Melina looked over at the party girl as she slid in to the Jeep. What are you doing, girl? Picking up hitchhikers? Since when? she questioned herself. To the party girl, she simply smiled, waiting for the stranger to buckle up.

When the buckle went click, Melina reached over an arm, hand extended for a shake. `I`m Melina. What`s your name?`

[OOC: Assuming Jetta replies.]

`Well, Jetta, it shouldn`t take us too long to get to Walmart driving.` She smiled at the girl again.

The trip over to Walmart WAS only a short drive, but Melina gave space for Jetta to talk about herself, asking the goth girl some casual questions to help keep the awkward silence away. The announcement over the radio, silenced the women anyway. When the announcer said, `…avoid contact with strangers…` Melina looked over at Jetta and laughed a nervous laugh.

As they pulled into the parking lot, and Melina shifted the Jeep into park, she announced the obvious, `Well, here we are. Friendly, neighborhood Walmart.`

Turning off the ignition, the doors to the Jeep automatically unlocked. Almost simultaneously, Melina`s phone began to ring. As she exited the van, she flipped open her cell, noticed the man getting out of the car near her.

`Hello?` she said into her phone, as she locked the Jeep with the remote from her keychain.

“Melinaaa!” It was Angie. Thank God!
`Where are you, girl? I waited outside Kacee`s apartment for 10 minutes at least. You want a ride or not?`

She sounded drunkenly oblivious to the crumbling of the world around her.

“Sorry I missed your call…The music’s pretty loud and I guess a kid is pretty sick. I think it’s time for me to get myself on out o’ here! So hurry up with the coffees! Melina?”

`Yeah! Angie! I gotcha. I`m grabbing the coffees and I`m heading straight back. Don`t make me come up and get you, girl. I want you downstairs in 20 minutes. If I`m not there already, wait for me at the church next door there. Angie? You still there?`

After she had finished with Angie, she turned to Jetta, `I`m heading back to where I picked you up in fifteen… if you want a ride back there. Otherwise, it was nice meetin` you, Jetta.`

Feeling like she had down her share of good deeds for the day, Melina heading over to Dunkin` Donuts to grab the coffees.

[OOC: if the line up for coffee is exceptionally long, Melina won`t bother waiting around. She`ll grab a coke and a Mars bar from the Walmart checkout (paying for it of course).]

Jetta chatted politely about herself, something she hated doing, but felt the need to accomdate Melina, who was going out of her wa to be nice. As she reached into her bag for her money, the radio anounced the outbreak.

She chuckled. "I'd say I'm harmless but I've seen a lot of movies. That's the part when the psycho starts hacking everyone to bits. So let's just say I'm not infected, haha."

They pulled to a stop and Jetta noticed the red car and the man getting out. Man drives a car like that, she thought, out to have a comfortable bed to sleep in. Maybe she could convince him to let her crash at his place.

"No thanks," she smiled. "You've got that girl to find. Just...be careful. You seem like a really nice woman, and I would hate to think anything bad happened."

With that, she rolled away. The greeter tried to call to her, but she pointed at her ears and shrugged. "CAN'T HEAR YOU, YOU'RE BREAKING UP!" and skated towards the shoe department, sheking down the aisles for any sight of the guy from the red car.

The most sickening thing he had ever seen. Definitely.

Perhaps not the most horrific, because he had experienced his share of heart stopping situations, but this was definitely the most gruesome discovery he had ever undergone. But through his dreadful attempts to refrain from vomiting again, Lucas couldn’t help but feel his curiosity rising.
He was pleased to see that Carrell understood the gravity of his discovery. It was a terrifying discovery, though Lucas saw opportunities as well. What could he learn from this?

A unnatural compulsion to keep eating… eating a food illogic to the species. A strange mutation of the Prader-Willi Syndrom?
He looked at Carrell, but was reluctant to share his thoughts with the man. Although they were together on this, Vandervoort didn’t like the idea of sharing knowledge that could lead to his personal fame. Everybody knew that shared accomplishment took away from people’s recognition of brilliance. If Einstein would’ve head a helper, everybody would’ve wondered if it was him that was the genius, or his aid.
It was best not to say anything.

Lucas got on his feet. He eyed the soldiers, who were a nervous mass of nut-brains with a Do As You’re Told mentality that was the army’s biggest strength AND flaw.

