Walmart Supercenter,
103 N Caroline Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:23pm
Tiaan’s plan was this. Run to the other side of the store, to where both Sporting Goods, and Lawn and Gardening lay; gather rifles and then…a chainsaw…and run out that exit. From there they would loop around to his car. What sort of sick bastard decides to grab a rifle and a chainsaw because he sees a small mob of men fighting in a Walmart doorway is beyond the Zombie Master… But then again..this IS Herkimer….and he IS South African.

Snapping into action, he grabbed his roller blading, Gothic companion by the arm and helped her to her feet. (She had just crashed into a particularly fat man who was fleeing from the chips and snacks isle in a panic that only hinted at the sort of horror a shortage of Doritos might bring). This was a fairly large Walmart, and they would need to skirt the vast expanse of the clothing department, passing by shoes, and electronics, before reaching the Sporting Goods section.

“Wait wait!” She pulled against his grip as they passed the shoes department. “I need sneakers!” Women will be women. For a few minutes, the situation felt sublime, unreal. Screams rolled up the isles from the entrance, and a few people darted by, holding handfuls of food. Some sort of salsa music filtered through the store speakers, and Jetta was bent over before him, trying on her third pair. He was of course, still wielding his pepperoni.
Standing finally, she took a few steps, and nodded to him. “Good. Lets go.” Apparently she planned on stealing the sneakers. He followed as she darted passed him, towards the sporting goods section…

It took them moments to realize that despite the decent selection of hunting rifles, pistols, and even wicked looking knives and machete’s, Walmart does not carry ammunition. Nor does walmart carry cap guns, or toys that look like real guns. Walmart does not support violence. Oh. Also, Tiaan did notice some wicked looking paintball guns, and paintballs….

The Gardening center did have a decent selection of immensely bulky chainsaw’s, pre built for display, but lacking fuel…. (If ya want one ya can get one but can’t use it till ya get to a gas can)

Once outside, Tiaan and Jetta hesitated a moment to survey the parking lot. Empty, for what they could see, save the cars which were lined up at the parking lot exit. Someone however, was screaming histerically, from somewhere on the other side of the parking lot, around the building. The sound would have made the hairs on the back of Tiann’s neck stand up, but he shaved them. Whatever was going on, it sounded violent, and horrifying, and the shrill wails were both terrified and agonizing.

(Lemme know what exactly you grab from Sporting Goods and Lawn and Garden. Jetta grabbed a nice, tin baseball bat, and a 12 inch hunting knife. Also lemme know what it is you plan on doing

Diane’s Tavern,
North Mainstreet, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 9:45-10:28 pm
Strange things were happening this night, that was for sure. Rob Pembirth threw back his third shot of Jack and leaned forward over the bar. Knocking his calloused knuckle against the worn wooden counter, and nodding to the 16 inch tv suspended in the corner. The Barkeep, who also happened to be the owner of Diane’s Tavern, named after herself, glanced up at the screen and after several clicks through the menu, turned captions on. Rob thanked her with a tip of his stained, rumpled John Deere hat and squinted at the screen.


Diane’s Tavern was one of the several small, dingy bars and or shops that lined North Main Street, the prestigious, center of happenings in the Town of Herkimer. A village whom the entire rural county of Upstate New York was named after, and yet who’s greatest attraction was either the Walmart Supercenter, or HCCC, the Community College that crowned the hill overlooking the village. Infact, the village was located not at the base of a hill, but in the depths of the great Mohawk Valley, carven by the Mohawk river that flowed so lazily across the state and into the Hudson. The hills that surrounded the triage of towns that clung to the river were tall and rugged and essentially lead into complete rural landscapes for several hours drive in either direction. By Triage, one would be referring to either the village of Mohawk, ilion, or Herkimer. Three separate towns but essentially bleeding into one another, establishing a fairly civilized pocket out of the farmlands surrounding. And as anyone knew, to get anywhere was to go East or West, on Interstate 90, or rout 5S..towards Syracuse and Buffalo to the west, or Albany and Boston or even NYC to the East.


And in this pocket of humanity along the River Mohawk, the only thing to do was sit in one of the few taverns on North Mainstreet and Drink. That is, if you were the Drinking sort, which most people around here were, in good times and bad. So that’s exactly what Rob, and everyone else in this crammed, dingy place were going to do, even with the strange news reports and rumors that had suddenly swept over the town like a foul smelling wind.


