Dead Flesh, Living Body – Loki Odinson&Defiant.Anjeru

It was strange to realize that only a couple months ago, her biggest worry had been making her first big case as a full fledged agent of the F.B.I. It seemed to pale in comparison to what lay out before her on the set path of her future; there weren't many ways to go, and each way seemed to scream 'this was the end.' Despite the grimness of the immediate future, or the vast desolate years laid out before the Earth, it wasn't in her nature to go down without a fight. These creatures had another thing coming if they would target her as easy prey – their dismissal often her advantage, this was why she was one to survive long enough to be reassigned. Of all places, she and a handful of others were assigned to the 'Jobs Satisfaction & Pharmaceuticals' company, to assist them in whatever means necessary to achieve their goal of creating a cure to this plague.

If there even was a possibility of synthesizing a cure. Mia wasn't so optimistic. These creatures were mindless, driven by their basest impulse, their basest need – the need to feed. And, hey, wouldn't you have it? She, and every human on the planet, was a walking buffet on display. If you managed to survive the brutal way in which they feasted upon you, or rather your corpse keeps most of the brain intact, it was only a matter of time before you joined the ranks of the walking dead to feast upon your former comrades. If Mia died, she would make sure she wasn't coming back – and she saw that as the only other alternative to surviving, though surviving was her preference. The idea of a cure was a long shot, or blind optimism; she wasn't sure which, or perhaps a little of both.

Twenty-eight and she was facing the end of the Earth, or having a hand in saving it. That was the message the company JS&P was trying to distill within her, and the few others that were going to be dispatched with her – after a ghost. Or a walking time bomb. According to the file – what little of it there was – they were going after a single man last seen in someplace she'd never heard of called Spinners Island. Not just any man, she noted immediately as she scanned the file conscientiously; a man they thought to be infected with the plague. He had all the visible symptoms, but had complete control of his body and retained his personality – if the file was to be believed, that is.

“Don't fail,” the woman was saying, a stubby finger pushing her glasses back up her pointed nose. “It's only a matter of time before the plague will become unstoppable. Right now, we still have a chance, albeit a small one. Capture the subject, restrain him, and return him to the lab – alive, if you will.”

“If all you need is to figure out why he is still human after being infected, then why do you need him alive? Wouldn't your tests just be considered torture?” Mia asked, though she wasn't sure she believed any of what she was saying; the man was infected, as far as she was concerned he was already dead. “What if he infects the labs?”

The woman – Colette – scoffed and shook her head. “Unlikely. Now, do your job. Try to hurry back would you? You're living on borrowed time – we all are.”

She and the others, three of them, left through the secret, barricaded entrance under the building. With the world coming to an end, they were forced to seal themselves within to keep from being infected, unless dire circumstances, such as one of these, called for their departure. “We'll split up. I will head in from the west; it's quickest,” they looked as if they may argue, but she quelled their protests with a piercing glare that unnerved them. “Travel together if you want; I am headed out alone.”

She turned on her heel and strode into the weapon's room; there she gathered a few pouches to fill with clips, two Glock pistols, and a shotgun she strapped to her back. She tied up her shoulder length red hair, before her hand swiped out to grab a pair of keys that would give her access to one of the fortified trucks that facility had left for missions that required departure from the safety-promised walls. It was going to be a long drive but at least there would be plenty of walking targets along the roads – well some of them. The city was a mess, as was the rest of the country; it was only a matter of time until the rest of the world followed and she was after their last chance, last hope, for survival.

It wasn't an option to fail – this 'immune' man was coming back with her, one way or another.

The gates opened for her, leading into the dark tunnels beneath the city. She climbed into the truck, set aside her weapons save all but one pistol, and drove through the dimly lit corridor, the silence in the truck - oddly reminiscent of her old FBI assigned vehicle - almost deafening. No point in radio though, not when most of the stations were either dead or broadcasting nothing but automated emergency messages. The final doors opened after a few moments of driving, hands gripping the wheel anxiously; no matter how many times you came face to face with these monsters, one couldn't simply grow used to it. Out onto the deserted airstrip she drove, eyes picking carefully out over the area around her, looking for any signs of movement; when it was clear, she floored it, and tore down the strip, escaping out onto the back road that led west toward her target.

