Left 2 Die. (Chocotastic and PM to Join)

[Anonymous]

"What do you you want for breakfast Jen-Jen?" A mother turned around at a counter her brown hair loose and half way down her back. She was standing in front of the sink. Jenny was perched on her chair at the kitchen table not even sitting down her feet on the part for her bum.

"You knoooow that I want waffles. You knoooow!" She squealed happily. Her Dad walked by pushing her down into her seat by her shoulder even though a smile was hidden rather badly on his face.

"Girls who sit like people get waffles." He nodded and set the paper out on the table while her Mom started to move around the kitchen more cooking the waffles. Her dad had dirty blond hair and he ran his hand through it and gave a sigh as his eyes ran over the newspaper. Her Mother was looking over her shoulder at him confused eyes, almost something scared as he looked at the paper. "I just don't understand these reports anymore, it's not even news. It's all about the damn Pilots."

Jennifer shot up off the blanketed floor like she did every morning. She could remember when she needed an alarm clock to get up before mid afternoon. Those days were long gone. Just a sprinkling of light in the sky and she was awake and ready, or even just the bare minimal noise would make her rise off the floor. Her sleeping bag, or what she had turned into one lay underneath her. She had taken slippery outside and sewn it together after they had rummaged one of those really nice stores, the blankets had been so nice, the pillows? She couldn't have made them up. They were almost like air.

Jen crawled out of her sleeping bag rolling it up against the concrete. It was like she was on automatic. She knew what she needed to do when she woke up. Once the sleeping bag was rolled up tight she strapped it to her backpack that was covered in patches and random pieces of fabric. Then she looked around her for a moment and got into one of the smaller pockets in the bag. A small plastic container was pressed between her hands like it was something secretive. Lifting the lid slowly she gave a soft sigh. The smell of coffee beans wafted out of the container. Her thin fingers grabbed two out and tossed them into her mouth. She chewed happily.

There were so many things that tasted so good now that never would have before. Food she would have fed to a dog before even touching herself was now a blessing. Things like coffee beans, she knew if she ever got the chance she'd never drink any of those girly drinks they use to sell. It would be black coffee for her till the end. Maybe even straight beans. Not that she'd ever think about going back to the way things used to be. She shook her head. No point in it.

After swallowing down the beans she started to take things out of her backpack. Every morning she went through the same routine. Check ammo, keep a count of it for each gun as best she could. Luckily she had quite a head for numbers. So she could normally keep track of her ammo and anyone else's who was with her at the time. Depended on the number but she had been pretty good. She had been an engineer of sorts before everything went downhill for her. Before the infected became the norm.

She set all her smaller firearms out and started checking bullet count and loading up the magazines from the day and night before. Patches of sun came down through the disheveled ceiling. She knew she was running low on bullets. She looked over at the huddle next to her he probably would be too. She slid a pack of cigarette out of an inside pocket. They were sort of crumpled. At least one a day, she'd need more cigarettes too. And of course that last pesky thing...more food. She took the bent cigarette and slid it into her mouth. A metal light out of her pocket and lit it breathing in slowly.

You just had to enjoy the little things now.

Smoke clouded against the sheets of sunlight that came down like knives from the roof. This was an in between they needed to get somewhere...safer. More stocked. They needed to rummage through some other places, and soon. Just somewhere that they could have a nicer night of sleep. Not one plagued with noises...with howling. She took another drag on the cigarette.

Everything was simple...but nothing was easy.

[Anonymous]

Dreams, someone had said once, was the mind twisting reality to gain perspective. What then would become of dreams when your reality was already twisted?

Eugene had discovered the answer to that question quickly after Ipollius collapsed. Collapsed, an apt description, capturing the metaphorical and literal decay of the city into what it was now, little more than a concrete jungle in the wastes. It couldn't be called a city anymore.

His dreams were madness, all screaming and shapes. The twisted and broken forms of the infected. Zombies really, the walking dead animated by a disease too foul to have any cure. Calling them infected was just a nicer way to face reality.

In amongst the confusion there were spatterings of the good things, of art and culture, of the life he used to lead and, increasingly of late, the succulent curves of his latest companion. Travelling companions came and went, generally came by way of foot and went by way of monster. Jennifer was remarkably beautiful, the kind of woman he hadn't seen in so long he'd forgotten they existed.

His dreams chose not to conform to his strict sense of honour.

Thus, with no other choice, Gene was curled up in a ball and very awake. He'd been awake for only a few minutes before Jen stirred, but he remained silent, waiting for the result of his dreams to retreat.

