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At least they didn't have to worry about getting eaten alive out here--at least, not by people who actually looked like people who should have been offering the casino as a safe haven rather than a slaughterhouse. Cerise felt sick even thinking about it, though it could have been the alcohol burning out of her system, using panic and fear as fuel. The devil they didn't know could be wandering around out here unseen, but it was better than the one they had just left behind.

She quickly got separated from everyone else, though she thought she heard something behind her. It sounded like labored breathing, but not that of a person. There were no footsteps other than her own, no other noises to indicate whether she was being followed by an animal or an infected, but maybe it was just the thick fog distorting the noise. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw many pairs of eyes blinking back at her through the fog, seeming to bob and sway with the motions of her running.

Nothing that could have been making that noise, though.

Eventually Cerise's mad dash through the fog slowed to a quick walk, and the foreign panting subsided, leaving her with her own. She still couldn't see where she was going and had no idea where anyone else was or if she was wandering into or out of danger, but as long as nothing was chasing her or attacking her or threatening to eat her, she could probably deal with it. One crisis at a time.

Muffled, mocking laughter suddenly resounded all around her and was quickly swallowed by the fog. Cerise walked a little faster.

Yeah, everything's okay as long as you're okay. That sounds about right, doesn't it? The unseen voice sounded suspiciously like Cerise's own, and she channeled her renewed panic into a faster pace. Admit it, honey, you don't really give a damn about these people, do you? You'd sacrifice any of them to save your own skin in a heartbeat.

"Stop," Cerise said quietly.

You can't even handle going outside without losing your s**t. You would have left that kid with the gimpy leg on his own in a heartbeat if it had been an infected instead of a raccoon behind that shed.

"N-no," she stuttered, "we were in it together, we said--"

And when it comes right down to it, you would have become one of those damn cannibals yourself if it meant an end to all the running and hiding, the constant fear like you're the only damn person in the world going through this.

Her own voice mocked her as she started running again, towards what looked like an opening in the fog. It started to get closer--and then slowly slipped farther and farther away the harder and faster she ran. Her lungs hurt, her legs ached, and she wasn't getting any closer to getting out of here. It was an illusion, just like everything else she had seen--and heard, she told herself, dimly relieved when her own voice didn't respond--and she was convinced she was going to be stuck in the fog forever until suddenly, she was free.

Alex didn't have a chance to find Brie after their last...talk. It was hard enough looking for the girl as she kept to herself, but imagine the difficulty when they were in a Casino and she was avoiding him. He assumed she was avoiding him.

It was hard to come back to someone when they declared any sort of feelings unknown or new to them. Augh He was so stupid, he should've just kept his big fat mouth shut.

The lights blacked out, and he groaned. What else could go wrong? Gunfire happened, and he was taking off with the flood of people who were desperate to get away. The flood let out inside a thick fog, and a group became a few, and then one. He stared out in the fog, cupping around his mouth. The gunshot wound stung and ached, but he ignored it in hopes of finding anyone.

"October?!!? SOU! ROOK? BRIEEEEEE?" He stumbled in the fog, catching foot on something and flying into the ground. "God damn it." He popped his head back up and looked down at what tripped him.

It looked...like...October...But less october. Dead. Rotting. Alex stood up and laughed.

"Very funny." His hands shook, so he tucked them in his pockets. Backtracking did him no help. He felt groggy now. Did the trip and fall mess with his head? Was he blanking out?

He looked down and found himself surrounded in bodies. Toeing one, he almost gagged at the sight of it. He ran away, turning in another direction. Finally the fog cleared and he was led into a clearing, where a circle of people stood.

"Hey! Hey you over there!" No response.

"Hey c'mon man, I'm hurt, I'm seeing stuff, Can you just look over here?" But the closer he tried to get to them, the farther away they moved. he left.

he wandered.






[ Infection Rate ]: 30/100

Running from the thing, Greta tripped. It was her turn now to stumble and almost pull the both of them down. She managed to keep her hand in Monica's and pushed herself back up. She started pulling them back along when she looked back only to see her mother there on the ground, rotting.

Greta flinched and stumbled away. She shook her head and rushed ahead with her eyes closed. This isn't real. She knew that couldn't be her mother. Her face was too young, as Greta had once remembered her, remembering her as the woman who had once sheltered her.

