The Tower

[Abira]

Abira, still experiencing that half-clouded feeling one gets upon waking up from a damnably short nap, stumbled after the rest as they approached the Tower. The malcontent rumblings of yet another passing storm drew Abira's attention away briefly, its sinister-looking mass etched sharply against the steel-grey sky; although she'd been holed up in the gas station for a few heart attack-inducing days, she'd been warned nonetheless of the danger of infection and transmission...and she wanted to get inside -- fast.

Sidling up alongside some of the group so as to gain herself some time in which to analyze the situation, Abira paused to watch Derek and Loki at the door. Her eyes had taken on the cunning, half-mast look of a feline, and she once more took down her hair...hands raking through the mess of blue-black tresses that, despite the wind and constant ass-kicking, was still stick-straight and smooth.

Fighting the urge to call out to Leila as she suddenly slipped up next to the men and walked into the dark and yawning mouth of the Tower, Abira started forward suddenly. Aside from Loki, Leila had been the only other person in the group that had taken the time to talk to her for more than five or six seconds. And Leila had been the first rescuer Abira had seen while barricaded in the gas station. Tugging the gun from her waistband and before assuming a cold, flat expression, she nudged Loki and winked.

"Hey, Gimpy...looks like I'll be the one protecting you now..."

Disappearing into the shadowy interior beyond the door and moving slowly, Abira stopped just short of bumping into Leila.

~We came here because of the message on the radio, so can you turn the lights on so we can let the others in? In case you haven’t noticed, we are currently experiencing one hell of a zombie problem.. and I for one will feel a lot safer once this door is locked up and we are all inside. ~

Whispering so as not to be overheard by anyone save Leila, she strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of what was inside -- pupils dilating rapidly and ears alert to even the smallest of noises.

"I second the motion..."

[foxx]

Foxx lingered awkwardly at the back of the group as they crowded around the tower’s main entrance and the man, perhaps a guard, defending it from inside. Strange that among a party of misfits from various parts of the city and all walks of life she should still be an outsider. Watching them now, she realized that to the eyes of anyone who had never known them, they would seem united under a banner of more than just survival. A logical right to be there that rivaled any of the others (she did drive the truck, after all!) failed to quash the feeling that she was not only intruding on those this side of the door but everyone hiding on the opposite side as well. She crossed her arms against a shiver that had squat-all to do with the coming storm. Even the many layers of another girl’s clothes couldn’t keep out the cold of knowing you don’t quite belong. They’d be dealing with her intrusion so long as the sky darkened ominously and the damp air warned of an imminent downpour. Social anxiety would need to wait for sunnier skies. In the meantime, she had enough to fret about. The line ahead of her had yet to proceed into the safety (or what they were all probably hoping was “safety”) of the tower’s interior. Nerves on edge, Foxx scanned the horizon, squinting in the unnatural darkness for any mobile corpses who might fancy chewing on her. And to think, her biggest concerns before hell descended on earth were thieving rapists and malnutrition. How the world had changed. She shifted from one sneakered foot to the other and bit back the urge to verbally speed things up. Everyone out here with her wanted and would get in as soon as possible.

[Eliska Loxalyn]

|| Eliska Loxalyn had a headache. One of those I- don’t- care- what- you- take- to- get- rid- of- me- cause- I’m- gonna- hurt- until- I- choose- to- stop- and- there’s- nothing- you- can- do- about- it type headaches that made otherwise good days bad and long days longer. In times past it would have been easy to feel sorry for herself, perhaps call in sick from work, burrow back into bed, then sleep until an unsuspecting friend or relative called to suffer her whining. In the here and now, however, there were far worse afflictions than migraines- or cancer, or AIDS- to consider. She did not hear the victims of this new, unnamed plague blubbering on about the injustice of it all. They moaned and wailed from time to time, but one thing the infected never did was whine. If they could trudge on, so could she.

