[RP] The Pandemic

[Venetia]

THE PANDEMIC
a story of surviving the WWII Zombie Apocalypse

This is the actual RP thread.

http://www.arpgmaker.com/viewtopic.php?f=217&t=70060
^ The Sign-Up sheet and all background info and map.

http://www.arpgmaker.com/viewtopic.php?f=217&t=70073
^ The Out Of Character Thread. Direct all non-scene replies to there

Spoiler: MAP

CITY MAP

The formerly militarized zones means that there may or may not be caches of weapons or ammunition in those places. You should also note that these and government buildings are the most dangerous areas as you're more likely to run into a soldier zombie (the most aggressive and the strongest zombies).
Farmlands are full of high grasses and weeds by now, so while it is a good hiding spot for you, it's a good one for zombies, too.
The ugly-drawn unfilled private business there in the center-north is a hostel. I forgot to label it.

GAMEPLAY UPDATE NOTICE 2-25-10

On the map, you will notice a hexagonal-shaped house.
This will now be referred to as Cappella di'Esagono, or Hexagon Chapel.

RULES

• In order to post here you must have already had your character approved by Venetia. If you have tweaks she asked for please make them.
• You cannot post twice in a row.
• If you do not make a reply within 2 weeks your character will be killed or assumed by the horde. (Unless you run it by us in OOC).
• If your character dies, make a new one in the Sign-Up Thread.
• You must follow the map and adhere to all the rules in the Sign-Up Thread.
• If your post is stupid or goes against rules it'll be deleted.
• The game's starting date is September 15th, 1944--Exactly 3 months after the plague has broken out.
• If you start in the same vicinity as other people you must be aware of their presence in your first scene.
• You cannot jump forward/back in time. You can only do meanwhiles or events directly following the last post.

THE BEGINNING

Aryana Mancini stared blankly out at Ortense, the village she had once known so well. The rooftop of the hospital she occupied was settling in with the chill of a late September evening. The sun only had another hour or two left in it before night would descend, and she lamented having to endure yet another lonely, hungry night up there.

After her Ford truck had broken down, it had been a grueling seven hours' creep up to the roof. She had avoided the masses of cadavere expertly, but now all her joints and muscles ached from the strain of sitting on her haunches for too long. On the roof, one bastardo had actually gotten the drop on her and had sampled a taste of her forearm. Luckily the thing had been so close to the edge, and so weak from hunger, she was able to shove it over the side.

"Quattordici …" She whispered, thumbing out the fourteen shiny Luger rounds she had left. The magazine could hold 8 and load 1, but thumbing out all the gun's contents brought her a mild bit of solace.

Looking down from her place tucked up under the ventilation shaft, Aryana spied atleast twenty zombis milling about aimlessly in the hospital's perimeter. She could see that broken-down jalopy Ford, and one of the infected had curled up for a nap in its flatbed.

In the distance, filled with sun, was the harbor. A few ramshackle houseboats, the only remaining survivors of the past three hellish months, bobbed to and fro in the lapping Meditteranean wake. That, too, was covered in zombies, including several rather humorous individuals still donning their once-tidy fascismo uniforms.

Off to the west were the homes and farms, and they too were yet plagued by the remnants of their former inhabitants.

There wasn't a cognitive soul in sight; it was so utterly lonely.

[IN ITALIAN:]"What am I doing here?" She balked in the breeze. "Why did I think this would be better than Rome?" And then: a horrifying thought: "Am I the only one left?"

No … No, of course not. Her words had trailed into thought. Can't be. There are too many in the world for me to be the last poor soul.

Gooseflesh stood out on her skin all around her shoddily-bandaged bite wound. Perhaps she wouldn't be the last non-cadavere left, after all. She wasn't feeling sick yet, though she wasn't feeling great. She hadn't eaten in days, and had only drunk from a janitor's bucket the day before. Soap was still rising in her throat.

She stared at the roof's sole doorway, which led down into the hospital. It was painted bright red, and intimidated her with the full force of its color. She knew what was on the other side of it, and she was too afraid, and too ill-prepared, to face it.

Stomach rumbling, fatigue wearing her thin, Aryana desperately wished for the sun to stick in its place and for that door to be thrown open by a hand that knew how to guide it.
The wait was torture.