If they taught them to think, they wouldn’t be so scared right now. Mentality is an advantage.
He couldn’t help but feel superior. Still, in all his superiority, he was still standing with his feet in the dirt. He tried to get his head clear, because he needed to think this over. He felt that he was close to reaching a thought that would explain the deer’s behavior, but he got side-tracked by that stupid song that was in his head.

“let me try,
With pleasured hands,

To take you and the sun to
Promised lands
To show you every one,
It’s the time, of the season ... SHUT UP” He wanted to smack himself in the head, but that would not help him. He would have to give in to time, and come back to the thought later. The samples should help him think.

Another long moan hit them then, and Mosher was engulfed by fear. Looking at the young kid, Vandervoort felt a shudder of chilly needles run through his spine. The young doctor’s fright was contagious, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to get away himself.

“There is something very wrong with this deer.” He tried to speak without using medical terms so that the soldiers would understand. “We need to go back to the hummers so that I can inspect these samples. We need to take in consideration that there might be more of these sick animals out there. Let’s go, now.”

He turned, and pulled Carrell to his feet. Not that he cared for the man. It was just that he didn’t want the doctor to have more time to ponder over the insides and get some revelation that would make them competitors. He didn’t like competition.
Still, he managed a thin smile at Carrell, to keep up appearances, and nodded with his head into the direction they had come from.

(OOC: Is it possible to take a quick picture of the deer’s stomach with some of the equipment? I didn’t think you said we had cameras, but I may be wrong.)

How they broke free from death’s cold embrace after so long, none could say (yet). The fact was, however, that they had. The cemetery that sprawled beyond the monastery looked more like a ruined battlefield then any sort of peaceful resting place. Trenches and pits pocked the well trimmed field, and headstones had fallen over. The denizens of Monastery found themselves unrepentantly under attack, and their cries to their Lord and Savior were not heard. Or perhaps they were, and were ignored. In the end, the Soulless. The lifeless. The eternally hungry would feed; and those holy grounds were subjected to a desecration of the most infernal designs.

Now an army of death washed through the hills, and along the roads. It had happened so suddenly that when the truth hit officials, it was too late. An instinctive attempt to barricade the roads outside the town only ended with the screams of dying, would-be saviors, and the staggering of rotting feet over the fallen fences.

So it was that the Silent Hosts of Decay suddenly flooded into the streets of Herkimer, and were silent no longer. Founded in 1791, the dirge of the villages demise would be the screamed laments of the dying, and the lifted, dead voices of the Victorious Damned. The Thronehold of Contagion for the battle to come. But of course, for now…for those still within the village…the battle was not over yet…Infact it was only just beginning.

Christ Episcopal Church,
North Mainstreet, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:00 pm

The sanctuary of the Christ Episcopal Church was silent, save for the dim murmur of voices from the Fellowship Hall beyond it. The pews of heavy, dark wood, were empty, and the pedestal at the front was lit with the soft, warm glow of the chandeliers overhead.

Father Bryson strolled in through the heavy front doors and through all this, his sanctuary, to the Fellowship Hall. The bright, fluorescent lighting and the white walls of the fellowship hall were a stark contrast to the softness of the sanctuary. So too were the loud voices of his congregation. Perhaps 50 people sat or stood, throughout the room, conversing about a variety of typicals that Bryson was entirely too familiar with. The weather, farmer’s economics (apparently things haven’t been going well this year. Not enough rain, for one thing, so grain is expensive, and while the price of milk goes up, they continue to feel as if they aren’t getting their share of the pay), women discuss how their children are doing in school, and a group of children sit to the right of the hallway, discussing Harry Potter. If only their parents could here them…

In the far side of the room, standing beside the donut laden refreshment table, stood Alan Moore, deep in conversation with two men that Bryson knew to be Scott and Robert Benton. Brothers, who both happened to work for the same construction company. Their tanned faces were furrowed with concern.

They looked up as Father Bryson approached, and Alan Moore opened his mouth to say something, when the harsh crackling of a police scanner, sitting on the table in the center of the room before it’s owner, Jay McConner (who Bryson and most other people at the church know, works as a volunteer fireman, and so he carries the radio). The place suddenly drew very quiet as the message droned on..