Move on. Keep moving. She didn't manage to say anything to Monica. The best she could do for the two of them was to keep them moving.

Corven ran out the darkened room. He knew Rorrow would never admit it but the other was still scared of the dark. He had to find his twin and grandmother before someone or something else did. He paled to think of them getting hurt or worse...he wouldn't let that happen. He broke out into a dead run yelling at the top of lungs. "RORROW!!!! GRAN!!!" He had to find them he just had too...

Stumbling and fumbling his way through the fog, Corven's dead run brought him into a clearing. He slid to a sudden stop. Panting hard as he looked around...this was...wrong. Super wrong. He looked around the circle members, not daring to reach out and touch them. Something was coming...he had to be quick about this. "Hello? Have any of you seen a guy who looks just like me and a elderly woman?" he rephrased this question a few times before he felt a push. Something was right behind him and coming fast...so he ran.

Corven was out of the clearing. Still stumbling he panted as he rested for a heartbeat or two. He started to hear whispers...mutterings. Who was that? What were they saying? He half strained his ears to listen...then...to his misery he heard the voice.

"Always protecting him...were those few friends right about you wanting your little twin?" a voice sneered in his ear. Corven turned swinging.

"SHUT UP!!" He yelled. Breathes catching short in his lungs...the voice kept on.

"Awww...are we afraid he's going to get hurt again? He must of been at some point in that big scuffle back in Zone 1...can you picture it? Like he was when you two were in middle school. Writhing on the ground crying in utter agnoy because his brother wasn't there to keep him safe..." it taunted him about that moment. A bully had gotten the best of them both. Overpowered Corven while seriously hurting Rorrow. Rorrow held one scar on his lower back from the ordeal, but Corven who got out scar free would forever be haunted by his own weakness.

"I'M NOT GOING TO LET HIM DIE!!!!!!" Corven took off again...

Only to come back to the clearing...this time his anger had the best of him so he yelled his frustration at the circle. Then a thrill of fear shot up his spine...something was so very very wrong here. He had to get out. He had to find his family...he had to find Rorrow. So he ran again...

When he came up to the hospital gates he stopped dead. No. No. No. No. NOOOO!!!! He developed a fear and hate of hospitals after that bully. Rorrow was in there for days...mainly for therapy reasons, but Corven had been kept away from his twin. To a kid...he felt he was at fault for his brother's hurt...ever since...

He walked onto the grounds and avoided the doors....

A scene at the casino was inevitable.

As hysteria broke, out and the prisoners swarmed the exit in a rush, Sawyer slunk to the back of the lobby. In the chaos, she was invisible. No one would miss one little girl, quietly creeping away. Not when there was panicked mob on the verge of escape to worry about anyway.

The staff door had been left unguarded. Reaching out, Sawyer tried the handle. It held fast. The dark secrets of the back room were to be made known by invitation only it looked like. Too bad. A simple lock would not be enough to keep Sawyer out.

Withdrawing a key she had pilfered from one of the employees, she fit it into the keyhole and turned. The door swung open and she slipped inside. As she closed it again behind, her she heard the sound of gunfire report from the lobby. It sounded like things were heating up in there. Now was a good time to get going.

She felt a pang of regret at leaving her sister and the others behind. Then again her absence was only temporary. She fully intended to come back once she had dug up the soft underbelly of the Delta Casino.

Like before the hall was dark, but unlike before, this time Sawyer had a good idea of where she was going. Moving at a brisk pace, she focussed on the distant patches of light. Somewhere in these dark halls was the heart of Delta operation. Some place close too, if the rattle of machinery was any indication. Passing by the half a dozen closed doors without so much as a glance, she headed further down the hall to where the sound was coming from. A low rumble filled her ears, punctuated by a chopping.

She stopped just before the doorway, where a block of cold white light spilled out into the hall. Back pressed to the wall, Sawyer peered around the corner.

Inside, a single employee wearing a white smock and a hair net stood at a chopping block, facing the door. A conveyor belt ran between her and Sawyer, to the wall where an enormous machine sat. A metal tub lay at the other side. Watching the meat disappear into the machine from the conveyor belt gave Sawyer a pretty good idea of what its purpose was. This was an excellent starting place.

