eyes, attempting to force the feeling of sleepiness from her body, the young woman sat herself up and looked around. As always, the sewer was dark. But, the natural light provided just enough to see around her. Various other bodies laying in different positions, all peacefully sleeping.
The girl's name was Emma. She was one of the eleven survivors who found themselves stowed away inside the sewer. Though, the current count wasn't eleven, it was a rounded ten. At first, Emma couldn't help but question Ari, their leader's, judgement. A sewer, of all places, seemed like a place that would be easily found, easily overrun. A wet, smelly, disgusting place to live. But they had been surviving for months now. And that, in retrospect, made it all worthwhile.
Emma sat herself up off the uncomfortable wool blanket she had placed down, stretching her limbs every which way. Hopping to her feet, Emma picked up her bedspread, preparing to fold it, when a teddy bear fell out. Emma snatched up the teddy as well and, after giving it a quick snuggle, folded her bedding into a semi-neat pile. Emma dropped everything alongside everyone else's belongings, which had all been haphazardly thrown or folded off into their own little corner. It wasn't hard to tell who's was who's, but it was hard to keep the corner itself neat and out of everyone's way.
"Milaya." An accented voiced called out from deeper within the sewer's cave-like canals. Emma felt a tug on the side of her lips as she made her way to the room that the voice had emanated from. "Sit." A young blonde woman quietly spoke, her gorgeous features lit by a small fire underneath her. The young beauty had an accent, one that managed to be an enormous tell as to where she had been raised: Russia. Emma plopped down, sitting criss-cross applesauce as she admired the woman's perfect visage. Her features were admittedly soft, but with a underlying strength underneath you could not ignore. Piercing blue eyes, neatly trimmed hair, a calming smile, and an expression that was kind in nature, not something you'd see every day. The woman had small tufts of hair out of allignment, or smudges of dirt along her face, but they were generally easy to ignore.
"Hey, Ari." Emma spoke, in a soft tone. Arina Orumov was quite the woman in Emma's eyes. Beautiful, strong, a natural leader, and the person she had decided to spend her life with. Despite the age difference, Emma had managed to find a way into the woman's heart. A daunting task at first sight, but one Emma had accomplished with ease. It came naturally. She always liked to think it was because they were soul mates. "I made us breakfast. I was planning on surprising you after it cooled off but beggars cannot be choosers, now can they?" Ari delivered a wink, forcing a nervous giggle from Emma. "Thank you..." Emma leaned into the pot on the side of the fire, examining what was inside. "Chili and beans..." Emma's voice reeked of sarcasm, "awesome." Arina grinned in response, pulling out two bowls from a makeshift pile of various cooking and eating utensils beside her. "I know it looks bad, dear, but you must eat. We have a big day ahead of us."
Emma sighed, she still wasn't fully prepared for today. They were going to go on a scavenging run. Four of them: Mick, Ari, Emma, and Ana. They were going to gather supplies, as they had been doing every week, for an even bigger run. One that could ensure their survival and improve their quality of life if they were actually capable of pulling it off. Their. Plan was simple: Take over a prison.
Outside town, about 2 miles from their current home, was a large prison. One with high walls, guard towers, fences, and everything you could want from a zombie survival fortress. The only problem: it was inhabited by zombies. Ari had been planning to take the prison for 2 months now, slowly gathering supplies needed to force the operation to go off without a hitch. It wasn't easy, however. It involved weekly scav. runs and daily mini-runs. Just to grab small essential things so they could stockpile and prepare. If even one item was missing, it could all be over.
Emma took a bite of the chili, flashing her girlfriend a smile. Ari always seemed to cook their food to perfection. Even something as simple and mundane as chili with beans felt like a gormet meal when it was cooked by her hands. Or maybe that was just Emma overexaggerating. Maybe it was just her presence that made everything taste better. Shrugging off the feeling, she locked eyes with Ari. "You sleep well?" Emma asked, making sure to take another bite after. "I would say so. It was pleasantly quiet last night, no?" Ari took a bit of her own, swallowing it before getting too many bites in. "Yeah. Was kinda surprised. Yesterday a bunch of them crowded the door. Me and Ana spent, like, basically an hour throwing rocks at trees before we were clear." Arina smiled at Emma, responding simply with, "Resourceful."
Emma scooped up the last chunk lect in her bowl and scooped it along the side and then directly into her mouth, placing the bowl to her side. "That was delicious." Emma rubbed her stomach, "You always make awesome food." Arina nodded, "I think I've heard you say that enough to believe it myself." Ari leaned in and pinched Emma's cheek, receiving a forced giggle in response. Arina moved back to her own spot, trying to finish off her own meal. Emma grinned and flipped herself onto her hands and knees, slowly crawling towards the blonde. "I love you, Ari." Arina raised her eyebrow with a grin of her own. "Do you, now?" Emma maneuvered around the fire and slowly crawled on top of Ari, who leaned back in response until she was on her back. "Yeah. I really, really do." Emma leaned in and delivered a kiss, one that seemed to last forever. When they finally parted, Ari had a smirk, "I love you too, lyubimaya." Emma found herself going in for another kiss when a voice interrupted.