RE: Dead Flesh, Living Body – Snivellus&Defiant.Anjeru

Hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set; being out at night wasn't the safest option, what with most of the US' inhabitants transformed into flesh eating, mindless monsters. Mia needed to find somewhere to sleep, as well as find a map. She knew she had to head west, but that was the extent of her knowledge when it came to Spinner's End. Leave it to God to put the only hope for survival on a little island she'd never heard of. She pulled her truck into the parking lot of a motel; she was still on the back roads, but there was a chance the infected could be inside. Her pistols she set within her holsters, hands then grabbing up her shotgun; she loaded the shells and stepped out of the vehicle, carefully shining a flashlight as she explored the grounds of the motel.

The office was unlocked and hell, even the windows were shattered. Furniture was tossed about, broken, wall hangings and pictures askew and disorderly. Steps were careful, planned, her FBI training making her cautious, maybe overly so. The desk was torn apart, drawers out and papers everywhere. Kneeling down, she set the flashlight in her mouth and sifted through the papers; a few moments later, she stood, a map in her hands. She would have looked over it, but a shuffle of noise had her shoving it in her pocket and taking the shotgun into both her hands. Her head dipped down to set the flashlight in the gun's cradle for a light, then stepped carefully through the room.

When she reached the door, one of those creatures – a girl who she could have sworn looked no more than fourteen – came at her, screeching. She stumbled back, grip somewhat slipping from the sweat now coating her palms; shit, she never got used to seeing those empty eyes, or that deathly pale skin, or a mouth smeared with blood. She moved out of the way, the girl stumbling into the desk; Mia took aim and pulled the trigger, averting her eyes as the back of the girls' head exploded and her body slumped to the floor, at least now truly dead.

Time to get out of here, she thought.

She trotted back out to her truck, having to shoot two more that had come from somewhere to investigate the noise. Blood now splattered across the side of her truck, she grimaced and kicked the corpses out of her way, climbing back into the rig and setting her shotgun on the seat. More came running as she slammed the door, slamming the key into the ignition and starting up the engine. They pounded at the windows, but she hit the gas before they could break the glass. Her tires threw up a cloud of dust as she roared out of the lot, and back onto the road.

Hours later, she parked the truck off the road and killed the engine. Killed all the lights, and made sure every door and window was locked. It was like this, she climbed into the back seat with her pistol, and caught a couple hours of shut eye.

It went like this for days on end; searching places for food, or supplies, information, maps, even gas from desolate fuel stations, then out somewhere desolate to sleep. Her ammo was faring decently, but she had to use it sparingly, using her truck to take out any of the creatures should they have come in too many numbers. She couldn't afford to get bit, or die, and she was going to make them work for it if they tried. That didn't mean it wasn't beginning to wear on her; how could it not?

Suck it up, she hissed to herself as she curled up to sleep, grip tight on her pistol, a week later. Right now, she wished for a shower above all things. But at least she was alive, no need to be picky.

RE: Dead Flesh, Living Body – Snivellus&Defiant.Anjeru

[Sorry this took a few days; hectic here.]

Another week, and a couple of run ins later, the next stop was the largest city before Spinner's Island; she had to get to the marina, where she would get transportation to the island(that being if she could actually find a boat – though even a paddle boat would be better than nothing if she couldn't find a motor boat). The thought made her anxious – big cities were your way of begging for trouble. She sat in her truck for a few hours before she finally worked up the nerve to head into the city; it would be tricky navigating her way through the maze of abandoned cars and the various abominations roaming the streets. She could draw less attention to herself if she ditched the vehicle; she wouldn't need it on the island anyway. Her shotgun latched to her back, and one pistol in each hand, she slid out of her truck – as quietly as she could manage, not bothering to latch the door, afraid she may alert one or two of the number lumbering about ahead of her.