In this new world, since taking up residence in the tower with an odd band of survivors, there was nothing left to do but trudge on. Only some of those she’d gathered along the way were proficient with any kind of weapon and even the ones who knew their way around a gun or two had looked to her for guidance, assurance and rescue. Barricaded in the safest place possible with all the necessities they could ask for, she’d only managed the first. Assurances given were strained to say the least and rescue was but a dream. If and when they managed an escape, there was no guarantee of what they’d be escaping back into. The panicked media did their best to report the condition of surrounding areas, however, many of the journalists were now part of their story as wandering dead and reports from the living were fewer, far between and often hysterical to the point of incoherence. With the world ending there was little time for news-casting. Eli had finally made the executive deci...suggestion to move the radio from the warehouse turned refuge camp to an area off the inner core in which she’d made the “guard’s” quarters. The people lucky enough to make it this far had seen too much already to need reminding of what lurked beyond the tower’s stone walls from the poor fools still out there.

Standing among a sea of opened and sealed boxes and the scatter of items removed from the open few, she might have stayed forever in that very spot with her hands at her hips and her aching head down. She’d come into the cool, quiet darkness of the storage area on the pretense of gathering supplies, though had yet to collect even her own thoughts when a gruff male voice addressed her from behind. War and then time had wizened Harold Denton into the stooped old man silhouetted in the lit square of the doorway. Old scars and arthritis, however, had not stopped the elderly man from becoming her most valuable human asset. With knowledge of weapons more extensive perhaps than even her own and a decent aim, he was the rock she leaned on when the waves of zombies and crises got too much. When the huddled civilians in the other room should be following Harold’s lead through this disaster, they- and even he- seemed keen on letting her direct the show. Ex-Ranger though she may be, her training and combat were things she would prefer to forget than relive. These days the worst she dealt with were unarmed criminals in jumpsuits as a Monday through Friday corrections officer, then bad tips and irate customers whose orders were lacking as a diner waitress on the weekends. That suited the new Eli just fine. Just because she could handle a sniper rifle, didn’t mean she still wanted to. Pulled from her thoughts by the sound of urgency in his tone, she turned to face him. ||

Eli, we’ve got company!

…

LOXALYN! They’re here! We need to move before they reach the stairs!

What!? Oh….The stairs!? Who’s on the stairs!? Danny said he’d locked up the front! How many? Can we take them alone?

|| The gun, one she’d carried for years to throw in the face of paroled criminals and any random creep to cross her, was in her hand instantly. It had seen more action in the last couple of days than it ever had previously, including trips to the range. What had once felt so natural in her palm now felt cold and unfamiliar. Dirty, even. Threatening a mugger was a far cry from shooting a flesh-eating 8-year-old in the face and destroying what beauty remained after infected broke into her bedroom and ravaged her. What must have been her parents met their own final end similarly, making Eli the murderer of an entire family. It could be said that killing an animate corpse wasn’t legally murder, but the image of that blonde pig-tailed head rocking back with the force of impact and clotted blood spattering the wall directly behind where the fragile body fell told the real story as far as she was concerned. When this was over, if she lived to see it, Eli found it unlikely she’d ever touch a weapon again. As it was, she had all but stopped eating and avoided eye contact with the small pack of children taking refuge in the tower shelter. Male or female, long-haired or short, she saw only bloodied pig-tails and milky white dead eyes staring back at her. If she never saw another child again it would be too soon. In order to be useful against the current attack, these memories were stashed safely away where they couldn’t ruin her concentration. ||

No, Eli. Not them rot-bags, but the others…The live ones, from the looks o’ it. The ones yeh called. Can’t see if any o’ ‘em are infected yet, but one group’s in on the firs’ floor an’ there’s more o’ ‘em round the front at the door. Shouldn’t be much trouble fer us. An’, if any got bitten, you’ll do what you do and be done with it. Don’t need ‘em getting’ in up here though, so we’d best head ‘em off.

|| Eli nodded stiffly and strode past Harold, who stepped aside politely and limped after her. That she had let something as important as the door lock go unchecked made her jaw clench, bringing the headache to a new level. It was not a mistake she would repeat. Already she was planning how to schedule shifts for guarding the main entrance as she passed through the warehouse camp into the winding stairwell. She tried to ignore the nervous looks cast on her by those who had already found their way here. She raised the gun, hugged the wall and soundlessly descended until voices floated up from below. The stone contained the noise surprisingly well- certainly better than she had anticipated. She held her breath and continued down while she listened as Group #1 questioned Group #2 suspiciously. It seemed they were all sharing the same sinking boat and all the worries that came with it. Just out of sight, she stopped, motioned for Harold to hold position and announced her presence. ||