Keeping low to the ground, Sawyer skirted inside. She came to a stop at one side of the conveyor belt. Above her, she could hear the steady chop-chop-chop of the worker clearing away the gristle from the flesh. The lights flickered ominously. Careful not to slip on the streaks of blood tracked across the concrete, Sawyer made her way around the end of the conveyor belt. As she did, she removed her necklace, a pair of dog tags on a lengthy chin. She took each end in either hand and held it taut.

Who ever said jewellery had no practical purpose?

The employee caught sight of her a moment too late. Sawyer's makeshift garrote had already found its way around their throat. Pulling it tight, she twisted the chain to keep it secure. The employee's hands scrabbled at their throat. Then with a choked cry, they swung an elbow into Sawyer's gut. She retaliated by giving the chain a sharp yank. A hand clawed towards her face. Reaching up, she slipped her hand under the hairnet and took hold of the worker's hair. With a burst of strength, she slammed their head down on the chopping block. There was a crack and the body slackened. She repeated the motion. Completely limp, the body keeled over the chopping block.

Collecting her necklace, Sawyer studied the prone worker and wondered what to do with them. Not that it really took much consideration. The answer was obvious.

Stooping, she grabbed ahold of their feet and flung them up onto the conveyor belt. Then, with a grunt, she flipped the rest of the body onto the conveyor belt as well. A poetic end for a butcher. It was only too bad they could not be awake to appreciate it. She crossed her arms to watch. The maw of the machine waited.

Just as the body was about to disappear down the rows of mechanical teeth, there was a groan and the floor pitched beneath her. Suddenly the lights blinked out. The rumble of the machine ground to a stop. Alert, Sawyer swiped the knife from the chopping block. She strained her ears. Nothing. Either someone else had beaten her to the punch and killed the power before she could get to it, or there had been some sort of freak accident. Or a freak miracle from the perspective of the worker. Then again they would probably never realise how close they had been to being padded between two pieces of bread.*

Breathing a curse, Sawyer carefully manoeuvred her way through the darkness. With no windows, no other lights, the room was pitch black; she had to use the edge of the conveyor belt to guide her. The knife she held out in front of her, in case she met with any... surprise guests. A small part of her was convinced she had tripped some sort of a trap, and one or more Delta employees lay in wait to jump her. Her knife met nothing but air though, and when she reached the other side of the conveyor belt she at last tucked it into her jacket pocket. Walking around in the dark with a knife brandished seemed a good way to lose an eye.

Leaving the conveyor belt, Sawyer edged towards the direction she thought the door was in. Her hip collided with something, and there was a bang and a rattle.

She froze, listening. The sound of something metallic clattering. Wheels across the floor. A cart or something. She must have missed it in her brief survey of the room. Trying to still her beating heart, Sawyer pressed forward, hands held out in front of her. At last her fingers brushed the wall and she felt a surge of relief. The distance she had travelled between the conveyor belt and the wall could not have been more than nine yards, but it had been more terrifying than anything else the Delta Casino had to offer.

Sawyer followed the wall down to where there was a gap. A faint breeze came through it. She had found the hall. Stepping through the opening, she took a left, going back the direction she had come. There was no point in further exploring. If anything, she would only run into trouble.

Besides, she realised with pressing urgency, if the power in the back had gone out then maybe that meant the power in the front had as well. Escape before had seemed a dim possibility but now that the playing field had been levelled...

Her fingers found the doorknob. Nerves electric, she gently pushed on the handle and swung the door open. Darkness greeted her. Darkness and the sound of hysteria. Most of the of the voices were distant. Muffled. From somewhere nearby there was the report of gunfire. More screaming, more distant. Her cohorts had found their freedom.

Sawyer's mouth spread into a grin. Either they were incredibly lucky, or they had a capable player on their side. The thought of someone more competent (or at least more knowledgeable) than herself was intriguing, but one that would have to wait. At the moment, she needed to count her blessings and get the hell out of dodge.

Sticking to the wall (it had served her well so far), Sawyer circled around the main floor, faster than she had gone in the back hall. Though still too dark to make out her hand from the carpet, the faint glow of starlight seeped in through the front windows. Her destination could not be more clear. In no time, she had cleared to the lobby. Abandoning the wall, she went to the entrance. A shard of broken glass crunched under her boot.

There was a terrific bang and a flash of light. Sawyer felt a cool rush of air pass over her head.

It did not take much imagination to figure out what had caused it.