'Keep quiet,' she reminded herself. 'I think they can't see me...that last run in has me thinking some have impaired vision...she couldn't see me, the only reason she'd found me was I'd tripped over that step. Let's hope I'm right...Dear god, I hope I'm right...get moving!'

Careful steps brought her to the marina in a number of hours; it was by sheer luck she hadn't needed to fire off a shot. Getting out of the marina would take a little more effort(not that traipsing through the city had been easy). Pistols at the ready, she wedged herself between the torn apart gate and made her way down the dock. One by one, she began to search each boat that remained for keys; about boat eight out of ten, she found a set. One pistol was set on the dash as she turned the key in the ignition, the boat firing up loudly.

She heard screeching and turned her head quickly to see a handful of the undead making their way ferociously across the dock, some falling into the water and thrashing their way about to try and reach her. Two managed to make it onto the boat before she could stop them, her pistol quickly aiming while fumbling with the gear of the boat; shots rang out and the legs went out from one, causing it to stumble back off the boat into the water. The other made a grab for her and she had to duck, swinging out her leg to kick it back. It hit the railing and she lifted the pistol to let off another shot, this time it caught it in the mouth, blowing apart its jaw as it went careening over the edge with a splash into the water.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She tossed the pistol down, the clip now empty, and reared the boat into motion, taking off through the calm waters as the creatures stormed the dock in chase of the sound. She huffed, her whole body trembling; she hoped the island was exclusive enough from the main land that she wouldn't be forced face to face with more of these.

The dock was quiet once she hit shore, the sun beginning to set over the horizon. Her eyes were careful, watching for any movement as she reloaded her pistol with a fresh clip. Once that was done, she fished out her last granola bar, munching it down quietly as she allowed herself one last moment to rest before she went exploring the island laid out before her. It wasn't large, but she was so used to traveling in wheels – on foot, it was a whole different story, her journey through the city was an eye-opener on that realization.

Steeling herself, she picked up her pistols and hopped off the boat onto the smaller dock and headed toward the small town. Night was falling fast and she had to find shelter, somewhere she knew would be safe; according to the map she'd studied, there was a gun shop somewhere near the middle of town – that was where she needed to go. She made sure the pistols were cocked so the chambers were loaded, knowing she would need the scant few bullets she had left. As it was, she had only what was in the clips and the few extra shotgun rounds she had in her pouch. It was getting desperate and she hadn't even managed to locate her target yet.

She managed to make it as far as a few houses in before carelessness and exhaustion got the better of her; a miscalculated step had her stumbling across the porch, over a chair, and sprawling into the dirt. She cursed, lividly, and rolled to her feet, but was not fast enough as a number of the monsters reacted to the sound. There were too many for her to take by hand; gritting her teeth, she fired a couple of shot at the head runners, before she turned and ran, the others still chasing after her.

The shots surprised her, nearly made her trip as her body reacted by jolting; the monsters behind her began to fall one by one, so she didn't question it and just kept her legs moving, running as fast as she could manage with how hard her heart was pounding against her rib cage. She gasped when someone grabbed her, her first response to assume that one of them had caught her. She kicked and struggled, trying to get away, but when he pulled her into the garage with his hand over her mouth, she settled down, breathing heavily through her flaring nostrils to try and regain her breath.

He spoke! The creatures - the dead - they didn't speak. Her whole body sagged with relief against his as he held her; thank god, someone had actually saved her. She tapped his hand with a nod, letting him know that she understood and would do as he asked.

His words made her wary, at best. Why would she scream if he wasn't one of them? What of his looks would frighten her so? His breathe against her ear made her shiver slightly, but she held her ground, steadying herself; well, if he was warning her, he really thought she would scream. Who was he anyway? The island was so small that she had to figure him for an inhabitant. That made her wonder how long it would be before he started interrogating her about who she was and what had brought her here. The convenient lie would most likely work - the island was so secluded, she figured it wouldn't be infected.

"I won't scream," she promised after that long moment of thoughtful silence, nodding slightly.