I see you found the place all right. I am Eliska Loxalyn, your radio host, and I’m assuming you’ve answered my broadcast. I am armed, but will not fire unless threatened. In that case, I will shoot and I’ve got incredible aim. How many of you are there and who is that outside? Are they with you? Regardless, if they’re not dead or trying to eat you, please let them in or they’ll get soaked and then they will be a problem.

[Boston]

When Leila entered, Boston shifted his aim to her, and listened quietly. He took another moment to consider the details (like the fact Leila is apparently so bad at math she can’t even count), and then another moment to light a cigarette. His face was suddenly illuminated by his Zippo lighter, and then he became a softly glowing orange dot.

He lifted his flashlight again and crossed his wrists, clicking it on, and shining the light around the new arrivals so he could get a better look at them. “I only just arrived myself…Haven’t had a chance to get upstairs yet, let alone search for a light switch…” He spoke with his lips partially closed around his cigarette, “Still rip-city out there, heh?” Smoke flitted from either corner of his mouth and his nostrils.

Although his words were relaxed, his appearance would suggest otherwise. He kept his gun pointed in front of himself, mainly focusing on Loki, because he currently looked so frail. “Anyone in your party infected?” He asked Leila, making a small, discreet nod towards Loki, asking specifically about the boy.

Then as more and more people seemed to appear behind Leila wishing access to the tower, Boston shrugged, and before he could say anything else, Eliska appeared further up the stairs. For an instant she was his target, though once it finally clicked that she was proof of the tower’s safety, he holstered his gun. He kept his flashlight pointed towards Eliska as he addressed her, “Feisty dame. The name’s Boston, I just showed up a few minutes ago, alone…Can't say squat ‘bout anyone else here…”

He smoked his cigarette down to the butt then ground it against the wall, and dropped it into a jacket pocket. He placed another cigarette between his lips, but did not light it.

[Simon Gideon]

New arrivals, he thought dimly, his eyes adjusting to the dark as he left the safe confines of the center storage room. Not straying far from Engie, his hand slipped to the gun on his right as he watched these arrivals. He had heard the rumble of the motorcycle earlier, and he was none too thrilled to see that among these survivors ranked some ragged, scared civilians and at least one who was ill or even infected. Panic seemed to grow with numbers, and Simon - that's what he was calling himself currently- was methodically making plans to depart this sad crowd. The old man and Eliska had taken it upon themselves to welcome the bunch, and for the fourth time this long night the man considered simply grabbing up the young girl in his care and stealing the nearest vehicle. Better to get the hell away from others and survive on their own. The others, most of them anyways, would simply prove to hinder his mission.

Looking back into the storage room, where Engie was curled up in a miserable ball trying to catch some sleep, Simon let that thought drift a bit. What was she doing? he mused. Simply another living being to slow him down. But he batted that thought aside as he always had since he'd rescued her. Though the very act of guarding her as he did betrayed the life he'd led all these years, it somehow rang very true to who he was. ... No, not who he was, he sternly reminded himself. Who he used to be.

His mind started to drift- a very bad habit considering the situation. He was exhausted. Since this whole mess had begun, he hadn't allowed himself much, if any, sleep. Thinking back to the last few days, Simon tried to make sense of things once again...

The onslaught of undead had been perhaps the most surprising thing he had ever seen in his life. It was the kind of thing you always saw in cheap movies which aired Saturday nights when only fools and second-shifters were awake. People being bitten, coming back from their graves. Stumbling around in vicious packs, absolutely unstoppable and easily able to overturn man's millennia-old societies in a handful of days, even hours.

But he hadn't made it this far without being able to adapt. Being able to improvise when shit hit the fan. Killing the undead had been easy. Shooting them in the head was the only feasible answer to the rotting question. Dealing with the living? A bit more tricky.