“This is HCOB announcement for the Herkimer, Mohawk Valley. The Herkimer, Mohawk Valley has been placed under Severe Environmental Hazard Watch for the evening of September the fourteenth. All business are instructed to be closed by 10:30 PM, and an 11:00 curfew is being implemented on the residents of the Herkimer, Mohawk, Ilion, and Frankfort villages. Residents are asked to avoid contact with any and all unfamiliar animals, and to keep pets inside. Residents are also asked to avoid contact with strangers. If you have been bitten by an animal, or attacked by a person in the past 24 hours, seek medical attention immediately at the Faxton, Healthcare Facility on 201, East State Street. All emergency services will be fully functioning throughout the night.”

The message ended but the silence was deafening (good song, Silence is Deafening..you have no idea how many song titles I’ve snuck into my posts for this game). It felt to Bryson as if the entire church was waiting for his word..

Walmart Supercenter,
103 N Caroline Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:10pm

Ahh….Walmart. The shining crown on America’s consumer market. The door greeter, who fit perfectly into that stereotype of being old and senile, politely busted out his well practiced “welcome to walmart.” as each and every person passed through the detectors. He took pride in his work.

Tiann passed through, said hello, and promptly made his way for the vast clothing section that spanned the center of the store. Behind him strolled a fat man who took a sharp right into the produce section. Lord knew he would pass through it to the more american foods beyond.

Behind him swiftly rolled Jetta. Of course she was fully aware that she was breaking the rules with her roller blades on. But if those damn little kids could glide down the isles on their rollies….or whatever the hell they were called, then she could wear her blades until she got a pair of shoes! As she went, she spotted the man from the red car, standing before a tall, circular rack of womens dresses. The man was eyeing the rack pretty intensely, aside from the single quick glance he shot over his shoulder…

Melina strolled by the greeter and veered left into the dunkin donuts shop, to be engulfed by the smell of coffee and pastries. She was relieved to see only one costumer ahead of her. A shaky old man with a bent back and a dirty old John Deere hat on his head. Taking her place behind him, she waited patiently while he changed his mind 3 times, and paid with change he must have found beneath his couch. While she waited, she couldn’t help but catch the young ginger lad taking the mans order, glancing at her neckline…her low neckline. He glanced several times, and when she caught him, he blushed and finished the order.

Finally the old man had his black coffee and plain donut…probably the same damn thing he got every night. Melina was up. The adolescent attempted his most charming smile and squeaked

“May I help you?”

++++++ ++++++ ++++++

This clearance rack of spring dressed would do nicely…if he couldn’t find anywhere else to hide. It would be somewhat uncomfortable of a wait, but hell, walmart should be closing soon. Leaving the rack, and the ladies softlines section behind, he continued his search. The furniture section proved to be a disappointment. All too bare. It was as if everyone in this village had suddenly decided to redecorate, and that Walmart couldn’t keep up.

Electronics lay beyond that. The place was disturbingly quiet. Not a single youngster attached to the overhead video game samples. This was certainly a cold day in hell….then he strolled by the shoes section, where only one person stood, gazing at sneakers. She was attractive..in that dark, rebel kind of way…and her rollerblades IN the store definitely gave her the rebel look. Not to mention the short, black plaid miniskirt.

Ah..there it was! Just beyond shoes was the lay-away section, and the bathrooms. One of the doors said “Family Restroom.”. What this meant, of course, was that it had a lock on the inside. If he was so sure he didn’t want to get a hotel for the night….this was the place to hide….or of course, the dress rack.

++++++ ++++++ ++++++

Surprisingly, the only person who had tried to stop her with her skates was the door greeter. She had passed a couple, bored looking associates, but they just oggled her. Now she stood in the shoes department, trying to decide which type she needed, when a gleam caught her eye.

Glancing, she caught the bald head of the man from the parking lot. Nolonger did he gaze upon a rack of summer dresses. This time, his eyes were locked on the family restroom…


(Ok, sorry for such an unproductive post, but such is the beginning of such games. Make your decisions. Tiaan you have a couple choices. Jetta, so do you..because I don’t really know what you plan, but be sure that you actually pick out sneakers, or you’ll be stuck in skates . Melina…deal with the boy..and make your order . I promise you’ll get your action soon enough.)

Would you hurry up! Melina screamed in her head at the old man. When the man went to pay with the change he had pulled from the couch, well, that just about did the housewife in. She fumbled in her purse for a five to just pay for the man. Lifting her face, Melina tried to get the cashier’s attention….