The loud laughter of half inebriated college students warranted a glance over his shoulder and a shaking of his head. Course, it was September. School was back. No longer would any tavern or bar or apartment building for that matter be safe from the swarms of obnoxious idiocy they brought. Funny how colleges were supposedly for the smart. Rob let his eyes slide over the exposed thighs of a girl, looked no older then 17, sitting on the lap of some prep boy or other. Least the girls got finer every year.


And suddenly a different voice caught his attention. Two people down. Ol’ Frank Maine was off on another tirade. Or so it sounded at first. Generally Politics….But not tonight. Rob couldn’t help but listen.


“I’m telling you It wasn’t no deer. An even if it was, why the hell is a dead deer walking? Yesterday we laugh at Jonah for his tale. You didn’t here? He says it was bout 9 o clock and he hears his dog going crazy. Prolly a raccoon, or a deer. Don’t matter either way. He don’t think anything of it, till he hears the dog snarling and yelping. Says he turns the porch light on and his friggen husky is pinned to his dog-house, white fur red with blood, gored by a deer that Jonah says was dead. Dead, I ask? Says the thing smelled like it was 3 weeks dead, and looked it. What in the hell does that mean? And what to make of it? Then we have these, these NEWS reports.”


Frank gestured angrily at the TV. He had the attention of several folk now.


“And I’m telling you I saw a dead man walking down the road. Towards town. Right past the old Lutherin Church on route Five. And if that aint the truth, what we got so many cops out for?”


Rob ordered another shot, scratched his head and looked back at the tv…


“- Since yesterday morning, reports of animal attacks have spread throughout the Mohawk Valley, totaling 56 just an hour ago. The attacks have ranged from violence against pets to people, and have come from Deer, Dogs, raccoons, even rats. Rumors that the attacks have come from dead animals have been objected by local authorities. More likely a local viral or bacterial outbreak unlike any seen before is the cause of the attacks, and the appearance of the animals. Authorities from Albany, including teams of doctors and scientists have arrived in the valley to begin testing the local water, and hopefully, live, animal specimen. Not enough information has been gathered to warrant a name for whatever disease or illness the valley is facing, and it is not yet known if it can be spread to humans. The following symptoms have been noted in observed, infected animals. Stiffness and an awkward gate. Hair loss and missing patches of fur. Weight loss and bloating. The most noticeable symptom is the smell, described simply as the smell of something rotting. A sign of incredible infection, or infact, gangrene. It has been issued that all contact must be avoided with any wildlife or animals that are not your own pets. Keep dogs and cats in doors, and it is advised that folk living in the country, particularly on Vickerman Hill and the area outside Mohawk, and east of Herkimer, should stay indoors after dark. We will of course, continue to bring you the news as we receive it. We’ll be back after this break.”….”Does indigestion prevent you from getting a good nights rest? Do you wake up throughout the night?…………..“

That had been a bit of what Jack Talance, sitting at his own corner of the bar, had overheard over a half hour ago. Since that time, three other events had occurred that drew his attention. Maybe ten minutes after Frank Maine’s rant, a guy had stormed into the bar and ordered a double shot of Jack. Then he ordered another, and another. Ordinarily this wasn’t cause for attention, or suspicion for that matter, but the guy had his right arm bandaged up real tight with a white shirt that had already soaked through with blood. He looked to be in a lot of pain, and said his dog had attacked him. Why the hell Diane hadn’t asked him to leave yet was beyond Jack.

A few minutes following, a police officer had strolled into the place. Glancing at the man, huddled over his shot glass, the officer had said something along the lines of “Damnit Jimmy, I told you go to the hospital. Finish your drink and go.” He then had quieted the room, and informed them all that everyone needed to go home, and stay home by eleven o clock. A curfew had been placed on the village. Eyeing the wounded Jimmy, he had explained that all pets must be brought inside, and stay inside, and all contact with animals other then your own pet must be avoided. Any who are injured MUST report to Faxton, Healthcare Facility on 201, East State Street. He had concluded with a “Finish your drinks and go home folks.”

Since that time, the place had started to clear out. It was now ten thirty, and only a handful of people remained. Himself, Frank Maine, who was looking a little pale, and far too quiet over his beer, a middle aged farmer named Rob Pembirth, Diane herself, and Jimmy, who was know hunched over on his bar stool. His head rested against the counter, and he was shivering. Hell was wrong with him? Diane was had her register open and was flipping through a wad of bills hastily. From time to time she would glance up at Jimmy, then at the street outside.