 

[psiclone]

Dante pressed his hand against the outhouse wall again. Nothing. All seemed still. He slowly pressed the door open to peek outside, his heart racing. He felt as though his heart was so loud, the others could hear it. He had no idea what to call them, they were all just.. so strange.

He peered through the small crack he made with the door to what appeared to be two of them hunched over.. something, about 5 yards away. The gas lantern he had dropped caused a small fire on the grass near the outhouse, and was spreading somewhat slowly. If the house caught fire, he'd have no choice but to run. It seemed that since the fire had gotten bigger, they kept themselves away from him.

"Could they hate the fire?" He thought to himself, "No, they're just preoccupied with.. something." He closed the door back up and settled himself back onto the seat. It was hard to see inside, but there was an adequate amount of toilet paper for one to use, or perhaps.. eat, if needed. Slung along his back was his customized hoe, which was still bloodied from his last encounter getting into the outhouse. He didn't know where else to run, there were at least 4 of them outside, yet he only saw two. Where were they?

He kept a hand pressed against the wall and closed his eyes, thinking back to a time when he was young, and Helen.. beautiful, sweet Helen.

 

[Daxis]

It was very tough being isolated from civilization for extended periods of time, But Alex was used to it. He'd been traversing across Europe for the last two years, and because of the scarcity of transportation, such as the automobile or even a horse, he'd had to go on foot.

He'd often stop by the towns and cities for some nourishment, paid for from the still great horde of cash he brings with him. The last time he'd visited a town, any town at all, had been three months ago, which was also the last time he'd taken photos of the war.

In this three months, what had happened? Something was extremely wrong with the people. Alex had came up to a normal, isolated house like normal, on his road towards the larger cities, and those in there had attacked him with insanity in their eyes.

Even worse... they seemed to be... dead.

Alex ignored the dark and ominous sensation that was in his heart, and he focused his attention to the wound the had on his hand, where one of those... things had tried to bite him. It was turning purple, but nothing dangerous, at least he hoped.

Alex glanced around in the hospital rooms, searching for people, only to find bodies. His gagging was less than one would thing, courtesy of what he had taken pictures of during the war. Ignoring the bodies that made him want to vomit, he search ahead, almost rounding to the entrance...

"Anyone?" Alex whispered. He'd meant to call for someone, a physician or doctor, to help him, but for some reason he feared the darkness greater than ever before.

He took another step forward before a loud clash grabbed his attention.

 

[dadevvtsvre]

Robert sat in the darkness. It was a routine activity for him now, to be sitting in complete and total fear. He didn't think much anymore, only waited. Waited for death to embrace him and free him from this hellish nightmare.

He sat in the corner of a small, rundown parlour, located in the front end of a dilapidated houseboat. He'd been locked up in the boat for weeks now, not with physical locks but by his own fear. Fear of what lay outside.

His stomach craved nourishment. He had been lucky; the houseboat had contained food and drink that had lasted him many days. But he hadn't been on shore for what seemed like the longest time. If he didn't find more food, however, he wouldn't last long.

He stood up, but stumbled over and cried out in pain as the corner of a table nicked his left shoulder. It was covered in stained, crusted blood, cut open weeks ago but never fully healed. He didn't know if it was infected or not. There was a lot he didn't know, and he wanted answers. But Robert was a patient man, groomed to be a humble worker since he was a child living in rural Australia.

In the kitchen was another human. A sane human, the only other one Robert was aware of on the entire planet. They didn't talk much, mostly due to the fact that the other human didn't speak much English, but Robert was damned if the other human wasn't a good chef.

Robert grunted a small greeting to Dag Jørgensen, the blond-haired chef that, for the past couple of weeks, had been his only companion. Dag didn't reply. He was peered intently out of a small, shutter-covered window, the only source of light in the battered up boat. Weak rays of sunlight illuminated Dag's face. The two were the same age, but had very different personalities. However, they'd come to enjoy each other's presence, despite being locked up together in their tiny prison for weeks.

They could have left the houseboat at any time. It was anchored in beside a small dock that jutted out from the Ortense harbour. But trying to leave would have been asking for death, for just beyond the dock and roaming on the shore were the infected. The crazies. Zombies.