She'd been hiding in a cupboard under the sink when he'd broken into the house. Two mauled corpses were shambling around the living room, clawing absentmindedly at random things as though looking for a lost pair of keys. The door lock clicked into place as he picked the lock, and he recalled vividly how cold the handle was when he slowly opened it and looked inside. He replaced his multitool into his inner pocket, and saw the gruesome scene well enough to instinctively draw his pistol.

Across the room, she heard the door open. Not sure of what to find, the little girl inched the cupboard door open, seeing her parents- no, no longer her parents- those two things in the living room. Blood was everywhere. She never believed it could be so red...

Two shots rang out, and those who had been her parents dropped to the floor, each shot by the strange man. The little girl gasped aloud as the broken, bloodied face of her mother hit the ground, that lifeless white gaze falling on her hiding place. As if damning her for bearing witness to the deed, Engie's mother rasped one final time, and was still. Tired and scared, Engie began to sob uncontrollably.

Something had struck him then, as he heard those first terrible cries of the young girl. As he stood there, holding the gun which had forever silenced her infected parents. He could be considered a cold person by those who had the chance to try and know him. Stoic, and not one to let himself get bogged down with emotions, the man currently calling himself Simon Gideon had made a name for himself among some groups for being unshakable. And he was. But not tonight. When he saw the young Engie emerge from under the sink, eyes red with misery and her clothes bloodied from some earlier scene, he couldn't pull the trigger. His instincts screamed out to him to leave the girl, or at least retire her with a bullet because she might be infected. But some small part of his mind fought that survivalist voice, pushed it down and made him hesitate. She came forward, oblivious to him and his ready stance, oblivious to the fact that he had almost killed her too because she appeared wounded at a second's glance.

But then she was on her knees, sobbing over the remains of her mother. She reached out, intent on touching the body when he snapped out of his reverie and came forward, pulling her back. She thrashed and kicked and cried out to her mother, but he pulled her away from it, away from the chance of her inadvertently infecting herself in her grief.

She punched and shouted at him to let go, but he held her back easily, at once bewildered by her outburst and by his own actions in trying to protect her from herself. He called to her repeatedly to calm down, to sit still and calm down... And after a few minutes her passion was spent, and she all but collapsed in his arms, weak sobs wracking her body. And then he- the man who spent most of his adult life forcing down compassion... who had learned to fire without blinking, stab without thinking, and basically drive back that which makes people basically human- picked her up and took her from that horrid place.

His eyes opened again, and he realized that he had been almost drooping forward in sleep, the weight of his body pushing against the hard stone wall reminding him of the reality that he was in the tower. He looked about, alert once more, and noted that not so much time had passed. He crouched low over the rail of the staircase, watching the newcomers, his steel-colored eyes narrowed and sharp once again.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila failed to notice Abira’s arrival until the young woman whispered that she seconded Leilas motion of turning the lights on. Unfortunately, this failed to convince their hidden hosts that light was indeed needed, as the darkness stayed though the silence did not.

The first voice that she heard was accompanied by an orange flare of a cigarette lighter. Fixing her eyes on the small orange dot of his cigarette in the darkness, she was momentarily blinded when he turned a torch on and shone it directly into her eyes. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the light, she squinted as she hissed ~You wanna shine that thing somewhere else?~ before he finally moved the light on to examine Abira as well. She heard him say that he was a new arrival himself, and sighed as he explained why he had yet to locate the light switch, but her eyes stayed focused on that orange dot of his cigarette glowing in the darkness.

~You mind if I steal one of those? Withdrawal’s a bitch.. and she wears heels…. ~ As she walked towards him, she gestured back behind her at the people still outside. ~ “Rip City” is one term for it, that’s for sure… this is the first chance we have had to stop and rest since this started… hence my not even knowing who is in our rag tag team.. ~ She eyed the cigarette again as she lowered her voice and asked ~Got anything stronger?~ before another voice boomed out of the darkness. This one belonged to a woman

Leila let out a sigh of relief as she realised this was the woman that had called them here. She shrugged in answer to the womans questions, her gesture strangely poignant though entirely unnecessary in the surrounding darkness.