He could smell the acrid smoke from her cigarette. Gene used to hate being around smokers, but now the scent was a tangible reminder that, for one more morning, he was not alone in a world of horrors.

The blankets fell off him as he sat up, fully clothed save for his shoes and coat, with a shotgun still clutched in one hand. "Morning," he grunted, voice more gruff than it should be.

Water from his pack soothed his throat and added some silk back to his tone. "Sleep alright?"

Idle small talk kept them sane, but Gene was distracted. Replacing the water in its proper place methodically he stepped over to the window, which was mostly whole. A scoped hunting rifle sat against the wall where he'd left it.

Poking the guns nose out a hole in the glass, Gene gave the street below a quick check. Infected didn't like sunlight, and with the dawn caressing the land he watched the last few stragglers slink, hissing in protest, into darkened buildings.

He set the gun back down and stretched, allowing himself a single yawn. Good sleep only came to him in a properly fortified home.

Dirt smeared his face and arms, which were refreshingly cool thanks to his sleeveless brown shirt. It could get hot during the day, but his trench coat held a lot of his scavenged gear, so tearing the arms off his shirt had provided a little relief.

"If we move quick, we should be there before nightfall," he said, almost to himself. Saying it aloud made it seem doable.

[Anonymous]

No, it never was easy.

She was still in her own world when Gene woke up. It was good to have someone alive with her, around her. It made everything feel more civilized. It wasn't like she was some animal out in the streets ripping people she could have easily known apart, to protect herself. Aedolis was the shining star in the universe, bright technology every where. Ipollius? It was what the world use to be, or so she'd heard in stories. Savage, predator and prey. Except this prey? It shot back, it fought back, for a life that resembled any kind of normalcy. Still, sometimes she was glad not to be part of that little town on the hill, or maybe she was just trying to give this life more of a purpose.

As he woke up and started to move around she moved onto another gun. Counting the bullets, putting the counts away in her memory for a later time.

"No better that can be expected." She gave a small smile to him, no teeth showing. Jen could never really muster full smiles anymore. Unless you counted right after killing a particularly rough Infected. Then, if you had known her when, she might look like the person she had been when she got a design done, or the kid she use to be when Dad came home. Except for now the smiling? It was joy in a kill.

Watching him move around she could see the dirt spread on his arms. She took a moment to look at her own. Scars and cuts sullied by the constant coat of dirt. What they really needed to find? A house...with soap and water still on the premises. Houses were so dangerous though, so...disarming. They made you think you were safe, but you weren't. She set her guns to the side and stretched out her legs one tucked underneath her. Then switched. She dropped to her stomach and did a few push ups then jumped up.

She pulled out holsters, one for around her hips, one for over the shoulders. Her eyes weren't on the buckles and guns. She'd done this far too many days to have to pay attention to it. It was like brushing your teeth and washing your face in the morning. Instead, she was watching Gene lean over the sniper rifle. He had such an interesting look to him. Not a bad looking man by any means, just normal. Just having him around her though was proving to cause a good bit of tension. The sexual kind. Jennifer needed relief from the long time of no touching, no caring. She was afraid though that whenever she closed her eyes, whenever she let down her guard...there was only death waiting.

She moves across the floor dust rising from around her shoes and leans next to him looking out the window. She's pulling on a brown leather jacket that has holes, with random patches over them. Mostly sort sort of Girl Scout group. They had raided a home that had a bunch of patches set aside. Luckily a needle and thread too. The jacket was just as scarred and dirty as Jennifer was. She started to comb out her hair quickly and put it up in the two buns that she normally wore it in to keep it up out of her face. One stray hair or two always came down though. She pushed them back behind her ear.

"It's seems possible." She was imagining their destination being closer, over a hill of buildings. It was much farther though. She looked down at her shoes, always left them on, who knew when you had to be up and run. Kneeling down and unlacing them she did them up again tighter. "But we have to get moving soon." Standing up again and looking out the window seeing the rubble. "Or we might miss some of the weakened stragglers." She looks over at him. "And the night animals. We have to catch something for dinner."

Grabbing her backpack off the floor and lacing it over her arms she reaches for the gas mask that's hooked on just to reassure herself it was there. When they got to the lower floors they'd need it. She'd rather just go out the window and down...no risk it. But food might be waiting. Even though it was going to be horrible. Maybe they'd run into a house with spices.

One could only hope.