"What are ya lookin' at there, Dag?" asked Robert, trying to see what had grasped Dag's attention. He knew Dag didn't speak English, but Dag could usually get the gist of what Robert was trying to say most of the time.

 

[bacon]

Dag continued to peer out the window, gazing out at the setting sun. The sky was painted blood red, yet it would be somewhat difficult for someone with poor eyesight to distinguish between land and sky. However Dag was already accustomed to it by now unlike Robert, who could hardly see in one of his eyes. Robert broke his hypnotic like gaze out into the open and asked what he was looking at. Dag pointed to the local hospital that was perched precariously atop the rugged hills.

"[Nynorsk]We need to get to the hospital, your wound...[/Nynorsk]" Dag stated, worried that his new friend would die or even worse. Robert got the gist of what Dag was saying, and agreed promptly. Then Dag pointed at a can of empty food. Robert clearly understood that they were running out of food. Dag then went back to his mount, staring off into the bloody sunset.

 

[OS]

Byron stepped backwards into a cart with a tray full of metal instruments on it as he barely evaded another thrust from the wretched creature that was once a proud doctor. Byron picked up the tray and bashed the ghoul across its malformed face, which only seemed to provoke it. He stumbled around the cart and thrust it forward, then turned to run away.

[English] "HELP ME, SOMEBODY!"
[Italian] "PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Byron cried out, throwing everything he could grasp back at the fiend as he hurtled away. Byron crashed through a half-closed door into a hall near the entrance. Byron slammed the door shut behind him and turned to see a man standing near an other door.

[English] "Are you...one of them? Speak, now!"
[Italian] "Speak! Say something!"

Byron was cut short by a pounding noise on the other side of the door.

[English] "As you can see, I am not alone. Help me."

 

[No ID]

The sun had just set behind Elvin and his seriously injured comrade, Davis, whom he was carrying, as they finally arrived at the hospital. Or at least he hopes that he has found the hospital, because it seems there is no help in sight.

"Policlinico Ortense," he reads aloud. "I don't know what that jive means man," he yells to himself in frustration as he shuffles his vision between the map and the forest area from which he came, trying to figure out his current location.

Still at the front door of the building, he looks around panicky as he hesitates to enter. "What are you doing?" Davis mumbles out lethargically, as he lays slumped over the right shoulder of Elvin, while using his own right hand to clutch his stomach, trying to contain the blood leaking from his Military Vest.

"Why don't we just go in there?" He asks.

"Cause man," Elvin replied, "we don't know what could pop outta there."

"So what are you gonna do, just sit out here and wait for them damn egghead things to come get us?" Davis asked before he added, "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm dying here, and It's all you're fault man." Davis cries out as he envisions himself letting the Hydra-Zombie attack the, at the time, dismayed and helpless Elvin, instead of jumping in it's path and taking it on head on like he recalls.

"Look I'm sorry I froze up, but I've never been through anything like this before," Elvin replies regretfully.

"Listen don't worry about it," Davis adds reassuringly, "I'm only teasing."

As they flash each other a pair of artificial smiles they are interrupted by a moaning sound in the bushes behind them.

"What was that?" Elvin asked frightened.

And Before Davis could blurt out a word, a zombie pops out of the bushes and onto Elvin, forcing him to toss Davis onto the ground so he could embrace for the impact. This time Elvin was prepared, as the zombie tackles him to the ground, he pulls his knife out from between his belt buckle and stabs the zombie in it's left eye. Dragging the blade diagonally across the top of it's head, splitting it from eye to ear as it's blood gushes out all over his face and around his head.

He then tosses the zombie aside and gets up proud and disgusted at the same time, wiping the the purplish blood from around his eyes. Davis then rises sluggishly and walks towards Elvin, hand extended as if to commend him. Elvin then extends his own hand and shakes what he thought to be Davis', only to look up and see that it was the hand of another zombie pierced from Davis' back all the way through his heart.

Elvin jumped back appalled and shaking in disbelief as the last friendly face he knows is standing in front of him, mouth wide open with his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Unable to even say a word, Elvin turns and runs towards the entrance of the hospital as several Hydra-zombies appear from nowhere and pounce on Davis' body like a pack of hungry hyenas on a gazelle.