The boy was making eye contact, but not with her eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that Melina was worried about Angie, she may have been tempted to toy with the boy a bit. Instead, when she caught the boy oogling her again, she ran her finger seductively down her cleavage line, interrupting the movement by using the same finger to make a deliberate “pointing” action to her face.

By this time the old man had broken out the piggy bank and paid for his order with exact change. As the man sided aside, Melina moved in with her cool, unimpressed look.

“May I help you?” asked the boy.

“Two medium, double-doubles, and a raspberry-bran muffin. To go.”

[OOC: Not sure how far you want me to move Melina... but her intent is to get her order, bang the kid ( in his dreams )... get her order, pay, head out for Angie. If you're trying to keep us together, you can have Melina have to go to the little girl's room to tinkle, to use up some time.]

Out of al the crappy selsctions, she was never so disappointed as now. The one time she had no use for black vynil platform pumps with an ankle strap, and she found them here.

"These are the freaking shoes of my dreams," she moaned, "Why the hell do i have to find them NOW???"

with a heavy sigh, she retuened them to the shelves, checkig out the bald guy every few moments. Rolling farther down the aisle, but closer to the chrome dome, she grabbed a pair of decent running shoes on sale. They seemed to have a decent tread and average workmanship, and it wasn't like she would be keeping them very long. And, as luck would have it, they were black.

"At least I wont have to recolor them with a sharpie marker," she chuckled, and made a loose knot of the laces. tying the shoe stogether. She hung them over her shoulder and rolled over to the guy.

She came up beside him and used her sexiest low whisper. "Hey baby, you need a good girl to make you feel bad? Or you need a bad girl to make you feel good?"

Well, looks like the Family stall it is... I suppose I've been in worse. Then again these folks in this town are crazy. Perhaps I should steal some new clothes before I leave.
"Hey baby, you need a good girl to make you feel bad? Or you need a bad girl to make you feel good?"

T was a bit dumbstruck. Was he getting hit on? Between his age and his rather "sub-prime" body build after years of use and abuse, not to mention the scars... this girl had something to gain from him.

"Hmm, is Wal Mart employing hookers too now or are you just freelancing a bit?" he said, letting a bit of his accent show through. "Lot's of crazy sicknessess going around lately, especially tonight. You're kind of daring, you know that?

"Anyway, I hate to disappoint but I don't live here. I just stopped on my way across state."

Striding evenly through the doors and back into the old church building, every footfall measured evenly in turn, Father John Bryson ascended the stairs and stepped neatly back inside. The night air seemed warm and oddly sticky on his skin, the priest’s carefully laundered white shirt already sodden with a rising tide of perspiration, and he was tired, perhaps more tired than he knew. The scene outside had rankled with Bryson, it was not in the least what he had expected and it wounded the minister deeply to see an orderly and God-fearing town descend so quickly into such manifest lawlessness. The ceaseless wailing of police sirens up and down the town’s streets did little to assuage his nerves.

Bryson stepped back inside, acutely aware of his congregation’s stares as their attention was drawn to the sound of the closing doors behind him. The moment seemed pregnant, acutely awkward somehow and Bryson fumbled for the words to speak. The air seemed heavy, catching dry and claustrophobic in his throat, they were waiting but for the life of him the priest could not think of a message to impart.

“This is HCOB announcement for the Herkimer, Mohawk Valley. The Herkimer, Mohawk Valley has been placed under Severe Environmental Hazard Watch for the evening of September the fourteenth. All business are instructed to be closed by 10:30 PM, and an 11:00 curfew is being implemented on the residents of the Herkimer, Mohawk, Ilion, and Frankfort villages. Residents are asked to avoid contact with any and all unfamiliar animals, and to keep pets inside. Residents are also asked to avoid contact with strangers. If you have been bitten by an animal, or attacked by a person in the past 24 hours, seek medical attention immediately at the Faxton, Healthcare Facility on 201, East State Street. All emergency services will be fully functioning throughout the night.”
Jay McConnor’s radio crackled to life on the table behind him, and Bryson’s brow furrowed slightly at the unexpected news.