Jack listened to Frank's rant quietly from his seat. The guy was always spouting nonse about the government, his friends or some other useless topic, and tonight seemed to be no exception. Seemed "Jonah" had his dog killed by a rapid deer or something. Big freaking woop.

Jack wasn't even sure what he was doing there so long. He had stopped in the Tavern for a quick drink and meal but had somehow ended up spending a good couple of hours sitting here. Considering the atmosphere in here, the best thing he could do was find his way home.

Just as he was rising to leave "Jimmy" crashed in, followed closely by a cop who stressed the importance of returning home as soon as possible, an idea Jack really couldn't find any problem with. He was looking for an excuse to leave, not that he really needed one anyway.

As he rose to leave he looked over and Jimmy, who was by this point appearing to me minutes away from spilling his supper all over the counter. Frank didn't look much better, a little pale and subdued where he sat. Even Diane seemed a little on edge, glancing up at Jimmy every couple of seconds. He would regret this later, but he figured he could at least offer to help.

"Man, I think you've had enough." he said to Jimmy, moving towards him, glancing over at Diane. "Here, why don't you come with me, I'll give you a ride to the hospital."
He moved a bit closer, reaching out to put a hand on the man's shoulder. He'd give the man a ride to the hospital then go home.

Faxtion Healthcare Facility
State Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:35 pm A sickly silence had settled over the bar as if by some noxious cloud. Folk didn’t know what was going on, but there had been no good omens over the past few hours. Infact “rumors” had turned into news reports, and news reports had turned into officially installed curfews. Over what? A breakout of rabies? Mange? Both were common in these parts. Why the hell would you shut down a small town like Herkimer because of a few more attacks then usual?

At this point it made no difference. Jack decided he had seen and heard enough. First things first however, downing the final swig of his Sam Adams and setting the glass firmly on the bar, he stood, straightened out his tough leather jacket, and started for Jimmy, who at this point looked like opting out of a hospital visit had been a horrible mistake. With his head against the counter, and his body rising with heavy breathes, and wracked by violent shivers, It was obvious he needed to be looked at by a doctor.

"Man, I think you've had enough." He sauntered up to him and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. It was feverish and clammy. "Here, why don't you come with me, I'll give you a ride to the hospital."

“Heh?” Jimmy looked up at him as if he had been riled from a nap. “Oh..yeah…Yeah thanks. I feel like s*** man.”Waving goodbye to Diane, who seemed to be the only one paying them any attention, Jack helped the man to his feet and they headed out the doors.

Night had settled over Herkimer. A sort of dusky, murky twilight that brooded beyond the streetlights as if a storm were about to snap. Jack couldn’t see any stars, but he hadn’t heard about any storms. The street was abandoned, and it felt much later then it was. Mainstreet was the usually gather spot for the residents of Herkimer who had nothing better to do with their lives, then loiter on a sidewalk at 3 in the morning. Here it was just ten at night and the street was empty.

That didn’t mean the town felt dead however. The faint honking of horns, and the headlights of cars a few blocks down, probably heading out of the town, drew his attention. Good thing you could get to the Health Center without getting on State Street.

Putting his helmet on and digging an extra from the bikes saddle bags and handing it to Jimmy, Jack roared the beast to life. Ushering the man onto the back, he waited for him to get securely positioned. If the moment was awkward, Jack could easily reassure himself this was the right decision by the fact that he could actually feel the man’s body heat, rolling off him as he sat squarely behind him.

“Hold on.” And pulling from the curb, Jack swung the bike around and headed in the direction of the Faxton Healthcare Facility.

It wasn’t a long trip…or it shouldn’t have been. He didn’t notice anything unnatural per say, on the streets of Herkimer. Unnatural and Unusual are two very different things of course. The entire village was unusual at the moment. That was to be expected of course. Darkened buildings swept by as his hog ripped through winding streets. Houses, apartment buildings, offices. Arriving at the facilities rear entrance, Jack had to slow the bike down to make it over the curb, and that’s when he realized how limp Jimmy was. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the guy was just kind of laying back, his head bobbing limply on the rear wheel shield as if this was some country meadow and he was counting stars. Circumstances however, made this site particularly unpleasant. Did he die?!