Elvin pushes through the glass hospital door frantically then slams his back against the door to push it close as he looks for something to block the pathway. He turns and sees a flipped over cabinet on the ground with all the tools that were previously stored inside it spread out destructively around it. He picks up the Cabinet and pushes it in front of the door as he watches the zombies begin to approach him after finishing off the meal that had previously saved Elvin's life.

While maintaining a visual of the monsters in front of him he leans his back towards the right and slides down the wall in the entrance of the hall until his butt touches the ground. Sitting on the floor, head in his lap, while clutching his legs together, he's trying his best not to cry as he continuously whispers to himself how much he wishes he was back home in the nice, safe, and quite streets of North Philadelphia.

 

[So fist]

It was the taste of ash and polymer that greeted Sargent Kensington as he pushed himself off of the Jeep's sun beaten dashboard. The thud of the crash reminded of years ago when Jeremy Stiggins pelted him in the back of the head with a rock because he didn't like Sean's uppity prudish nature. It was momentary but loud and dull knock that blackened his senses for a brief second.

In Sargent Kensington's daze training had taken over. He quickly unbuckled himself and pulled his sidearm, a webley .38. As he scanned his sectors for threats he noticed his driver draped like a lifeless sack across the root work of robust oak tree. His driver's blood left a rusty stain on the bark almost three feet from the ground to mark the moment where the man's thoughts would soon be left to ooze out on the ground below. Kensington didn't need to touch him to know that PFC. Giles was now facing judgement from a higher authority than the CO's that ran this bullshit. He continued on his sectors watching and listening. No movement or sound of note.

In quick measure Sean began to pack up what supplies he could find. His thompson was still resting safely at his feet, which he slung over his shoulder with carefree precision. In his own Jacket he had three clips and three grenades tucked away which he checked to assure that they were all secured. Leaning on the median on the driver's side was PFC. Giles' Enfield rifle. After securing his person he pulled himself out of the wreck abandoning the rifle to the Jeep.

Sean quickly discovered his balance was quite affected by the sudden crash. He lurched with laborious and clumsy haste over to Giles' body. His head was a mushy mess of muddy red and mushy tissue. With deference Sean took the young man's dog tags and searched his jacket for anything of use. Ammo had grown quite scarce since the Hydra reared its ugly head and anything to be gleaned from comrades no longer with us is quite useful. From Giles' person he pulled out three Enfield clips and two more grenades. He placed his hand firmly on Giles' back and murmured almost mechanically: "For all those who have fallen in the true faith of Thy Holy Name, that they may enter into the rest which Thou hast prepared for those who believe in Thee." Sean then divorced himself from the grim business, and looked to the horizon of the woods for a way out to the road.

Such dissociation proved an occupational necessity. War needed it, and the hydra doubly so. There was no more time to consider the dead as we were accustomed. You had to dissociate or you would have to think of Giles' being the feast of deranged infected maddened with animal hatred for flesh.

In the distance he saw a rather grand house that stood amongst a throng of hedges and small orchard trees. He holstered his .38 and pulled his thompson to his hip and began a quiet dash increasing speed with each step as his equilibrium normalized.

As he entered the yard he heard a door shut to his right. There was an outhouse with a small grass fire that was extinguishing itself slowly. Sean pulled back his safety and gazed down his gun sight. He heard running two pairs of footfalls on grass flying off into the distance. Sean slowly circled to the front of the outhouse gun ready.

"Flash!" Sean called out and waited for an answer that never came.
"Ciao!" He yelled in another attempt to contact the occupant.

"The infected are always unresponsive," Sean thought to himself as he slowly walked to the door. He wrestled with the decision he was about to make. Shoot or verify. To risk opening that door and himself to whatever was on the other side of it, or blast it and listen to the cries that come out and move on. He focused his sight to prepare for a pass his trigger quivering to squeeze. Sean let out a breath and muttered bloody hell under his breath. Then he let loose a powerful kick on the door busting it off the hinge shouting, "Don't move and stay down! Giù! Giù!" while hoping whatever laid in there wouldn't growl in response and bite at him.