Breaking into a sprint, Sawyer burst out through doors of the casino and took off down the street. The sound of the boots pounding against the pavement, were almost as loud as the sound of her heart beating in her throat. Then she was deafened again as more gunfire followed after her. It was a miracle that none of the bullets found their mark. That made for the second one this evening, she realised. A third if she was willing to count the Casino's mysterious source of electricity. Tonight was a night for miracles it seemed.†

She doubted that would hold true for very much longer.

As she tore into an alley, the sounds of the casino faded behind her. A few turns later they had faded entirely and she slowed to a walk. A stitch twinged in her side. Stopping to lean against a building, Sawyer took a moment to catch her breath and take stock of her surroundings.

Through the fog it was difficult to make out much, but from what she could tell she had made her way to a perfectly unremarkable side street. She searched around for some kind of landmark. Was it just her, or did all the damn buildings look the same now? They had been stripped away of all personality and character. And goods obviously. Everything was drab, grey, and hollow. Perhaps it was some kind of divine metaphor for the failures of the human race.

Annoyed but unperturbed, Sawyer set off again, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings for the undying. The further she went though, the more difficult that turned out to be. The fog had gotten so thick, she could scarcely see three feet in front of her. A part of her was tempted to turn back, or at least go find some high place to scout out the territory. The latter especially seemed like a good idea, but unless she wanted to scale a fifteen story building from the outside the risks outweighed the reward. Supposing something lay hidden inside? No, she was better off outside where she could escape into the fog.

Escape.

She wondered if the others had made it. Wataru she was willing to bet money on. He seemed to have a sixth sense for danger, and a mind to know when to start running. He had pretty good pair of legs on him too, she remembered, or at least that was the impression she had got from the time she pelted empty coke bottles after him. Those had been happier days. Oscar too seemed like a winning number. He was thick as mud in the brains department, but there was an obnoxious cockroach quality to him. His tenacity for life was not something that would be quenched any time soon, Sawyer thought. Then there was Lennard.

Well... Not every piece could be prize material. Making a mock cross over her heart, Sawyer offered up a quick prayer for the fallen and moved on.

Jujube and St. Nick were a bit of a mystery as far as talents went, but Sawyer had already placed them both as the dark horses of the event. The elderly couple-not-couple had shown remarkable willpower and ingenuity. Sure, Jujube was not always there, and St. Nick was as crabby as ever, but together they pulled through.

That left one person.

Sawyer did not dwell on Renita for long. Despite her shortcomings, Sawyer knew the older girl would be fine. They shared the same blood after all. Renita may not have been ruthless like Sawyer, but she had cunning and ambition. And anyway, beneath that meticulously kept prim exterior, Sawyer was certain there was potential. No one was as clean as they seemed, no matter how well they hid their colours.

Sawyer's pace slowed. The fog had not let up, and the buildings she passed by looked identical to those she had passed several minutes before. Was everything really so much the same? Or had she been going in circles? Sawyer looked up to read the stars. They were hidden by cloud cover. She squinted. Since when had the weather turned to overcast? When she had escaped the casino, the stars were still visible...

Her skin begun to itch. Scratching her wrist, Sawyer turned her gaze back to the street, or rather the thick fog veiling it. Going in circles was impossible, she reasoned. She had not made any turns. Maybe that was the problem though. Maybe the street looped back on itself. She considered the idea a moment. Wait. Why would anyone pave a street that went in a circle?

Sawyer rubbed at her eyes. The stress of the last couple hours was getting to her. Fearless as she was, her body was not immune to adrenaline or its after-effects. Now she supposed she was beginning to feel it. Even so, she had never expected to feel so tired. It had never been a problem before. She had experienced plenty of so-called traumatic scenarios, so she knew her general physiological response. But hell, even without her life of thrills and terror, the entirety of the past month had been one never-ending exercise in willpower. She knew her limits. Or she thought she did.

The part of her that wanted to feel indignant shut down. Anger sapped too much of her energy, energy that she could not afford to lose. Her feet dragged. Her eyelids felt heavy. She just needed to get back to the apartment so she could get some rest...

The thought of her bed was almost too much to handle. A wave of drowsiness overcame her and she stumbled. As she righted herself, a second wave came: this time of nausea. How long had it been since she had eaten? Real food, not just those terrible packets of candy she kept running across. Her thoughts went to the potatoes. But no. That was impossible. She could not afford to lose them. No, what she needed was sleep. Once she was back at the apartment she could... but maybe not even there. So many people had made themselves comfortable in the streets...