Turning back to his driving, Jack glanced over the lot in an attempt to find an immediate place to park. For the most part the place was empty. Good. Swinging his bike towards the nearest free spot, he nearly emptied his bowels when he felt Jimmy’s hand grip the leather of his jacket, near his shoulder. Confused, Jack tried to glance behind him, just as another hand gripped his other shoulder and Jimmy’s buzz cut toting noggin hit him in the side of the face. “What the?” Jack tried to shake the man off, but was helpless in the bike. A sudden pressure clamped down on the muscle at the base of his neck. His jacket squeezed tight into his skin. The man was trying to bite him! In a panic to swat the guy off, Jack lost control of his precious bike. He hadn’t really been paying attention to his driving, what with being grappled and bit by a man who had been limp as a boned fish 20 seconds earlier. When he noticed the red PT Cruiser looming just ahead, it was too late. The bike struck the driver side door. The engine roared and the tires screamed. He hadn’t been going fast, but in an attempt to rip the bike to the side, Jack found himself tumbling off the side, and smacking into the pavement hard. Jimmy must have fallen as well, but all he knew was that the man wasn’t gripping him anymore.

Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he glanced Jimmy, rising to his own feet, slowly, and with an awkward balance like a toddler, on just the other side of the bike…

"Hmm, free gun..." T's mind immediately conjured up images of walking out decked in weaponry like one of the movie action heros he commonly played.

Sadly this was reality. Thievery was wrong, but unfortunately some virus was rotting people and obviously was pretty contagious. All those radio and tv warnings started to make sense. Stealing it was.

T grabbed a pump action shotgun, a machete and a pistol, breaking the glass with whatever was handy. He still had fully loaded weapons in his car, and he could always ration that ammo off if need be. Chainsaws were far too cliche and not very practical to carry out of a wal-mart, but a flood light wasn't. With his cart full of guns and such, T and Jetta race out the garden center, blowing past security and heading for his car.

"Well, where to?" he asked a bit timidly... he still owed her a ride after all, though maybe her plans have changed given the situation.

Faxtion Healthcare Facility
State Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:35 pm

The night before had been truly glorious for Roger Reynolds. He had come to Herkimer with thoughts of bloodshed and victory, and he had spent the evening laying waste to his enemies and had set the precedence for gaming excellence. Surely by the time the evening had concluded, his was a name heard in all corners of the Herkimer County Community College lounge.

Today however, had been disappointing. Exceedingly disappointing. Big names from Valve, and the art director of the upcoming Zombie slashing horror game Left 4 Dead were supposed to be making a highly anticipated presentation on the “Filmic Effects” that supposedly gave the game a perfect horror movie touch, and more importantly, gave the player the feeling that he was RIGHT IN the game. Who wouldn’t be excited about being one of the last survivors in a city infested by flesh starved, living dead? The true horror of the day came in a form that Roger had not expected, however. It was announced to an already fairly crowded lounge that “Due to transportation issues”, the makers of zombie fans next big obsession wouldn’t be arriving. Instead, the hosts of the convention would be holding a makeshift presentation on a supposedly “Horror” Korean MMO- Requiem Bloodymare.

He had suffered through it, with the anticipation of more bloodshed and glory through the open gaming that was scheduled to continue on into the night following the presentation. One can only imagine the hurt and frustration that Roger felt then, when at ten o’clock, just a half hour into carnage, two police officers appeared and demanded everyone’s attention.

“We’re sorry to have to tell ya’ll this, but your night’s over. Herkimer Village officials have announced that a curfew is being implemented tonight, starting…well now.”


Of course an uproar ensued as outraged nerds demanded to know, all at once, what gave anyone the right to take away their freedom. It was hushed.

“We understand your frustration folks, but it’s a matter of health and safety. There’s a pretty bad outbreak of rabies in the area, and all people and pets need to be indoors. No not here. In your home. You can’t stay here all night. Go home and keep the news on so you know when the curfew is lifted.”

That was that. Sunday was a ruinous disaster. It couldn’t get worse. Roger had trudged to his bike, and had coasted down the hill that the college was precariously perched upon, into the town of Herkimer, and towards the cheap hotel he had reserved for the evening.

It was one of those nights, he thought as he coasted over the broken sidewalk and passed through the shadows of looming, buildings and sickly, yellow pools of streetlamp light, in which a zombie outbreak would be perfect. The air was cold, but it wasn’t crisp or clean. A dank, mustiness hung over the village, leaving a hazy mist curling around half naked, autumn trees and graffiti scrawled brick buildings. A silent tension hung over the village, as if a storm was rolling in. Glancing up he saw that the moon was blurred by the fog. Alas…he had been looking forward to a good zombie experience.