~Uh.. I don’t know how many of us there are.. we kinda.. uh.. picked up people as we went..theres me.. and her.. ~ she said, gesturing to Abira though she didn’t think she could be seen in the dark. ~That guy at the door… Harvey is outside.. so is the chick that drove the truck .. and I think there are a couple of other guys.. one is a soldier.. hes gone off to “check the perimeter”… so he says…~ she trailed off in an incoherent mumble, blinking rapidly as she silently urged the smoking stranger beside her to offer her the required nicotine fix. The sensation of being watched seemed to intensify suddenly, and she peered up into the darkness at the top of the staircase though she had no hope of seeing anything but shadows.

Calling out to Abira, she pointed towards the door.

~Get them inside will ya? Its gonna pour down in any minute..~ Leila then turned back towards where the female voice was coming from. ~Uh.. I’m pretty sure none of us are infected ma’am… Harvey is.. well.. dizzy.. but hes okay.. its just shock I think.. and I don’t know about the others, but I’m pretty sure we are as safe as you are… or smokey the bandit here..~ she turned to look at the man beside her pointedly, though she doubted if he could see her in the dark.

~Psst! Where’s that smoke?~ *

[Ninjz]

Derek peered through the door, looking at the group who had walked in. Noting the warning to get inside he walks back to the truck. Holstering his Eagle, he grabs the near-comatose Harvey he placed him in a fireman's carry.
"Guys, it's going to rain, lets move. You too... Guy and Girl in the van."
Walking back to the door Derek nudges it open with his foot.
"Well, lets dispose of the hostilities, there are more pressing matters to attend to. Is there a bed I can put this guy in?" Derek shifts him gently to the floor, off to the side of the room.
"I told the others to come in, but who knows if they will..."

[Talisen Phoenix]

Harvey Rockmore


Harvey was glad for the human interaction provided by Leila, he had missed his friend when he decided to stay back at the gun shop... those hours of being completely alone he would never forget, nor would be ever discuss the horrors he sure, he felt his hands tremor gently, he shook them and straightened himself up. He failed to see the amusment in their situation as Leila did, but in the short time he had known her, he wouldn’t have expected anything else. Derek approached him and spoke to him quietly, Harvey liked the man already but he shrugged away the idea of sedatives

‘No I’m fine, thank you’

Derek asked him if he was epileptic, he shook his head worriedly

‘Not that I know of...’

He pulled away from Derek, he was worried about himself sure, but he didn’t want to look to inwardly to his problems, he hadn’t been bitten, but perhaps some infected blood had gone in his mouth? Could it work like that, he had no idea, but the thought of turning into a zombie shook him to the core, he followed the others into the tower.

Harvey blinked in the darkness, footsteps and voices were echoing. Loudly, his eyes adjusted slowly and he could make out a staircase

‘I’m fine really...’

He said feebly as someone asked for a bed for Harvey, his eyes were no good in the darkness, blobs of gray and shadow moved around him, he squinted through his cracked glasses

‘A little hand someone, blind here...’

He muttered.

[The Joshness ™]

Vanman watched from the Van silently, not paying attention to his passenger and began to silently mutter to himself just loud enough for her to hear him if she tried. “Ive seen every Zombie movie George Romero film ever made, and ill be damned if this isn’t the worst situation he could ever stick a band of mysterious people into. This place is going to be so swamped with undead in less than a week there isn’t going to be any going for supplies, what in the hell are we going to accomplish survival wise out in bum fuck Egypt?” When he was signaled by the others to join them he put the van in reverse and backed up quickly, turning the van around facing the exit then backed up as close as he could to the entrance “I don’t want to have to back up and turn around when I have 50 million flesh eating maniacs pawing at my van.” After shutting the van off he locks his door and looks at her momentarily “Hey, lock your door before getting out, we’re going out the back.” Wasn’t much of a request, as he was telling her to not asking. Vanman spent a minute or so rummaging through his stuff, and ended the search with only the first aid box and a pair of fresh cloths in his hand. He then opened the door and climbed out waiting for her to exit, after which he closes it, not locking it and setting his Shotgun up against the wall of the van just inside the door. “Leaving the back door open with the keys in the ignition. Night of The Living Dead, everyone died because they couldn’t find the keys.” He nods to himself and looks around from outside the van, at the tower and the surrounding area “Yep, were all good and dead…well…good and eaten anywho.” Vanman proceeds from there to the entrance where everyone was collecting, his eyes watch over them all.