 

[dadevvtsvre]

The hospital sat perched atop a small incline several kilometres away. Robert couldn't make it out with his one good eye, but Dag's eyes were sharper. Robert, however, knew the village well, having been stationed here for several weeks before the plague broke out, and thus knew the layout and surroundings very well.

He was yearning to get out of the boat. The two men both ached to stretch their legs and once again breathe in the fresh Meditteranean sea air. But there was no escape through the harbour. Robert knew there was only one other way to get out of the boat and make their way to the hospital alive.

Suddenly, Robert had an idea.

"What if..." he started to say, gazing at the water, which gently lapped at the boat, causing the rhythmic swaying of the boat. But Robert was unsure of Dag was willing to cooperate. He hadn't gotten a chance to see how athletic Dag was, nor how well he could cope with strenuous situations.

"Dag," Robert continued, "Have you ever thought about swimming to the shore, towards the hospital?" Robert proceeded to make swimming motions with his arms to convey the message to Dag.

Dag didn't seem to understand, as he had a puzzled look on his face, so Robert continued to act out the motion of swimming. Suddenly, Dag's eyes grew large, and a look of fear spread across his face. He shook his head violently.

"Wait a second..." said Robert. "What's wrong? Are you afraid of the water? Can't... can't you swim?"

Dag looked down. And slowly, he shook his head. No.

 

[bacon]

Water was out of the question. Not only could Dag not swim, they had no clue how violent the waters were. Yet, Dag didn't have a choice in these matter, either they would go by land or by sea, each way equally as dangerous. [Nynorsk]"As long as we stay close to land," said Dag.

However, Dag didn't think that Robert had the strength to get across by boat. Not only that, they did not have the needed supplies to do so. Dag asked [Nynorsk]"There is a harbor nearby?" It took a second for Robert to catch his drift, but Robert replied with a nod. Dag then looked out the window again. The sun was almost set, and the crimson sky had started turning into a deep purple, followed by the pitch-black night. Trees and houses seemed to disappear, vanish into thin air. Not even the the beacon that lights the nightly earth could pierce through the insatiable darkness. However, there was no time left, time had seeped through their stubby little fingers until the was naught a grain left. The time was now. The time to act was upon them.

[Nynorsk]"We need to go to the harbor and get supplies before we leave. Are you coming?"

 

[Daxis]

"Hey!" Alex loudly whispers as he sees a man rush through the front entrance of the hospital. The guy had blocked the entrance to the hospital with a cabinet close by quite quickly, and was now looking like he was on the brink of tears.

Alex rushed forward, and, seeing the moving... things outside of the hospital, Alex froze.

Those things. Again. These things. Alex suddenly realized why the hospital was so deserted, and why no doctor or physician can be found... alive.

Those were some bad three months to choose to go camping.

"Hey, guy!" Alex exclaimed. "Are, are you alright?!"

Outside, moans of the ghouls came, chilling Alex to the bone. Alex returned his attention to the African American man in front of him.

"Listen, we have to get away!" Alex told him, grabbing him, waking the boy out of his traumatic shock. "We have to go!" Alex said, waiting for his answer.

 

[No ID]

Visions of his once dreaded life replay constantly in Elvin's head. Thinking that he took it all for granted, while wishing he had done more. Thinking about all the girls he should have asked out but never did and about high school and how now he wish he would have stayed, instead of dropping out. Sure he was well ahead of everyone in his class but he wouldn't be in his current predicament had he decided to stay. But as flashbacks of all the things he missed out on in life fly by his mind, he suddenly is snapped out of his daydream of pretty faced females, only to lift his head to see the mug of a pimple faced, four-eyed white boy shaking the shit out of him.

Listen, we have to get away!" the boy told Elvin, grabbing him, waking him out of his traumatic shock. "We have to go!" the boy said, waiting for his answer.

"What the fuck!" Elvin shouts out perplexed, as he pushes the boy away in disgust. Elvin starts breathing hard like a person who just awoke in the middle of the night from a nightmare, sliding towards the left with his back against the wall, until his left arm touches the right side of the cabinet.

"Listen guy, calm down," the boy replies calmly, "I'm on your side, I'm with you."