Idly, Sawyer cast her gaze downwards. They seemed so peaceful, laying there. She would have thought the chill of the night air would make outdoor camping uncomfortable, but she hardly felt it herself any more.

Crouching down, Sawyer reached to nudge one of the bodies aside. She could not say what made her do it. A final act of malice? Morbid curiosity? Neither seemed right. Either way, it saved her life.

As the body flipped onto its back, Sawyer saw the stitches pulling back its lips, the hollow space in its chest. She stared, uncomprehending. Then she looked to the rest of sleeping figures. Sleeping... or dead. She blinked. Her eyelids drooped.

Wake up!

The impulse went through her like a jolt of electricity.

Wake up and run!

As Sawyer rose to obey, panic hijacked her brain. Suddenly she was tearing down the street, leaping over bodies, never once looking back. A flood of emotion overwhelmed her. She felt repulsed at what she had seen. Even more so at what she had nearly done. What would have happened if she had laid down with those resting victims? Would someone have sewn a smile into her face? What about her heart? Her lungs? Where did they go? A sob exited her as she whirled around a corner. Wherever she went the bodies seemed to follow her. But that was so dumb. They were just bodies. They couldn't do anything. The dead posed no threat. Only the undying were worth fearing. Yet she was afraid. She was afraid for her life and...

She was afraid.

Was that what this was? This tightness in her chest, this shaking in her hands. Was this fear? She never felt fear before. Not like this. Fear was logical realisation that not everything had gone the way it was supposed to. It was the fast heartbeat in her chest. It was all the calculated concerns, and what-ifs, and what nexts? Not this unwelcome, useless, animal feeling. She choked out another hysteric cry. So this was plague the rest of humanity suffered from.

Sawyer ducked into open building for shelter, trying to get a handle on her newly found emotions. Her breath left in her shuddering sobs. Her hands were still shaking. Pressing herself flat against the wall, Sawyer forced herself to focus on her breathing. In, one, two. Out, one, two. In, one, two.

At last her breath quieted, and her hands became still. "So, finally snapped?" she said. Her voice lacked its usual humour. In the large hollow space, it sounded dead to her ears. She tried again. "Talking to yourself. Well, despite what they say, that doesn't always have to be a bad thing." A little better. Maybe. It felt like she was performing.

"I don't usually do this, you know," she continued. "Talk to myself. Much better to keep everything up here. No one can see what you're doing. But it's been a weird twenty minutes. Or a weird whole month, but mostly a weird twenty minutes. So... I guess I'm beating around the bush here. You care to explain what that was all about? The snot, the crying, and all that? I didn't call for that. So, who's responsible?"

Silence. Of course silence. She probed her feelings. Nothing, except for a twinge of heartfelt despair. How utterly predictable.

"Yeah... This is dumb," Sawyer muttered, scratching at her wrist again. "I'm not sure what I expected to get from you. Something more ******** coherent than another round of tears. What? Don't like that? Suck it up. You've both dealt out, and dealt with worse. That's what makes this so stupid. Though really this whole conversation is stupid."

"Still, I guess I'm feeling benevolent. Maybe we can talk your problems out. No, that's a lie. I just really want to get to the bottom of this so I can get rid of you."

"But you're like a parasite aren't you? Worse than a parasite really. It wasn't enough to suck my blood, you've got to infect me too."

"Here's the deal, Sad Sally. I will twist off your pathetic head like the vestigial waste of space it is and grind the rest of you into the dirt."

"Actually... I can't believe this. You've got me mad. I'm pissed at you for making me pissed. You're probably responsible for that too. I cannot believe the words coming out of my mouth."

"To be honest, I can't believe there are words coming out of my mouth."

"I mean, who am I talking to? This isn't a conversation."

"This is just an excuse to bully myself into compliance."

This is just an excuse to "...bully yourself into compliance."

Sawyer stopped. She thought she heard... No, she had definitely heard. For how long had her voice not been her own?

"Well, don't stop now. You were finally starting to get somewhere."

Her lips never moved.

Sawyer's eyes darted from side to side. The building was empty as far as she could tell. There was no way to be certain what lie hidden in the gloom though. Edging towards the door, she slipped her hand into the pocket with the knife.