"Hate to break up the love fest, lass, but you two ain't the only ones eatin'." Ari was still beaming, "We'll have to finish this up later, dear." Emma managed to put on her best pouty face before getting up alongside Arina. The man who had spoken up, he harbored a heavy Irish accent. You could almost smell the alcohol hanging off his words, the gruff about his voice. But the man Emma knew, Mick O'Connor, was far nicer than he'd let on. Mick was basically the muscle of the group. Despite being fairly old, he was tough as hell. Emma had seen him cold cock a zombie once, hitting it so hard that it's neck had snapped.
Mick himself didn't look like someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. His black, stringy hair had grown somewhat long from it's original, much shorter, style. He had quite a beard, as well. It was less long and more filled in. Looking like something you'd see on a lumberjack. But shorter, of course. Barely reaching off of his chin. He bent down, giving out a quiet grunt before picking up the now room temperature pot of chili and bringing it into the other room. Emma and Ari followed, seeing how almost everyone had woken up. Probably Mick's work. He'd usually be playing look-out for the latter half of the night before, and wake everyone up in the morning. Part of his routine. It had also become part of everyone else's.
"Yay!" Two child's hands raised into the air when she saw the food. It was Eliza. Mick's great grand-daughter. A small black haired little girl who never went without a dress. Sitting next to Eliza, and Mick's regular ol' granddaughter, was Sara. Sara was the type of girl everyone wanted to be friends with in high school. A stereotype. The popular girl, the looker, the one who skipped through life without a care in the world. She brushed her hair aside and stroked her daughter's hair to fix anything loose or out of place and began staring at the food.
The rest of the group was easy enough to notice in the dim light. Ana, the red haired Russian little sister of Arina and best friend of Emma. Agatha, the loner and former rocker. Then there were the three college kids who were lucky enough to have their asses saved. Trevor, the one who was always ridiculously photogenic, very handsome too. Almost impossible to ignore, looked like he would have ended up a model. Phil, the guy who had the oddest ability to just 'fit in'. You would never notice him in a room of people because he'd just fit in so well. And, finally, Fred. Fred was an odd one. Much like Emma, in a way. A lot like her, actually. Emma had actually found a friend in him, especially since he had a ridiculous library of comics in his backpack.
Ari passed about bowls to the entire group, filling their bowls up the same amount until there was nothing left. Everyone began scarfing on their food, as Ari came back to sit next to Emma. Of course, Emma immediately attached herself to Arina's arm. She squeezed, "Sometimes I just wanna hold you close, feel your heart close to mine. And just stay there, in that moment, for the rest of time." Ari let out a chuckle, "Aerosmith, Emma? Really?" Emma giggled, resting her head on Ari's comfortable arm. "It's romantic. Don't blame me. Jeez." The two shared another laugh.
After everyone had finished their meal, the four planning to actually go out began to gather their things. The plan was for four of them to raid a place about 3 miles out, a town they hadn't actually hit yet. Emma, Ana, Ari, and Mick were the ones to go out. A quick drive to the place itself and then a run to get the supplies. Emma and Ana, who had scouted the places out, had already drawn a map and marked off places that were too dense with zombies. Their system for drawing out the map was something both girls were proud of. Emma would keep to the rooftops, finding a good vantage point to get the layout down to pat. Ana, on the other hand, would keep to the ground and gather information. Zombie density, if supplies were likely, possible survivors. Then they would estimate the risk vs. reward when the time came.
"Hey, Em." Ana draped her arms over Emma, giving her a hug. "Hey." Emma cracked a smile, squeezing the smaller girl as hard as she could before letting go. "You excited?" Ana asked, digging through Emma's bag and helping her get the necessary items while Emma outfitted herself. "Nah...more like...stressed. Scared." Ana frowned. "Now, that won't do. You need to calm down, everything will be fine, dear. We have Ari and a big burly Irish man, the likelyhood of something bad happening is slim." Emma nodded in response. Ana was always there to calm her down, and it made going forward a lot easier. Even when her stomach was in a knot with stress, Ana had a way of relieving it.
Emma picked up an old looking rifle. It was something she had picked up in an old house. She had fired them before, it came with knowing Ari and Ana, but it always felt heavier than it looked. Maybe the thought of firing it, having a reason to fire it, made it all the heavier. She slipped the rifle onto her back, using a strap fashioned from old pieces of rope and a belt. Turning to her friend, Emma locked eyes with Ana. "You ready?"