Elvin then wipes his hand across his entire face a few times aiming to clears the small amount of tears from his face, lips puckered as if he were ready for a fight. "I-I don't got nothin' man...wha-wha-what chu need?" Elvin stammers.

The boy shakes his head as he says, "I don't want anything from you but you need to relax, sir."

Elvin then stares at the boy shocked, thinking that he must be infected with the bug for calling him sir, forgetting, the fact that he, wearing his service uniform, could be the reason.

"Are you alright?" The persistant boy asks. "Are you OK?" He pauses before he says, "Look, we have to get out of here now. Your little blockade will only hold up for so long."

After flashes of Davis' death find their way back into his mind, Elvin does
his best to shake the images out his head before he replies, "What the fuck is going on here?"

"It's hard to explain, and I don't know much" The boy answers. "Now I wouldn't mind telling you what I do know but we have to get away from here immediately!"

Suddenly, after the sound of a Zombie running into the glass door as if he couldn't tell it was there, the boy runs up the hall away from the entrance and then turns as if to ask Elvin if he was coming or not.

Elvin, looks at all of the zombies rapidly approaching the door behind him, and then turns back to look at the white boy up the hall. Wishing that he had more time to weigh his options, while coming to the conclusion that the moment, following the white boy seems like the logical choice.

 

[Glitchfinder]

[Italian] 'Idiots! Damned idiots!" Arturo muttered.

He was in the second story of the villa, watching the scene at the outhouse with considerable fury. He was furious that his friends were dead, furious that he was forced to do the deed, and even more furious that these... these idiots were attracting more of the infected to the area.

He let the drapes fall shut, and went back to the desk. He had set up a small lantern there, which he had shuttered so that most of the light was hidden. Next to the lantern were some of his writing materials and one of his research journals. The old pages, while still there, were being ignored in favor of the newer journals and logs, where he was recording his experiences and observations since the outbreak of the... Hydra, he thought he had heard a former survivor call it.

[Italian]

September 15, 1944,
Today I saw a survivor for the first time in over two weeks. He wandered into the yard of the villa, where he was set upon by the infected corpses of some of the former servants. In a fit of sheer idiocy, he started a fire, apparently to distract them. He then vanished into an outhouse, of all things, where he remains hidden, occasionally looking outside. The fire attracted more of the things, of course, and now several of them are shambling around in the area behind the outhouse.

Arturo looked back at the window and sighed.

[Italian] I suppose I should let them in...

His voice trailed off as he wondered if anything would ever be the same again, then dismissed the thought as useless. Whether or not anybody survived was unimportant, at this point. His job was to record and observe what he could, and teach all he was able. If his help enabled some to survive and rebuild, then he would have made more of a difference than he could ever have hoped.

 

[psiclone]

Dante's eyes shot open as he felt a loud bump against the outhouse. Then nothing. The fire had spread further, now growing up a small part of the outhouse and filling the tiny room with smoke quickly. How long was he asleep? What happened while he was out? Why didn't they open the door to get him? There was no time to think about it, the smoke was already inhibiting his ability to breathe and he had to get out fast, but where would he go?

He couldn't hold it any longer, and began coughing up a fit. He was sure that this would attract them to him, so he grabbed his trusty makeshift mace and kicked the door out, which manged to knock down one of them in the process.

[Thinking]"Well, look what I did." he thought, then quickly looked around his immediate surroundings. "A house! Maybe someone in there is alive and can.." just then he felt something brush against his leg and he quickly swung his weapon down at the disturbance without looking. Grass, gently swaying in the breeze. The beast he had knocked down was slowly getting back to his feet, and Dante turns around further to see 3 more come from behind the outhouse.

Dante ran to the house faster than he's ever run before, and began pounding along the wall, running around the house and looking for a door, knocking on windows as he passes them. He finally gets to the door and continues pounding frantically, completely unaware of anything that might be happening behind him.

 

[Venetia]

Spoiler: MAP

CITY MAP

The formerly militarized zones means that there may or may not be caches of weapons or ammunition in those places. You should also note that these and government buildings are the most dangerous areas as you're more likely to run into a soldier zombie (the most aggressive and the strongest zombies).
Farmlands are full of high grasses and weeds by now, so while it is a good hiding spot for you, it's a good one for zombies, too.
The ugly-drawn unfilled private business there in the center-north is a hostel. I forgot to label it.