Vanman just holds his stuff “I hope this place at least has running water of some kind, water hose or even a rusty pipe dangling out of the ceiling.” Vanman would sort of just stay next to Harley and takes steady shallow breaths. The only thing running through his mind being the fact he might just be the official Zombie expert, which makes him the most outspoken person here. The smart ones always are, for some reason or another. Be it an ego, jealousy, or even a simple mistake. Nobody ever listens to them. That’s one of the things that Vanman is going to be thinking about the entire time, day and night. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is VanMan.” He knew none of them, not a chance in hell, but god forbid even one of hem know -him-.

[Abira]

Abira sidled closer to Leila, obviously anxious at the latest predicament the rag-tag group found themselves in. Herself among the newest additions to Leila's 'Team Survival,' she felt strangely vulnerable and out of the loop -- a disposable hanger-on with little to offer the more militant-minded of the survivors. Regarding both Boston and Eliska with something akin to both open curiosity and apprehension, Abira nodded at Leila's request and slipped around Derek, Harvey, and Loki (whom she nudged a little) on her way toward the door.

Fixing her eyes on Derek as he mentioned his own attempt at getting the others inside, Abira sighed inwardly and tossed her head. There was no way she'd lived through contemporary suburbia's version of "Night of the Living Dead" just to lose precious other survivors to the liquid-born infection agent. No way. With a cursory touch of the gun in her hipband and a this-means-business tug on her tanktop's ruined hem, Abira shouldered through the door (still slightly ajar) and came to a stop just feet outside...hands on her hips and a genuinely concerned light in her black, feline eyes.

"Guys...please. Come on in. We're better off if we stand together against reality's attempt to clusterf*ck us...and don't try to tell me you'd rather take your chances out here with the deadies and the threat of infection..."

[foxx]

As the group ahead lurched forward bit by bit, Foxx moved with them. It might be a sold out concert they were trying to get into for the eagerness they all showed. Foxx had never actually been to a concert, but she imagined this was what it was like, only with music and less terrified fans. As they always did, a random burst of thought found her and she began to wonder if anyone would ever have reason to sing again. Any large gathering brought together by a public event these days would serve as no more than a buffet. That was nothing to sing about. She squeezed as far inside the tower’s doorway as was physically possible and then edged along the wall sideways to give others, but mostly herself, room to breathe. It was dark and cool inside, but somehow the darkness of this place seemed less ominous than the darkening, storm-ready sky visible in tiny squares through the tiny windows. For such a large tower, those were awful small windows. But back to the situation at hand, where everyone seemed to be waiting nervously for the female voice at the stairs to do something. Popular opinion was for turning on some lights though Foxx didn’t love the sound of that. Weren’t they safer if no one knew they were here? She chose not to rock the boat, as a debate over whether or not to brighten the place up was undesired and what did she know about anything anyways? She grinned as Leila introduced her as “the chick that drove the truck” and decided not to be stung that no one remembered her name. She was a chick now, which made her sound much older than 17. Derek and Harvey seemed at odds over Harvey’s need to lie down and, if anyone bothered to ask, she might have suggested the shaking man get some rest too. He looked like hell and undoubtedly felt as bad as he looked. When Vanman finally spoke up, she was disappointed yet amused to find he went by her nickname for him instead of his given name. Unless his name was Theodorus or something equally embarrassing she couldn’t imagine him choosing to go by anything she came up with. His parents deserved some credit. Abira passed to round up the stragglers just then and Foxx turned slowly adjusting eyes in the direction of the shadowy blob that was “Eliska” to wait for the word on what happened next.