Cutting through what looked like a hospital’s parking lot, he heard the roar of a motorcycle, ahead. He caught sight of the vehicle and raised an eyebrow. Two men rode the bike, but while the man steering the bike was busy focused on finding a parking spot, the man behind him, who wasn’t wearing a jacket, but rather a white wife beater that looked splattered in red, had been laying limply on his back. That wasn’t any way to ride a motorcycle!

Turning back to his own navigation of the parking lot, Roger had only been looking away for a moment, when a loud squeal of rubber, and a metallic crash caused him to jump, and nearly lose control of his own bike. Hitting the breaks he looked towards the motorcycle and saw it laying on it’s side, having smashed into the driver side of a red PT Cruiser. Both men who had been the bike were staggering to their feet…

Roger was fuming over the general suckiness of the convention and pondering the exact wording of his nasty e-mail to the Valve people when his reverie was rudely interrupted by the sound of the crash. What now? he thought grumpily as he skidded his mountain bike to a stop. Taking in the scene briefly, he had the morbidly pleasing thought that this might be a chance to see some real-life blood and gore; hell, if nothing else it'd be a little research for getting the blood right for his masterpiece.

He'd seen so many zombie gore-fest movies, and he knew he could do it better than even ol' Romero himself; with the right research and the successful completion of his filmmaking studies, along with his skills as a Jedi Master on the computer, he was determined that he would finally be recognized for what he could do, and he would blow Hollywood up with the greatest zombie film it had ever seen! Besides, hacking banks and private bank accounts for chump change couldn't pay the bills forever.

He readjusted his backpack and lovingly leaned the Cadillac All-Mountain Series AM2.7, purchased online just last month through another genius hack, against a tree at the edge of the parking lot and trotted toward the two men.

The big man in the biker jacket was just rising to his feet as Roger jogged up. "Are you guys okay?" he yelled, and then skidded to a stop when he looked over at the other guy and got a better view of him. The dude was pasty white, with a blank gaze, and there was something odd about the way he was trying to get up...

Damn! Roger thought as he quickly recognized the movements from the plethora of films he'd seen: This guy is doing a zombie routine!
"I'm soooo sorry, guys!" he said as he looked around for the camera. "I so didn't mean to mess up the shot!" He cringed as he prepared to be yelled at by an irate director, but at the same time was thinking Well how was I supposed to know anybody was filming here? And if these guys are doing a zombie movie, how come I don't remember seeing them at the convention? Talk about stupid, passing up free publicity for their project like that. "So are you guys doing a project for the college or something?"

He kept looking for the camera setup as he spoke, but it looked like it must be pretty well concealed; he wasn't spotting it. He reached for his camera-phone as he said "Just lemme get a quick pic or two and I'll get out of your hair. This is so cool! I'm a HUGE zombie movie fan..."

“Should we go back John?”

Lisa’s voice cut through the fog of Bryson’s thoughts like a knife.

“You’re right,” he replied, mulling the thought over slightly with a twinge of embarrassment at what seemed an awkwardly farcical over-reaction. “I’ll pull over at the next turning.”

And maybe she was right, this was absurd. He wasn’t thinking, hadn’t been thinking, and through the haze of too many nights’ missed sleep the afternoon’s series of extraordinary, yet mundane, events had taken on an all too ominous bent. A scarcely suppressed voice from the somewhere towards the back of his mind, alarmed by the persistent droning chanting and heavy charge in the air, screamed at him to slam the accelerator down and speed as far out of town as possible but Bryson ignored it. Even if there were some sort of serious crisis underway, a notion which seemed more absurd by the moment as the minister pondered it over, surely he owed a duty to his parishioners to help see them through it? And if not then he’d surely be making even more of a laughing stock of himself, a thought which he was coming increasingly to resent.

Bryson turned the car back into the supermarket parking lot, eager to get a better look at what was going on there, and more than a little inquisitive as to the sudden disappearance of the agitated mob that he’d seen thronging there mere heartbeats before.