Perhaps something in the words struck a chord with him, or perhaps the minister was merely beginning to crack under the past months’ accumulated stress, but like a bolt from the blue, he was struck by an immediate flash of revelation. His own experience with the military, near two decades distant now, had been sufficient to curry distrust at the ordered efficiency of the broadcast’s tone. Some kind of horrible disaster was befalling the town, and he had a duty to warn these people as best he could and get them out before anything worse happened.

Raising his voice slightly to begin a speech, determined to inject a measured and orderly tone into the words that he could scarcely feel, Bryson glanced across what remained of his gathered congregation, trying to gauge their response to his words.

“Ladies, gentlemen, could I have your attention for a moment please? From the sound of that broadcast, and the police cars running up and down the street outside, I’d say that something quite significant has happened- or might be about to happen- somewhere across town.”
“Now, while we can’t say for certain what’s going on out there yet- it could be a bomb alert, it might just be a major waste spill- I’d suggest that none of us are going to want to be there when it goes off. According to that radio we’ve still got an hour, I’d suggest that we all just gather up our things and reconvene somewhere on the edge of town. The Walmart there might be a good spot. If any of you have friends or family that you’ll need to call or bring along then this might be a good time.”

“I know that some of you will have work tomorrow, but if the town’s being closed down tonight, then things won’t be up and running again for at least another day. If I’m wrong, and I most sincerely hope that I am, the worst that can happen is that we’ll all lose a couple of hours’ sleep and take a couple more tins of food home with us tomorrow. If I am right, then who knows? Whatever’s going on here,, it sounds serious, and they wouldn’t be shutting the town without good reason.”

His piece spoken, Bryson’s shoulders slumped slightly, whether from relief or sheer exhaustion. For better or worse, it was in God’s hands now.

Jetta laughed and rolled back on her wheels.

"You're kidding right? Because I look like some crackhead who needs to offer you a feel-for-five so i can go get one more hit?" She laughed again.

"Look, you're clearly of some intellect here so let me level with you. Big rabies scare, yadda yadda yadda, don't talk to t strangers, hide under the bed and blah blah blah. Whatever. I'm not fom around here either and, physical imprefections aside, you have something I need. A way out of this godforsaken little pisspot of a town. So get me out of here and i'll do whatever you like. Deal?"

"Well not that I don't trust you," Tiaan replied a bit cautiously, "But frankly I don't trust anyone anymore. But you seem innocent enough. We both have the same goal here. I guess you can hang around for a bit. If this place really is going to hell in a handbasket, there is safety in numbers."

He eyed her one more time, letting out a bit of a sigh. Was this the future?

"Oh well. Do you want to sleep here or get on the road? I'm a bit tired but nothing some coffee can't fix.

"Just try to lay off the hookering. I had an old girlfriend that used to do that. Bad memories."

Forest off Route 5S, Herkimer
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:13 pm

Since their arrival, the forest had transformed. Like a corpse left to rot in some dank hole, it had become fetid, cold, and malignant. The deer that lay only feet away from Vandervoort was the single most gruesome discovery of his life. An animal that must surely be dead even as it walks. The corpse of an herbivore feeding on enough flesh to rupture its stomach and rip through it’s skin. Impossibilities aside, two questions surfaced in his churning mind.

What did the flesh belong to that filled the beasts stomach?….What if….this contagion could be spread to humans? No sooner had the question dug it’s icy tendrils into the base of his skull, than a second moan, upwind, wherever the stink was coming from, crashed down on them from out of the brush. The moan sounded so human….it had to be….and yet it was entirely inhuman. So void of emotion and purpose….just an escape of air through lungs, vibrating vocal chords…The soldiers and scientists alike looked like they were about to bolt back towards the road. Only Johnson still clutched his dignity, and was staring coldly through the trees which were so shaky in the gray light of their flashlighs.

Vandervoort himself, having already vomited from the revelation, though the stink didn’t help, felt the sudden need to be very, very far away from here. Stepping farther away from the deer, and casting a glance at the petrified Mosher, he said.

“There is something very wrong with this deer. We need to go back to the hummers so that I can inspect these samples. We need to take in consideration that there might be more of these sick animals out there. Let’s go, now.”

The others acted immediately, and without speaking, started up the hill like children running out of the cellar in the middle of the night. Turning, he grabbed Dr Charrell and pulled him to his feet. The little man peered at him wide eyed through his thick lenses.

“The…deer..”