GAMEPLAY UPDATE NOTICE 2-25-10

On the map, you will notice a hexagonal-shaped house.
This will now be referred to as Cappella di'Esagono, or Hexagon Chapel.

The smell of smoke woke her. It was faint, but her nerves were so shot, anything would rattle them. She mused, Must have passed out staring at the door. So tired. So tired.

A plume of uneven, uncontrolled burn was gasping into the evening sky from the west. It was hard to see from her perch atop the hospital, with the Cappella di'Esagono (Hexagon Chapel)'s spire obstructing her view, but the fire appeared to be coming from the Russo villa. She had known the Russos as a child. They were warm and charming people to her, always offering her candy and jelly pastries. She had played with their two sons often, and had been there when their youngest daughter was borne eight years ago.

[IN ITALIAN:] "So this is how it's going to be, eh? You take my family and now you raze my town?" She whispered at nothing.

A thought occurred a moment later, however: the Cadavere didn't seem to be capable enough to willfully start fires. Sure, it was possible that the Russos had left on their gas oven, or perhaps a zombi had chewed through some electrical wiring.

--She couldn't recall the west side of town ever being outfitted with power, though. The east side had it due to the hospital, but she didn't see any power lines running to the west.

Perhaps it was a signal?

Perhaps someone was alive?

[IN ITALIAN:] "They're probably dead anyway."

She glanced about and realized she was standing, loaded Luger at her hip.

[IN ITALIAN:] "Am I really so stupid?"

Her stomach growled again in response.

As her feet started shuffling towards the inimical red door, she considered that, yes, she may very well be that stupid.

 

[Glitchfinder]

Arturo heard the banging along the walls and hurried his pace. Apparently, one of the idiots had actually had a decent thought, and was looking for a way into the house. Too bad they were attracting more infected in the process.

[Italian] "Hold up, hold up!" he shouted, wincing at the stab of pain that shot through his chest as he did. He certainly hoped that this wasn't the one with the gun. That one looked like he might shoot the instant the door opened.

He got to the door, and undid the locks. He couldn't help but wonder why the Russos had installed such complex locks so many years before. He paused to grab one of the fire extinguishers he had found in the cellars, then opened the door and rushed past the man, who looked terrified.

He looked at the fire, and grimaced. This was bad. If he didn't get this thing out, he would be forced to leave the villa entirely. He started the fire extinguisher, and began to use it on the fire, which seemed concentrated on the outhouse, all the while being mindful of where the nearest dead were, and constantly moving from them.

One of them got too close, and he stopped the fire extinguisher, hefted it, and brained the zombi, wincing as another sharp pain jabbed through the broken ribs. He stumbled, recovered, and went back to the task of putting out the fire.

 

[Daxis]

"We need to find out where to go," Alex said. Passing by the rows and rows of hospital rooms, he could now see and understand exactly what had happened. The remnants of those monsters, those undead, were hidden in the darkness, but the shade was shallow. The bodies disgusted him, but it only gave him a greater drive to live.

The African-American soldier followed him, but his breath was quick and the man was terrified. Something must have happened, besides meeting the ghouls. Shaking his head, Alex told himself to forget about it; it was the guy's problem, not his.

"There are few and small windows," Alex inspected, glancing into the patient rooms, seeing outside. "And even so, the darkness wouldn't let us see far." Alex looked back, catching the attention of the one behind him. "We have to get somewhere where we can see our surroundings and then begin acting..."

In the momentary silence that follow, the other man went, "The... the roof?"

Alex nodded. "Yes, sir, the roof. Hopefully, we can get some... supplies, or something along the way," he said. "To the stairway."

With each step he took, Alex hoped dearer and dearer that the zombies on the second floor were dead. Grasping his rucksack, still filled with all of his photographic materials, along with various survival items, he hoped that the dead stayed dead.

 

[dadevvtsvre]

Robert needed a plan.

Both he and Dag knew they had to get to the harbour. The decision between the two was unanimous, no question about it. But where to go from there, or even how to get to the harbour's main buildings undectected, was still a mystery.