Walmart Supercenter,
103 N Caroline Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:35pm
As Father Bryson’s little green sedan pulled into the large expanse of the Walmart parking-lot, Lisa peered through the neon flood of the lot’s lights. Her hands were pressed against the window and her posture was tense. “I don’t see a riot anymore. Maybe it got broken up. “
It was possible. The crowd had poured through the fence that separated the parking- lot from the sporting fields of the Herkimer Highschool. The local school kids tended to use the holes in the fence to cut through the lot, and they tended to travel in groups. Something told Bryson that this was not the case. Infact the same voice was screaming at him right now for turning around. He would be well past the village of Ilion by now if he had stayed on the highway.
As he navigated the paved expanse towards the looming building, both he spotted signs that things were infact, strangely wrong. There weren’t many vehicles left in the lot, but those that were here were congested about the two entrances, blocking his view. He did however, notice the jeep with the shattered drivers side window. The glass glistened in the pale lot lights, and red stained the shards that wreathed the window’s frame. The driver was nowhere to be seen.
“Why are those people running?”
It was true, a handful of men and women were sprinting out of the store’s doors and across the parkinglot. One man in a black, Nike baseball cap screamed something at them that Bryson couldn’t hear, and waved at them, ushering them to turn around, or at least to not go near the building.
“What is that couple doing?” The Minister followed her pointing finger, and spotted two figures standing outside the Garden Center entrance. The man was tall, with a shaved head and button up shirt. He looked middle aged. The female looked young, and was geared in a tiny black plaid miniskirt, a black tanktop, and fishnet stockings. One of those “gothy” types of girls no doubt. What had gathered Lisa’s attention however, was the cart the man had. The barrel’s of guns, and the blades of machetes gleamed over the metal mesh of the cart. The pair looked like they were ready for war!

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

"Well, where to?"
Jetta was soaking in the parkinglot. From the opposite entrance, a group of people were springing across the lot, screaming. They didn’t seem to be what had her attention however.
“Don’t you hear that? I haven’t heard a scream so terrifying since my ex boyfriends black metal collection!”

Now that she mentioned it, he could hear it. From somewhere on the other side of the building, a shrill shriek was rising over the footsteps and the frantic shouts of the people fleeing the building. A strangled, broken voice, clearly a woman’s. Tiann thought he heard the word “help” and maybe “Please” and “No” but it was hard to tell. Mostly he heard agony. Pure agony.
“I think we should see what the hell that woman’s problem is.” Jetta looked up at Tiann for his opinion. Just then, a green sedan turned into the parking lane before them. It’s headlights gleamed in Jetta’s black hair, and Tiann had to squint. This was the only car coming into the parkinglot. Everyone else it seemed, was trying to get the hell out.


(If Bryson happens to roll down his window, or get out of the car to speak with the "couple"/Addy, he too will be able to hear the screaming of whatever hapless victim I am tormenting. Also you can park in the handicap parkingspot right in front of where Tiann and Jetta are standing ))

Bryson pulled his car around and, forcing back a gut impulse from somewhere within his primitive lizard brain to simply turn back round and high-tail it out of the town he’d called home for the past five years, made his way at a slow, deliberate crawl into the soon-to-be deserted parking lot. The minister made a slow scan of the scene as his car pulled in and quickly crossed himself as his eyes picked out the signs of violent struggle -bloodstains on the pavement and shards of broken glass from shattered car windows. Still, his ready apprehension was tinted by a sense of guilty relief… perhaps he wasn’t going mad quite yet after all.

Lisa drew his attention to a pair of figures making their way across from the other side of the parking lot, and Bryson followed her well-manicured finger to the sight of the strange couple. “What’s going on here?” the minister called across abruptly, in his broad Tennessee drawl, rapidly winding down his side window. After a brief pause he continued, still suspicious but perhaps slightly regretting his harsh manner, “could you folks use a ride?”

Ok, decision time.

T looked about, there was practically a riot brewing, except one with a rotting flesh disease. "Well sir I have my own car here... do you have a safe place to go. People are sick, they are literally eating each other. We got out as fast as we could, with a little bit of protection. They made an announcement over the radio about it.

"Please tell me you know a place to go, neither one of us lives here - we were just passing through."

He wasn't about to go back into the riot. T wasn't a hero - he just filled in for them in the movies. Maybe if it was Jetta or someone he knew things would be different, but any minute now the government would be meeting to talk about things like quarantines, national guards, and other nasty stuff.

They had to find a place to rest and relax.

"Maybe we could follow you somewhere? My car is the red one over there." T said with a casual *over there* wave.