Forcing a thin smile, and nodding in the direction the others were already taking, Vandervoort rushed to catch up with Charrell on his heels.

They were maybe halfway up the hill through the forest. A good five minutes hike yet before they would reach the road, when the crackle tore through the air, over the snapping of twigs, and nearly caused them to jump out of their skin. It was their radios.

“Dude…where the hell are you guys? Learn to speak in your goddamn radios. Listen, something major is going on so get your asses up here. There’s like…what the hell? There’s like a mob of people headed this way from down the road. Get up here now.”

Sounding as if he had just been interrupted from only the most important discovery of his life….and perhaps he was, Charrell lifted his radio to his mouth.

“Calm yourself, Clarke or Shafer, or whichever one you are. We’re on our way now.”

Lowering the radio, he glanced over the group and ran one pudgy hand through his fiery hair.

“Well? Lets move.”

A moment later they were under attack. It happened just like that. They were hiking as fast as they could up the hill, crunching through dead leaves and underbrush, and dodging low-hanging branches, and then there was a blur ahead of something low and fast and hairy, and then one of the soldiers was on the ground, screaming in terror and confusing, and rolling through the underbrush with whatever furry beast head dove on him.

Of course the entire party spun arround. Their shaky, gray lights flooding over the battle between man and beast…and then there were more. Dogs? Wolves? They were hideous, patches of hair covered their boney, ridged bodies, and their faces were curved, yellow teeth, and bone. Three of them were on the soldier in a manner that reminded Vandervoort of hyenas fighting over a dead calf.

He screamed and punched and kicked and rolled, and they just gripped his left leg, his right arm, and somewhere on his shoulder, or his neck, and just kept tugging, in whatever direction they chose. Soggy growls and wheezes escaped their hideous mouths.

The gunshot was startling, and the beast that had ahold of the soldiers arm rolled into the brush. Still kicking, the young man withdrew a knife from somewhere on his body and stuck it in the beast that had his neck. The knife punched into it’s side easily, but the creature didn’t let go. It didn’t seem to feel it. Another round from Johnson and hair and skin exploded from the beasts spine. It’s hind legs dropped, but it didn’t let go. The soldier stabbed again, and again, and a soupy black liquid oozed from the wounds. The beast began shaking it’s head violently, like a dog with a toy.

“Bastards don’t stand there!”

It was Johnson, roaring as he charged forward, and with a heave, put his boot into the ribs of the wolf that had his comrades leg. The crack of bone and the hiss of air tore from it’s chest as it actually flew through the air and struck a tree. Kneeling over his soldier, Sergeant Johnson put the 9mm. Pistol against the skull of the beast that refused to let go of his comrade, despite it’s paralyzed hind legs, and several stab wounds. Bone and brain spattered his forarm and sprayed across the soldier’s face. The beast went limp, it’s jaws still clamped on the corner of his neck and shoulder.

Spinning, Johnson prepared to face the retaliating beast he had already kicked, but with a wail that sounded entirely too much like someone forced into doing something awful, the Private, Clayton stepped in from the side and slammed a stone, the size of a volleyball onto the creature. The rock smashed down on the beasts neck and shoulders, crushing them, and dropping it in a heap.

Johnson glanced at Clayton, then back down at the creature. It wasn’t dead..or unmoving at least. It seemed the rock had paralyzed the beast from the shoulders down, and had only succeeded in frustrating the beast. It whirled it’s bony face around and snapped at the air, and let out a series of horrible sounding, gurgling snarls.

Not far from it, the fallen soldier pried the jaws of his dead assailant from his shoulder and with a whimper, felt at his neck. It didn’t take a doctor to see his wound was grievous for the circumstances. A chunk of flesh had been ripped right off his neck, and were it any higher, his throat would have been ripped out. As it was, blood was pumping through the fingers pressed to the wound like water through a broken pipe. The fatigue fabric of his leg was already stained bright red as well.

Johnson knelt to help the man up, and barked for someone to help him. A soldier rushed to his side and they pulled him to his feet, before Johnson began ripping off his shirt, to bind the wound. All the meanwhile one beast lay, snapping at the air mindlessly, and a fell wind howled through the trees. Vandervoort thought he could hear voices on that wind. Many, many voices.

