Futuristic Serpentine (IC)

[Walliver]

“Take them to the cell!”

Their lovely Patron could only stumble along as they were forced into a room they knew all too well. The table was hard metal, bolted to the ground. The chair was movable, but only barely. They sat down and put on the headset.

“Good morning survivors! I hope you’re all sort of safe and un-infected! Now, for today’s broadcast, let’s bring you up to speed on the virus...”

————

Andrew quickly shut off his radio, looking around. The zombies had stilled, stuck in the snow. His breath came in short, quiet puffs. One wrong move and he could be dead, ripped to pieces by the hoard. There was something on his leg, something that had a good grip. Only zombie hands did that. He could feel his breaths getting heavier, pushed back into his face by the respirator. It was either one bite or getting shredded to pieces. One bite.

It meant that no one would trust him, not until he healed. Not until he had proven he was immune. It was game over if he did anything else. Andrew closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the inevitable burning sensation and feeling of poison in his veins. Then he could leave.

The burning came, then he broke away. Something spooked the zombies and it wasn’t him. They had bigger things to feed on, maybe a herd of some sort. They wouldn’t notice a light snack escaping.

And then he was gone. Safely hidden above, on the roof. Waiting.

 

[Alvaris]

Larson Scott

She wanted to shout profanities into the air until she ran out of breath because that's how much she hated the snow. The cold. Anything below 40 degrees she classified a sin. The white flakes floated down, their beauty held all sorts of evil. Larson knew she was being dramatic, but she'd feel a heck of a lot better if her toes didn't feel likes someone was hammering on them. The cold tended to make her feel a bit nutty and grouchy. Man, she could go for some hot cocoa about now. Not that she'd had any since she was a teen. Larson frowned, the cold getting the better of her thoughts. This kind of thinking lead to danger and she couldn't afford to be clogged up by insignificant memories.

Why did she leave her cove? The nestle in the woods, that small abandoned cabin? Oh, right, the horde found it. Larson huffed, her breath visible in the frosty air. She'd been traveling for a little while now and though the snow slowed the zombs, it didn't deter them. She needed a house, home, even a shack would do. Anything to stop trudging through the layers of white that now made her legs numb. A groan made her stop. She looked left and right, nothing. A moment passed and she continued, her mind alert now and her blood pumping. Any thoughts of the cold fled.

That noise - it belonged to a zombie. She slid her shotgun into her hands, darn cold hands can hardly grip the gun. Larson continued, the backpack feeling heavier each step she took. The air seemed to grow quieter and colder. Please let there be a house, something with four walls and a roof. She prayed, though she wasn't the praying type. The wet snow slowed her movements, soaking into her clothes and boots, freezing her body. If she was going to die, she was going to make sure she was going out fighting - taking out as many as the dimwitted undead folks as she could.

Keep going, move it, march. The mantra she started telling herself years ago. It reminded her of Dory's "Just keep swimming" but had a more serious vibe, which she needed. Thinking of those idyllic days never served her any good. It only pissed her off. She nearly cried when she spotted a building, or a house - it didn't matter since it had four walls and a roof. Crap. Zombs lingered about, moaning and groaning as they ambled around her destination. Then, as though someone wanted her to live, they started walking away. All of them moved, like a pack, away from her. What luck! Slowly she approached the back of the building - her sanctuary with four walls and a roof. She felt too afraid to ask why they left and, instead, chose to view it as a blessing.

Blessings didn't belong in this world, not anymore. Quietly she played with the lock until it opened and she slipped inside.​

 

[SpazTheButcher]

Ray hated walking: but he loved the snow. But nonetheless a positive times a negative always was a negative. So he made do, trudging through the snow, watching the cold spots(zombies) trudging through, paying no heed to him. He advanced slowly, eyeing his surroundings, until he saw an abandoned cabin. Deeming it defensible and a "best as any" shelter he raised his weapon and lowed his profile, standing up but keeping low at the same time. He approached the building from the front, and watched a small group of cold-bodies walk away. He then quietly stepped to the front porch, and prepared to breach, taking a deep breath from his mask.