The plan was quite simple. Vandervoort had never been so certain about anything in his life. The clawing hands and gaping mouths were terrifying, yes. The stench of rotten tissue had tied his stomach in a knot, and he was jumping from one leg onto the other with fearful anticipation, like a child needing to go the bathroom at the end of a dark, scary hallway. He was afraid one of the walking dead would breach the ring of soldiers that was surrounding him, to take hold of the hem of his jacket and drag him into the mass of claws and teeth.

But it didn’t happen, and Lucas reached the van without a scratch. Hastily he slammed the door behind him and reached for the keys. While the others hauled the wounded private into the back he turned the ignition. Headlights flipped on, revealing the true horror of the crowd of shambling undead. They were exactly like in the movies, only real. Staggering, limp sacks of human skin and bones; junkies to a previous existence with only one goal: getting a taste of life again.

Waiting impatiently for the hummer to take off, Vandervoort turned around. He needed the men in the back of the van to know that they had to strap their fellow soldier down tightly. He would tell them it was for safety measures, not to injure him during what was going to be a bumpy ride. The truth was that he feared… no… secretly hoped that private Waltkins would die from the injury and strain. If he died, likely infected with whatever disease these creatures passed, he would turn as well. And guess who would be ready to take sample after sample of valuable tissue?

(OOC: Don’t know what kind of van it is: one with just a window reaching to the back, or with an actual opening so that people can move into the back and vise versa.)
Vandervoort hadn’t thought beyond obtaining his specimen, hadn’t had time. But now his hopes were up that he would get out of this retarded forest expedition, he saw his future brighter than ever. Once they were out of the forest he would tell one of the privates to take the wheel, so that he could start his research in this mobile lab.

His life had never been better. Softly he started humming the tune that had been spooking his subconscious ever since they arrived in the woods.

”It’s the time, of the seeeeaaason for loooooving.”

"What the f-!?"
Jack's words were cut off as he lost control of his bike. Ten seconds ago Jimmy had been limp as a fish, a disturbing sight to be sure, but certainly a state that had some sort of finality to it. Jack didn't really care about the guy personally, he was only doing a favor for Diane, she was kind of cute, and all he needed to do was get this guy somewhere he could get treated, but this was getting a little ridiculous. Now he'd have to drop this guy off and get the hell out of there. He didn't really want to be attached to any dead guy even if it wasn't his fault.

With that in mind, get grabbed from behind was certainly not something Jack was expecting. He turned around for a split second to see what the hell was going on, only to be struck by Jimmy's head with a vicious headbutt. His attention diverted, he began to lose control of the bike going into a bit of a swerve. It looked like he'd be able to hold onto it when sudden Jimmy sunk his teeth into the shoulder of Jack's jacket, causing him to lose all control. Jack had a split second to look over at the PT Cruiser before he hit it, getting tossed hard into the ground.

He rose slowly to his feet, gentley testing his limbs to check if he was injured. Nothing broken, but a lot definately bruised, it could have been worse. Satisfied that he was ok, he looked around for his assailant. Whatever Jimmy had been thinking was about to get him in a whole lot of trouble, Jack had no doubt that he'd have no problem kicking this sorry sucker's ass now that he didn't have to worry about driving his bike. Plus he'd throw a little special kick in there for any damage he did to his bike while he was at it.

Was about to head toward Jimmy when some scrawny kid ran into his field of vision.

"So are you guys doing a project for the college or something? Just lemme get a quick pic or two and I'll get out of your hair. This is so cool! I'm a HUGE zombie movie fan..."
Jack was dumbfounded for a moment, then the impact of the kid's words sunk in. A) This kid had a camera and was going to take some photos of Jack in conjunction with man who was soon to find himself in some hospital bed somewhere, and B) He seemed to think this was some sort of zombie movie. Some sort of geeky fanboy, Jack hated them (and stairs, and elevators, and sewers...) but unfortunately this was one he was going to have to deal with.

Giving a quick look over at Jimmy, who seemed to be walking like someone with some horrible disability, he judged he had a bit of time to tell this kid off.

"The hell are you saying runt? Get out of here. This ain't any zombie project and I don't want any damn pictures you understand me? No get the hell away from me and call an ambulance, this idiot's going to need one in a minute."
(OOC: Jack does not want any pictures taken, and is intent on kicking this guy's ass to avenge his bike. Also, left a little tidbit in there for you Val, you should be able to catch it.)