[Eliska Loxalyn]

|| Eliska’s mind raced through the various scenarios that this new group of people could bring to the safety of the tower. It was true that she’d radioed the general public in hopes that survivors would band together and prevent the end of humanity, but the fact remained that she had no such faith in mankind to do so civilly and wondered in the face of this crowd what to expect from them. Boston, or so he chose to call himself in her presence, was armed with at least one firearm small enough to fit into a holster. The lit orange end of his cigarette failed to reveal just what model he carried, though it was less a threat now than moments ago when he had it pointed at her. He was also not with the group crowding in around him, which meant at least that he wasn’t the armed leader of a band of rebels. ‘Me’, another smoker, spoke up next for her and the indistinguishable bodies settling in on the first floor. A soldier may prove useful. Other voices sounded from around the room in question or introduction, giving her a good idea of exactly how they’d spread themselves out. ||

Boston the feisty dame? I'll remember that.

|| Accustomed to the lightlessness of the tower’s interior and more comfortable in it than in any kind of light, Eli could make out enough features on enough faces to tell how many males and females moved below. At first glance they seemed harmless except for one. The ever present frown deepened as her eyes came to rest on the man in need of a bed and she turned to find a knowing look on Harold’s wrinkled face. With resigned haste she descended the stairs, catching the handle of a small, Coleman lantern on the way down from its perch on the third stair from the bottom. Her gun was stored temporarily in the waistband of her pants. The light could have been avoided entirely were it not for the need for an examination, but ‘Me’- whose name she probably ought to get- had not convinced Eli in the slightest that the sick one wasn’t infected. It would be quick, at the very least. Hopefully he was unknown to the others and his end would not start anything she would regrettably have to finish. Ready for anything, her back-up held his position on the staircase with his own weapon out but loose in the hand that held it at his side. They’d done this before, unfortunately. ||

Shock? Was anyone with him when he went into it? (to Harvey) How long have you been dizzy? This is all your blood? You say you weren’t bitten, so would you mind if I have a quick look? Then we can give you the grand tour.

|| Eli forced her tone to be light and casual as though this was a regular check-up and the blood-soaked man before her was just a nervous patient awaiting his lollipop for good behavior. There was no need to frighten him or the others unless absolutely necessary, but, on the other hand, she had to be sure. Reluctantly she switched the lantern on and silently thanked Coleman for this matchless wonder as light burst to life within the globe. She kept the flame low, eyeing the windows then staring beyond Harvey out the still open front entrance. The sooner everyone was in and the door was locked behind them, the better. To hide her impatience, she held the lantern closer to the bloodied man and would begin her search for evidence of infection unless otherwise delayed. A moment was spent tugging the latex gloves from the depths of one of the many pockets housed on green khaki cargos and slipping into them. She spoke up again while she carefully inspected him to keep him at ease. ||

Names we’ll do later, but I would like to know who’s armed and what with. You can lie, but I don’t see why you’d want to. Goal here is cooperation and survival. It helps to know who brings what to our arsenal. Got a Colt .45 myself with a Python and an Eagle in storage. Harold up there has two of everything, most of them on him. As soon as everyone’s in I’ll go over the few house rules. Their hearing is ridiculous which means the longer we’re quiet, the longer we’re safe. (to Harvey) Shirt off, please? Any scratches? Open wounds? Where is this blood coming from?

[Boston]

“Anything stronger?” Boston thought when Leila asked him, and he shook his head slowly, whispering, “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree if you’re lookin’ to trip, girly…” He turned his side to Leila as he spoke, intent on ending the conversation there, though when she was persistent in her quest for his hard-earned ransacked cigarettes, he decided on a quick and easy solution to making sure she didn’t bother him with such trivial matters again.

Keeping his side to Leila, the satchel he kept bandolier style over his chest facing her, he reached with both hands to lift the large leather flap. He held it open with his hand which held the flashlight, and in doing so, made visible the state policeman badge pinned to the inside. This was not a subtle move, Boston was not trying to be shy. He was making a statement, and made sure it reflected the light right onto Leila’s face before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the carton he swiped from the gas station earlier. Then from that pack he produced two cigarettes, which he presented to Leila.

