• John stepped out of the truck, his breath freezing in the cold Alaskan air. His fur coat managed to subdue the chill from most of his body, but his coat lacked a hood, making his head chill considerably. His crew, a ragtag group of scavengers, climbed out of the other truck, looking to John expectantly. Somehow, he had become an authority figure amongst them, even though he was barely fifteen years old."Alright people, listen up. You all know the drill. It’s a convenience store, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find some stuff. Mike," John turned to the thin looking forty-plus year old man, with balding black hair, a sunken face, gray eyes, a machete in one hand, and a duffel bag in the other, “I need you on weapons detail. No poles or anything. We need guns, Pepper spray, Tazers, Knives, anything that isn’t grabbed at first notice. Sam," John now turned to the blue haired, early twenty’s woman with a tall, wiry figure, blue eyes, and the same basic equipment as Mike, "Food, drinks, if you can, fresh water. No booze. We don't need Mike getting drunk and screwing something up." This was greeted by Mike with an extended middle finger, and John smirked. "Seth, “John turned to the last member of their group, a chubby fourteen year old boy who was wheeling a cart of gas tanks and tool boxes out of the back of one of the trucks. He had blue eyes, brown hair, and a look of boredom on his face. On top of his cart was a hunting rifle with a large scope forced on. "Well, apparently you already know what to do. Keep in touch people." John tapped the radio on his belt, and they moved into the gas station/convienice store, Mike and Sam moving quickly in, Seth trailing behind. John pulled a clipboard from his coat, and walked back to the truck behind his. His boots made loud crashes in the newly fallen snow as he trudged on towards his inventory. The truck he was inspecting had plenty of items, including food, sodas, energy drinks, what little water they could find, gasoline, stockpiles of guns and ammunition, DVDs, video games, and various valuables. They weren’t so much as for aesthetic value as they were for trading to various people in refugee camps. He checked to make sure everything they had procured was in place, and proceeded to pluck a .22 rifle form a barrel, along with a box of bullets, which he poured into his pocket, and slashed a number out on his board. He loaded the rifle, stepping out into the road. Nowadays, you never knew what would get you first, the zombies or the raid parties. He peered into the seemingly infinite snow, not seeing anyone, and walked along the perimeter of the trucks.

    The doors opened automatically. And the lights were on. Mike’s eyes widened as he realized what this probably meant. He dived behind the counter, knocking over the register, as Sam got his general idea and crouched below an ice cream freezer. And that’s when the door was kicked in, and the obviously crazed owner burst through, weilding a double-barreled shotgun. "You sons-a-bitches, your here for my baby. But you won't get 'im. I won't let you!" He fired a shot off into the ceiling, screaming like a deranged mental patient, "I"LL KILL YA ALL!!!! I SWEAR I WILL!!! I"LL KILL..." That’s when the glass in the front window exploded, and the owner dropped dead. Seth’s voice came in from their radios, reporting to John, “One casualty, man. b*****d tried ta kill 'em both." John sighed, which over the radios sounded like a burst of static. "Alright, finish up." Mike stepped up over the counter and walked over to the corpse. He sucked air through his teeth. Seth always went overboard with his bullets. There was a clean hole directly though the forehead, but the back of the head looked as if someone had blew a bomb in the back. He picked up the guy's shotgun, checked his pockets for shells, found some, and threw them into his bag. He got up and walked into the back, scrunching his nose up as he walked in. Something must REALLY smell in there, Sam thought as she piled chips candy, and bread into her bag. She looked outside, just to check on Seth. He had piled, as usual, all his filled gas cans on one side, and had the empty ones on the other. He had about five cans left. She turned back to her job, and walking forward, tripped over a case of.....bottled water. Jackpot, she thought, calling for Seth to come in.

    They were now loading nearly all twenty eight cases into supply truck, and John couldn’t be happier, "Freaking FINALLY. If I had to drink one more shitty soda I’d of killed myself." All cases were loaded when Mike came out. He had a sickly look on his face. He walked up to the cases, tore one open, and gulped an entire bottle within a couple seconds. John took that as a cue, and procured a bottle for himself. Mike looked to them. "Don't go back there. It’s screwed up." While John and Sam were ready to leave it at that, Seth was genuinely interested. “Why?" he had to ask. Mike shook his head. “Corpses chopped up with a hacksaw. Body parts everywhere. And a zombie kid. A freaking KID." Mike looked like he was about to throw up, so Seth dropped the subject. Mike threw his bag in the back, and went into the other truck. This one was outfitted with four beds, all bolted to the floor. Both trucks were fortified with steel sheets welded to the sides, with iron bars across the windows. Not very welcoming, but safe. The others got into the cabs, Seth driving the supply truck, John and Sam in the other. They drove the road until they reached Strugglers Pass, a road littered with armed guards. They signaled to the soldiers that they weren’t causing trouble, and headed to the refugee camp.

    It was a shabby group of tents with nothing more then a barbwire fence to protect it, but it was home to them. There was no one walking around except for the untrained soldiers of the Survivor's Militia, an inexperienced group of fighters who had only a few true leaders. John’s team parked near the measly attempt of a training center, where rookie guerrilla soldiers shot walking corpses behind the cover of a brick wall. The Zombies were barely walking due to their rotted flesh, and were essentially brainless meat eaters who would devour anything they could get their hands on. A soldier motioned for them to follow him, so they did, keeping their hands on their tazers. Normal police issue stun guns, they carried them to assure that humans wouldn’t try to mess with them. They followed the soldier into a tent, where a network of computers and servers were set up. Lab techies typed feverously, analyzing sections of code carefully.

    "Thank god your here” A scientist in the back said, moving to the group, "We just had a server crash and all our genetic data might be lost. We were so close too..." Seth smirked. "You still workin' on a cure, doc? You know as well as everyone here it's useless." Doc ignored him, turning to a row of computers that weren’t completely fried. While he typed away, he spoke to them in a high paced voice. "You guys need to get over to the generator B and turn it on. It’s what controls the system reboot, and John, you’re the only one with a key to the generator room." John was already at the door by the time he said generator B. "So, Doc," Seth said, "How’s it like knowing that your work is useless but still going on?" Doc sighed.
    "Seth, you’re not an expert on genetics, are you?
    "No, but I'm an expert on zombies. And I know that once something’s dead, it ain't comin' back."


    John burst through the flap that served as the tent's door, carrying two rifles, a shotgun, and a submachine gun. He threw the shotgun to Mike and the machine gun to Sam. Seth knew what was coming, and picked up his rifle that John had brought in, walking outside. When he walked back in, he sat down, loaded his rifle, and then stood up. He turned to everyone in the tent, and said, "It's going to be a long day."

    Outside, dozens upon dozens of zombies shambled towards the camp from all sides, the stench of rotted flesh leaking into the freezing air. They had no mercy, no passion, and no love. Only hunger.

    Shots rang our across the freezing air as both John's team and the Survivor's Militia fought the at least hundred zombies that were massing against the gates. As if it could get any worse, Generator B was outside the gates, where most of the zeds were. The commander of the militia, Michael Bruner, shouted over the shots, barking orders in a vain attempt at keeping the Militia orderly in its struggle.