Faxtion Healthcare Facility
State Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:36 pm

In a moment so fast that he couldn’t prevent it, Jack went from trying to find a parking-spot to get this guy into the hospital, to preparing to kick his punk ass for making him spill his bike. He also had acquired a fanboy, it seemed.
The kid stood nearby, beside a bicycle, and was fumbling through his pockets. "So are you guys doing a project for the college or something? Just lemme get a quick pic or two and I'll get out of your hair. This is so cool! I'm a HUGE zombie movie fan..."


The man, Jimmy, was staggering to his feet in shaky, unsteady movements. He did look a bit like a dead man. Pallid as a white mold, with eyes so bloodshot that they looked like red orbs. The towel he had wrapped around his arm had fallen away, revealing a several inch rip in his flesh that was so deep that Jack thought he could see the muscle within. The wound wasn’t bleeding quite as steadily as it should have been though. Just a trickle of blood that ran down the man’s arm. A dog had done that?


Glancing back at the kid, Jack barked The hell are you saying runt? Get out of here. This ain't any zombie project and I don't want any damn pictures you understand me? No get the hell away from me and call an ambulance, this idiot's going to need one in a minute."


Turning back to Jimmy, who had just gotten to his feet, Jack strolled up to him, hauled back, and slugged him as hard as he could. Jimmy’s head snapped to the side from the blow, and Jack was sure he felt a tooth loosen. Slowly, Jimmy turned back to Jack, who was couldn’t help but be disturbed. This man could take a punch! Jabbing once, twice, Jack caught him in the nose and cheek and his head snapped back both times like this was a Rocky movie. Dark blood trickled from his nose, and Jack’s eyes widened. So too did Jimmy’s mouth. Suddenly his arms had come up and grabbed Jack by the shoulders. As his mouth gaped open, a flow of blood and two teeth poured over his shirt.


Jack tried yanking the man from his grip but found that his busted and bloody mouth was coming in for his face, like he wanted a big open mouthed kiss. Backing up and smacking against the PT Cruiser, Jack was forced to put his hands on the man’s throat, trying to keep him at bay.
Of course Roger witnessed all of this. There was nothing else to be seen, except for this scuffle which, despite the biker’s gruff claims, looked very much like a zombie fight.


((OK-what are you going to try and do? What are your intentions? I’ll roll and determine your success. Grugg, your risking everything by going hand to hand with a zombie. He doesn’t seem stronger then you, but he is unaffected by your blows.))

Walmart Supercenter,
103 N Caroline Street, Herkimer,
Upstate New York September 14th, Sunday, 10:36pm
It sounded simple enough. As the bald man and the goth girl pushed their carts through the parking lot to his red, rented car, Bryson and Lisa followed, slowly, in their vehicle. “Sick people eating each other?” Lisa’s voice was shrill. “What the hell does that mean John?” Without asking permission, she started frantically fumbling with the buttons on his car radio.

Jetta and Tiann hadn’t wasted time throwing their ‘groceries’ into the back of the vehicle. Whatever was going on at this Walmart, they clearly wanted nothing to do with it. It came as a surprise to everyone then, when Tiann tossed the last gun into the back of the vehicle, that he looked up in time to see the figure step around the pickup truck that had parked beside them.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, for some reason. Maybe he wasn’t breathing with his nose, or maybe he was upwind, but now a stench so overwhelmingly powerful swept over him, that he couldn’t help but gag, while he instinctively backed up frantically. The smell that rolled off the figure that stumbled towards him was one of a rotten deer carcass that had bloated and ripped open on a hot summer day, with a distinct, human fecal stench rolled in there. Tiann could catch a hint of formaldehyde too. The figure was tall, and dressed in what was once a very expensive suit. It looked like he had rolled in mud however, and clumps of it even hung from the thin wisps of greasy hair that hung around the brownish black face. Eyes that looked like decayed grapes rolled around in the head, and a lipless, toothy maw opened as the creature raised it’s near skeletal hands and staggered after Tiann. Jetta, who was on the other side of the car, screamed.

Bryson could see it now… Every detail was clear. Even the smell. Tiann was backing up frantically, closer to his car. He could hear Lisa’s breath being sucked in, and he could feel her terror, or perhaps it was his own terror. This figure was dead. Very, very dead. And right now he was making for the bald man with arms outstretched like he wanted a hug.