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[The Yard]

Emma still wasn't really sure how she had ended up staying at the prison, maybe her attempt to move in this crazy time had landed her being rescued by the prison staff and saved or well as saved as anyone could be at a time like this. Emma sat in the yard, she still had the pipe she had found in the back room at work with her, not a great weapon, but better than nothing. She stretched her arms above her head wondering how many people would manage to make it through this insane event. At this point, Emma kinda counted herself in luck, after all being with a bunch of buff inmates could be
worse. She could be at home or at work and stood less a chance of survial.

[ Medical Ward ]

Maria wasn't one to spend much time with the general population, despite her desire to help as many people as possible. If she ever did go out into the yard, it was often on the outskirts, near the buildings and away from the fence. Sometimes, she would go out to watch the others, and sometimes she would watch the others.

It still hadn't quite sunk in that there were zombies.

Nearly every day she woke wishing it were a dream, heavy with denial and some sick sense of hope. After a month, one would think that it had sunk in, but apparently none were that fortunate. At lease Maria had the chance to get away and back to work, and pretend to do what she needed to do. However, more often people focused on the physical wounds instead of the mental.

Turning away from the entrance to the medical ward, Maria stomped in to the large room where the medics were housed, and nodded to those she recognized from before. At least some of them made it.

Eyes snapping around the area, she took notice of Adelaid, one of the much older women who she recognized as being tougher than she looked. Walking over, she took one look at the boy on the cot and determined her help wasn't much needed.

"Morning Adelaid. Starting early today?" She said with a small smile and a nod toward the cot.

[ the yard ]

It wasn't at all difficult to navigate this place while staring at one's hands. It hadn't occurred to Max to contemplate such things, but he'd been examining his palms all morning, relying on the strength of his peripheral vision to keep him out of trouble, and so far it seemed to be working just fine. It was growing increasingly more likely that these hands that had tucked in his kids, brushed his wife's cheek, and made an honest living, would only ever be used to fight, maim, and scrabble for survival from now on. He felt nothing in response to that possibility, and though the absence of a reaction upset him ever so slightly, what upset him more was the presence of the others in the yard, specifically the warden and his crony. Max hadn't been a prisoner here, nor was he particularly frightened of any of the pickpockets and graffiti artists he shared his home with now. But he was his own man, not some underling of theirs.

Having only taken a peek at his surroundings just to see where he stood, Max looked down again, shuffling off to idle by himself for a while. If he seemed busy enough with his palm reading, maybe no one would bother him.

[The Yard]

Isaac had, for the most part, calmed. It had taken him quite a bit of time to register the situation, and finally he had settled on the notion that the apocalypse was happening, and he was in the midst of it. Mentally, he damned himself for being in a prison during it, where too many living beings lurked and could quite possibly be far more dangerous than any.... corpse. His spine twitched at the memory of the corpses reanimating, head snapping back to stare towards the wall. He was perched on a bench, examining each individual when they happened to look away. Dangerous. Many of these people were dangerous. Isaac was not one of those people.

He was quick-tempered, yes. Prone to violence? When provoked, yes. But he also had a hidden gentle nature towards those in need, and was loyal to the core. He liked to give the image of a loose cannon, but he cared far too much for the kind or weak. He didn't offer much when it came to physical strength, despite his toned body, but he was quick on his feet and resourceful. He was sure, if it came down to it, he could defend himself.

That didn't mean he wanted to find himself in that situation.

He hadn't met anyone he cared for, yet. The first two weeks of the.... of The End (an affectionate label for the shitty situation he was in) had been spent isolated. Craftily lurking around and gathering information. The recent weeks had been spent watching. What was the plan when they ran out of food? Surely they would soon. That, and the.... corpses would eventually worm their way in, if the movies were right. He groaned inwardly as he heard the faint sound of moaning in the distance. The corpses would always win. It just took time. Weeks? Months? Years? Eventually humanity would lose.

He just wanted to be the last one standing.

[ medical ward ]

Hold still, the woman said. Holding still was not Cory’s forte in the slightest. “Um. I’ll—“ Already his eyes were beginning to wander around the ward. It was so early but already it was this busy? Why was that—oh right. “—I’ll try,” he finished after a few moments. The boy’s gaze began to wander again, much like how his hands were itching to move and his legs were screaming for him to wander around the ward. He’d looked around a few times before, but every time he walked in he never ceased to want to observe again.

And then he was whining like the wounded Corgi that he was. “What? It really does hurt though,” he insisted, eyes wide and woeful as he reluctantly obeyed and laid down on the cot. “I want Mocha.” His grumbling began to settle down as his attention began to shift to Adelaide’s and Mari’s conversation. Y..es????

[ The Yard ]

Squinting down at his glasses, he tried to get them wiped clean on his shirt. It really wasn't doing much good, though, especially since he could barely see without them. Of course, with the smudging right now, there was little hope of him seeing with them.

Eyes focused on his glasses, he stumbled straight into a couple of people. He assumed it was people. Right now, they were just more blurs of color.

Trying to regain his balance, he gave up on the cleaning of his glasses and shoved them back on, staring at the ladies in front of him. "Oh. Uh. Sorry about... that..."

With an awkward smile, he brushed his hair back.

[THE YARD]

Candice forced herself back to the present and slowed her run to a brisk walk. She had to stop, there was no point in pushing herself too far. Limited water supplies were a deterrent too. A nearby bench had only one occupant. She knew him, and knew he had been fairly vocal during his stay. She didn't remember him being dangerous though.

It took the former corrections officer a moment to recall his name, she used to address them by last names, first names sounded so formal. They would have been too formal back then. As if it had been that long.

She sat at the other end of the bench, nodded toward him. Isaac, his name was Isaac. Candice hunched forward, her bare arms resting on her knees as sweat dripped off of her. She breathed out a "hey" but kept her eyes on the ground.

[The Yard]

While Diana didn't particularly enjoy being stuck in the prison, she had gotten used to it after a while. The yard was big enough to move around in without being stifled, and there were quite a few people to interact with. Most had banded together in small little packs it seemed, but there were a few still struggling with whatever had happened or had been left behind. She had no real connection to anyone outside these walls, so she hadn't really been too worried about the others out there. She was mainly focused on her own survival and thoughts and really didn't care about what anyone else did as long as it didn't bother her. Not paying attention to others wasn't always a good thing though, especially when it involved bumping into them. She just hoped whoever she happened to bump against wasn't someone like the Boss or anyone in for violent things.

"Sorry about that," Diana smiled, looking over the man she had bumped into. He was staring so intently at his hands she really did feel bad for disturbing whatever it was he happened to be doing. Maybe some sort of strange ritual. It could happen. "I don't really think you'll find the answers you're looking for by staring at your hands, but if it makes you feel better about this situation then I won't stop you."