"Aw, come on. You think you can get the jump on me?" Her voice... the voice asked.

"Why not?" Sawyer replied, wearing a smile. She continued her search. The voice sound impossibly close. Yet she was all alone.

"First resort is violence, as usual... Don't worry, I don't expect you to take any shame in that. Violence is just part of the game for us. But ooh! I almost forgot. You're kind of having a nervous breakdown right now, aren't you?"

Wordlessly, Sawyer slipped the knife from her pocket. Her vocal doppelgänger had seen it anyway. Scratching the back of her hand, she probed the darkness with the blade.

"I wonder what other ways we're feeling emotionally vulnerable," the voice continued. "How about that lady you had chopped up for the sake of curiosity? She looked an awful lot like Renita. Oof! All that blood. Whole thing was a mess. I see you covered it up with the sweater Sis gave you. Hey, random thought. Do you think they serve the head with the rest of them? What do they garnish it with?"

That elicited a laugh from Sawyer. An honest laugh. Whoever this way, clearly they had no idea whot hey were dealing with. "This is a pretty s**t attempt to rile me."

"You're right, you're right. Still too cold for that... for now."

Sawyer smirked. She lowered the knife a fraction, but her stance was still aggressive. "And where did you get that award-winning one-liner?" she asked. "The villain's' handbook? Really, is that supposed to scare me?"

"You tell me. You would know all about it."

On second thought, maybe she had not given them enough credit. Not that she would ever let that show. "Hm... I'm ringing in... a big fat zero. But nice try."

For once the voice paused. There was no expression to watch, no body language to evaluate, but Sawyer could imagine the gears turning. "Let's keep talking about the casino," it said at last. "Lots of happy memories."

"Really? The whole thing was a bit trite for my taste." Sawyer lowered the knife completely. "Look, you're obviously bored and in need of attention, but that's not really my cup of tea, so I'm gonna head out. No biggie. You can go ahead and reminisce without me. Hell, make party of it. I don't care."

"You're pretty eager to drop the subject."

Sawyer rolled her eyes. She started towards the door. "Yeah. Right. Later."

"You won't like what you see," the voice warned. Something about its tone made her pause. Hand freezing on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. As though she could see anyone...!

"I thought you liked games."

"I've got things to do."

"Like finding those other game pieces of ours?"

Sawyer's mouth twitched. She had to applaud her doppelgänger. Their resolve to carry through with scenario was impressive. Impressive but not endearing. "Mine, thanks. But yeah."

"Yours... sure."

Sawyer had been just about to leave again, when she stopped. What the hell did that mean? Turning, her fingers clenched around the handle of the knife. Her expression had settled into a dangerous smile. "You want to contend that?"

"Just answer me this," the voice said. Sawyer wanted to grind her teeth. "On a scale from one to ten, how alive would you say they are?"

"How alive...? Fine, I'll bite." She rattled them off, "Wataru: 8. Oscar: 8. Renita: 9. Lemming: 2." As she spoke, she reached under the cuff of her sweater to scratch at her arm. The itching had gotten worse.

"That's wee bit optimistic, don't you think?"

Sawyer seethed. The voice was mocking her. "Make your point already."

"Come on. It's obvious," the voice drawled. "We both know you're smarter than this. That's not what you really think. That's what you want to think. You're getting attached. I don't think you need me to say it, but that's a problem."

"They're pawns."

"Pawns that you no longer have a right to."

She slammed the hilt of the knife against the door with a sudden bang. Her eyes blazed. "That's it, huh? If you think you can take them from me, go right ahead and try. I'll kill you first."

"Me? Take them? Never!" A hint of laughter coloured its words. "Anyway, I hate to say it, but you've already lost them."

"You're full of it."

"Whatever you say. Tell me, what differentiates a player from a game piece?"

The silence that fell was louder than shattering glass. After a moment, Sawyer decided not to dignify that question with an answer. Without another word, she returned the knife to her pocket and spun to leave.

"I've talked circles around you, and you still consider yourself apart from the board?" the voice continued. "You're on the board. You're my game piece."

Sawyer shut the sound out. As she twisted the handle, the voice called out one last warning, chiding, "You won't like what you see..." She did her best to ignore it. The door flung open.