((Im really sorry for how long it took. I really was very very sick for almost a week. I think I caught something while in that foul city. Nomatter. Lets get this baby back on it’s horrible track to hell. Reactions would be wonderful, but more importantly, what will Vandervoort do/suggest now? Wait for the soldier to be fixed? Book it to the hummers? Head off into the woods?! Try to do something to the paralyzed wolf/dog? Try to convince the others to act one way or another?! So many choices and they all lead to DOOOOOM!))

Christ Episcopal Church,
North Mainstreet, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:13 pm
His congregation stared at him for long moments. Even Harold Redridge, the old wise-crack, said nothing. Then they were all on their feet and heading to the door, leaving half eaten, frosted donuts on the tables. A couple people, farmers, mumbled to him that they would just head on home, since they lived a good half hour away.

Outside it was clear something horrible had washed over the village. The twenty or so members of his church were standing like a flock of sheep (HAH!) on the church yard, silently listening. Faces were ashen, and filled with confusion. At first Bryson didn’t understand why, until he made his way down the steps and stood among them. The wailing of sirens was incessant, and was coming from many directions at once, but beneath it, low, relentless. A strange, drone drifted on the wind. What the hell was it? He couldn’t tell, but it gave him chills. It sounded like a thousand muttering old shamans.

“I’m out!”

It was Jason Patterson. A young man with a pretty girlfriend that looked like she had been the queen of prisses in Highschool, and a bright red, Dodge neon with a customized fin. Yes…he had decked out a neon. As he spoke, he and his girlfriend, someone who didn’t come to church often, and Bryson couldn’t remember her name, Lindsey? Linda?, got into his car.

The others acted on queue, crossing the street to their vehicles, in the bank parking lot, and pulling out one by one. Bryson approached his own little green sedan, and had unlocked the drivers-side door, when he himself was approached by one of his congregation, Lisa Neiman. A middle aged woman, beautiful for her age, who’s husband had left her years ago for an even more beautiful, younger woman. Bryson knew Lisa well, because he had counseled her often in the year following her divorce. She had her share of problems, though, he knew. One was that she dressed all too much like a scantily clad teenager, rather than a middle aged woman, no matter her beauty. Another was that she…from what he had seen, was incredibly flirtatious. He didn’t know much about her life at home, but he knew she had dated a bit, and was often seen with one male companion or another, but never settled down. He also knew that she would occasionally throw him looks during sermons that definitely caused him to wonder what she was imagining of him…

“John, I’m sorry but can you give me a ride? I walked here.”

She also called him by his first name. (I’m going to just assume you say yes). He waited for the other cars to leave, to be sure noone else needed a ride. Lisa sat in the passenger seat, nervously rolling her long black hair around one slender finger. “What the hell do you think is going on?”

The church yard was empty. Flicking his lights on, the pastor pulled out of the driveway and onto North Mainstreet. There were of course, several ways to get to Walmart, but the quickest was simply to just cut a block down North Mainstreet, and to hop onto the main road, State Street. That is indeed what Bryson did….or intended to do. As the car approached the crossway, he was shocked to see the traffic. It looked to him as if everyone in town was out. Traffic was backed up, and with lights every 100 feet, anxious drivers were beeping at one another. On the sidewalks, people were walking, or riding bikes. Only about half of the traffic was headed to Walmart though….were people ignoring the curfew? Were people leaving? Either way, Bryson was in position to cut the traffic well, by pulling into the driveway of the many strip malls and diners that lined State street. Cruising parallel with the road, for a few minutes, before coming to a T that was connected to both State Street and the Walmart parking lot, as well as a Mcdonalds and an Applebees, he pulled the vehicle back on the road and made his way into the vast expanse that was Walmart’s parking lot.

“Oh s***!” She liked to swear too…but this time, Bryson didn’t seem to notice her. He was quite possibly thinking the same thing. The parking lot was not only quickly filling up, but what appeared to be a mob of people was pouring into it from the Herkimer Highschool’s sport’s fields that rested beside the parking lot. Cars skirting the parking lots lanes were forced to stop as the mob swept around them with total disregard, and as the two peered through their windows, it actually seemed as if people carrying Walmart bags were fleeing from the crowd. (all walmarts have two front entrances, Grocery and…the other, this ones Grocery side is on the right if your facing walmart.)
The Grocery Side entrance was being flooded by the mob as well.