The glow of the evening sun cast shadows across the room, and orange and red streaks of fire illuminated the surroundings. The water outside seemed to turn blood-red, which Robert thought seemed appropriate for their situation.

Robert grabbed a small scrap of paper from a table and a disgruntled-looking pencil from the ground. He called Dag over and hastily began scribbling a map of Ortense. He made it as geographically correct as possible, basing it on his foggy knowledge of the village from the weeks prior.

"Alright, we're here," said Robert, pointing to something that looked something like a dock on the map. A few ovals surrounded it - the houseboats that dotted the Ortense harbour. "We need to head here," he continued, circling the buildings that made up the harbour.

Dag pointed at the dock, then at the harbour, and mimicked repeatedly drawing an X on the paper. Robert nodded his head in agreeance. There were far too many of the Infected on the harbour to even contemplate that route. But swimming was also out of the question, and the houseboat they were in was far from functional. No, they needed a plan, and they needed it quick.

"Any ideas?" Robert asked Dag.

 

[Spoo]

Jonathan burst through the front door of the large villa. He took a moment to let his eyes clear themselves from the smoke, and then he seen the man with the fire extinguisher.

"Aiuto! Help me!" The tall man said, motioning with his arm. Jonathan limped over to another fire extinguisher that was propped in a corner and set to work.

Though he was busy with the fire, Jonathan didn't fail to notice the pale figures walking sluggishly in no particular direction. The people --if they could be called people -- were hostile; that much was clear, and Jonathan had no desire to be killed. He set down his fire extinguisher and pulled out his M1911 from his leg holster. He took careful aim at the nearest zombie's torso and fired. Much to his surprise, the thing just flinched and then continued it's slow trek towards Jonathan. Jonathan fired three more times into the zombies chest, leg, and neck. The zombie still refused to fall.

Why won't they die!? Jonathan thought.

 

[bacon]

"Nei. Du?" Dag asked, repeating the same question that passed through Robert's lips moments ago. They sat there, an awkward and tense silence filled the room. The sun ever so bright started to perform its grand finale for the night. "Jeg har aldri kjempet zombiene før? Jeg vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre?" Dag said in an almost sarcastic manner. Robert got the gist that Dag was trying to make a joke to ease the tension, however the painful silence continued . All that Robert could do was let out a pathetic and lackadaisical laugh. However, the two sat there in silence, looking into eachother's chilling eyes. They could see the obvious fear on eachother's faces. A gust of wind blew, and the boat creaked and oscillated in the water's waves.

The silence was interrupted by a rumble of Robert's belly. "Sulten?" asked Robert, worried about his well-being and state of health. He could see the gash in Robert's shoulder. It disgusted Dag. The scent of rotting flesh overwhelmed him as Robert's shoulder began to pulsate, oozing puss and bacteria with each move minute. The ragged and torn cloth that covered it was starting to fall, loosening up with each passing day.

They both could not think, fear had its tight grasp upon them. "Vi trenger å gå før i morgen," Dag said, worried about his friend as his current health atrophied with each passing day. There was no time left and they needed to leave by tomorrow. This was their last chance. They both looked eachother in the eyes once more and they both knew that there was no plan. They would just have to go and solve things as they came.

Dag proceeded to search the house for anything that could be found useful during their upcoming escapade. He started by breaking one the wooded chairs located in the room. He broke it swiftly and quietly and managed to salvage a useful blunt object. Dag then proceeded to the kitchen, where he unwrapped his cooking knives. They would finally see action, though the action intended was totally different from the intended purpose. Dag slowly walked to the iron lamp located on the near shelf.

"Skal vi se andre båter?" Dag asked as he pointed to the other boats. Robert shook his head in disappointment. The had already took all the useful objects from the neighboring boats. Dag reluctantly proceeded to the door that lead to the outside where victims of the White Plague relentlessly walked the grounds eternally. "Vi forlater," he stuttered as he opened the door, waving to Robert to come.

The last shimmering light had ceased just as those words were spoken. The evening flames slowly extinguished and halted their dancing, as night soon fell upon them. The gift of light was no more, stolen by the greedy night.

(I apologize if the Norwegian language is not all correct. I'm using a translator )