He offered her these cigarettes with a small grin, and he made a point to maintain eye contact with her until she looked away first. In a world where the dead walked among them and rationale was on the verge of extinction, Boston believed that at least one fact would remain a constant: Habitual drug users didn’t make it a point to hang around the fuzz.

“Keep it clean.” He whispered quickly, under his breathe so that only Leila could have possibly heard him, as she plucked the cigarettes from his hand.

“Take our chances outside?” Boston murmured after hearing Abira’s comment, “Wait, is that a real option?” He turned slightly, considering that option after seeing the amount of people that had made it to the tower. He had expected at least a few, but this was ridiculous. They all couldn’t be this good at Resident Evil.

“Look at ‘em all”, Boston thought, “I’d wager half of ‘em are ex-military, Rangers or Marines.”

He glanced back up at Eliska, and grinned around his unlit cigarette. “Boston the feisty dame?” she said; a chick with an attitude, Boston could fall in love all over again.

And then suddenly, the tower seemed a whole lot more crowded.

Boston wanted to leave, he didn’t belong here, he couldn’t relate with these people. They’re all motivated by survival, but Boston had a different goal on the top of his priority list; more like it was an added point, a bullet below priority one, a footnote*.

The paradox which would logically push survival to Boston’s top priority didn’t exist in his mind. He simply had bigger goals to accomplish.

“Weapon check?” He thought, and shrugged, leaning back against the wall, holding his position on the stairs, “Two nine millimeters, a magic baseball bat, and a big bag of tricks.”

He’ll give it a few more minutes, hear them out and their plan, before deciding to leave…

It is also worth noting, now that a light source has become at least somewhat prominent, also for the fact that Boston had taken to holding his flashlight under his chin to give himself "scary shadow face", that Boston must have been one of those people with a particularly familiar face - especially to those who are ardent fans of late night television, or Las Vegas. But...you can't quite place him...

_{*Priority one is impossible to achieve if survival is not maintained.}

[Ninjz]

Derek sat, relieved that someone who seems like an authority on this disease, if there could be one. "I'm Derek, and I've got my Eagle here, and " with a quick look in his bag "3 laser sights and 2 gun mountable flashlights. I've also got a field med kit."
Derek was a little surprised by his voice. he didn't sound like that, with the macho lingo... Anyways no time to think on it.
"We need to all get some rest, and maybe some food. We can take stock in a bit when we're not fresh from being hunted." And with that he stood, shouldered his bag and looked up the stairs, peering through the darkness.

[† The Jaxness †]

She heard the rant he had with himself, every word and change of tone. She had training to overhear convesations from certain distances, though it wasnt needed because she was sitting right bloody next to him. With a sigh to herself, she ignored whatever instructions he felt like throwing at her. She stepped out of the door on her own accord, trying to get away from the rotten stench that the van had become in their "travels" together. Making sure to keep her rifle strongly held in her right hand, she walked around the front to stare up at the tower, then looking to the door which was being held open for them.

"Guys...please. Come on in. We're better off if we stand together against reality's attempt to clusterf*ck us...and don't try to tell me you'd rather take your chances out here with the deadies and the threat of infection..."

This brought a smile to her lips. In the face of war, she had met all kinds of people, good and bad. Those who thought they were heroes, the martyrs, and the cowards who carried their rifles while they cried to be sent home. Yet on the enemie's side of things, there were also what were called 'Kazi's'. The maniacs that strapped bombs to themselves and running into crowds whether it was filled with allies, enemies, or a school kids. Harley had seen all types of monsters in her line of duty, and the mention of her not possibly wanting to stay out here with zombies was amusing. She stepped through the open door, rifle in hand; safety off, and made a sly remark as she slid by the woman.

"Zombies and infection look like a bunch of 4 year olds running around with the flu after some of the shit I've seen. And reality has always been trying to clusterfuck us, this was just a last resort."

The last was said as she jerked a thumb in Vanman's direction as he made his way over. She crossed her arms and stood just out of the way of the door waiting on his entrance.

"All the same, I'd like to stay with him. He seems to know what makes these sons-a-bitches tick."