Skirting to the other side of the large parking lot, Bryson realized he would need to park far from the entrance, and did so anyways. Putting the vehicle in park, a good 60 yards away from the building, the two exited their vehicle, and immediately heard the chaos.

The drone was loud, and washing over the parking lot from the mob. The mutter and moan of so many voices acting as one. Over the drone were screams of utter and total terror. Bryson heard the sound of glass breaking, and tires screaming. It sounded like someone was trying to push or pull something too heavy to move with their vehicle.

As it was, the Grocery side parking lot was a bit on the hectic side. A good 50 or so people had flooded through the fence, and were apparently causing chaos. Breaking glass and making people scream is fairly chaotic when it takes place in a walmart parking lot. Nomatter, the other entrance was ahead of them, and fairly clear. People stood outside it, gawking at the other side of the parking lot, but at least there was no violence.

((it’s your decision. You can choose to do whatever you like, and go wherever you want. If you think walmarts a bad idea and want to go somewhere else, I’ll give you a list of places, or you can try to look it up on google for Herkimer/Mohawk/Ilion. If you want to try to leave, the village entirely, that is also a possibility. There is the main road (State Street) which becomes a highway on either side, and can take you anywhere in the state you want to go. Course this road is fairly trafficy, buuuut, traffic IS moving. Then of course there are lots of little side roads that leak out of the village and into the country in all directions. If you have a decision you can post it, if you want more information regarding something, just ask .))

Walmart Supercenter,
103 N Caroline Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:13pm
As the boy was busy bustling behind the counter with her order, Melina glanced out the Dunkin Donuts exit and into the Walmart interior. In the few minutes she had been here, the store had busied considerably. Even now a stream of people flowed through the doors. They looked the range between nervous and downright terrified. Why terrified? She wasn’t sure. The boy had just about finished with her order, and had set the muffin on the counter, when the sound of breaking glass, and screams, muffled as they may be, drifted in from outside. Pausing, he and she both spun to see what had happened, but there were no windows to the outside. Only the giant, glass entranceway to the Walmart.

A few young men suddenly ran through the entranceway and into the walmart, panic-stricken and wailing. “Rotting people! Rotting f*cking people!!” The old door greeter spun towards the entrance, with eyes wide and terrified, and began to back up. Like an ancient deer encircled by wolves.

“Um.”

The boy dropped her coffees, and with a wet explosion and a pubescent shriek, consequently found the scalding liquid all over his legs.

“Look lady, screw this job. I’m going home.”

He started around the counter, and stopped dead. Three figures stood in the doorway, swaying slowly. They would have been elderly gentlemen, well dressed in suit’s and adorned with rings. Infact they were, except for the fact that their skin was sunken tight agasint the bones, and their eyes were yellow orbs of puss. Their noses were simply cavities in their gray faces, and their teeth snapped slowly and methodically in lipless mouths. They were covered in dirt.

Then they began their approach. Slow, staggering, arms outstretched. Mouths suddenly gaping open wider then Melina thought a human jaw could support. Through throats that looked like they hadn’t spoken in…years…as these looked to have crawled from the grave, low gurgling sounds escaped. A wave of stench rolled over Melina, and the boy screamed and backed away to the far wall.

At a glance, this was just a typical Dunkin Donuts. Two 3 foot poles held a little black banister which made for an orderly line, and behind the counter were all the makings for donuts and coffee. The interior of the place as small metal chairs with cushioned bottoms, and round tables.

The trio was approaching of course, but it was a slow, unsteady stagger on twisted legs.



****** ****** ******

They’re most interesting conversation was suddenly interrupted by the shrill screams that echoed through the entire store from the entranceway.

“Rotting people! Rotting F*cking people!!”

The people that Jetta and Tiaan could see shopping all froze and either stared at the entranceway, or moved for a better position so as to see. Three boys ran through the store as if on some juvenile footrace. Only noone moved to stop them. They ran straight towards the back of the store, towards Tiaan and Jetta, and at one point, one of them said something along the lines of “Ya’ll better get moving.”

Then they were tearing bast Jetta and Tiann and into the back of the store (employee section). A murmer swept over the store, and people hastily began throwing things in carts, and heading towards the exits or the checkout lanes. Jetta and Tiaan looked at one another again, before a thud, like a meaty fist knocking, pounded from the interior of the Family Bathroom, followed by what sounded like the moan of a very sick fat man who can’t get off the john.