The bodies waited outside, smiling up at her.

With a scream Sawyer rushed past, covering her eyes with her hands as rivulets of blood ran down her arms.†

* 28th September
† 29th September

Sprinting away from bullets was something Officer Filth had hoped to never do again, but here he was, breathing ragged and quads aching as the sounds of exploding gunpowder forced through tiny metal tubes grew fainter with each second.

Rich had expected something to come to a head, eventually. That many people, in that confined a space, with their lives on the line - it was just a formula for a firefight. Tensions had already been high before the proprietor, (Rich could only assume the masked man was the one in charge) who seemed to just come up out of nowehere popped in, what with everything that he'd heard going on about in the restaurant. When the rest of them found out about the cannibalism - that didn't matter.

They were all infected. Infected, all of them. All Infected. No hope, no cure but that sick, sick cannibalism. Fresh from the victim, a taboo turned delicacy. Rich wanted to vomit, just thinking about it as he sprinted further from the Casino. He'd told Rista and G that he would look after Lissa, but never found the gal. Where was she now? Was she safe? Was Drew with her? God, let them be safe. Was G safe? Rista? Jeff? And what about Eights, and Guy? Was Guy even still with them?

Rich hoped Guy came out of this alive at the other end, if only so that Rich could personally throttle him.

The fog had rolled in without Rich's notice, and the Infected along with it, so it seemed as Rich nearly became lunch. He jerked away from one, then another, and another. Where were they all coming from? How could they even see in this pea soup? He'd have to quiet his breathing, maybe turn off his flashlight - but no, this flashlight was the only thing keeping him from running into poles, or tripping over rubble, or-

"Rich." A voice whispered, sultry and divine. "Rich, sweetie."

Rich stopped running, deer in the headlights look plastered on his dirty, sweaty face. He abandoned the helmet and his potpourri mask, into his bag, and looked around the immediate 5 yards frantically, Lorraine? His Lora? "Lora?!"

It was a panicked, hopeful, and hoarse cry. If Lora was here, then that meant she had Coral with her. And if Coral was with her, then they were both save - God bless it, they were safe. Alive and well, his two most precious people. "LORA!"

"Rich." Her voice became raspy, deeper, more masculine. His old boss, Chief Swanson. "Officer Filth, the hell do you think you've done? Y'all think this is some sorta game? Ya think y'all can jest run aroun' playin at cops n' robbers, son?" The years of smoking Camels had caught up, an Swanson hacked and coughed his way through the sentence, anger bellied by the red cheeks you could just hear in his voice. "Ya let that girl die, Officer. Ya let her die, and she saved yer hide! What kind 'a officer can ya even call yerself?"

Everyone is infected.

The panic set in slowly, seeping like poison through his veins, starting from his fingers and toes and crawling to his heart, filled his lungs, crept up the spine and gripped his skull. Becky was one of the Undying, now. "You let her die, papa. You shoulda gone with her."

Rich whirled around, knife in hand. "Coral?!" He whispered, brokenhearted choking littering that one single syllable. Images of a coffin no bigger than a Labrador came to mind, or worse yet-

No, he wouldn't think of a sweet toddler with red lips and cheeks, red hands, a red neck and black eyes. He refused to think of gold hair, once shiny and sleek, frazzled and littered with dirt and gore. She wasn't there, she wasn't real, Lora wasn't real, Swanson wasn't real.

Everyone is infected.

Rich bolted, a silent scream roaring through his eyes, his blood, the clunking of his boots against hard turf. He ran and ran until his legs screamed back, and he began to trot. The voices, he had to get away from the voices - Lora, Swanson, Coral, Becky. Why were they blaming him for Becky? He'd had nothing to do with it, nothing at all.

He kept walking, until he found a space clear of fog. Maybe he could get his bearings, see where he was going, check the radio for any news of where everyone else was headed.

The radio was only static, with mumbled words and a strange code eerily repeating. Or was it? Was any of it truly real? Maybe the panic had gone so far as to-

People. There was a ring of people, real people, huddled together in the distance. "Hello!" Rich called, not Officer Friendly, but in desperation. Did they have any idea of where they were going? "Y'all know what in the hell is goin' on here?"

Nothing from them. No response, no indication that they even realized Rich was saying anything to them. He moved closer, repeating himself. "Hey! Y'all know where the closest shelter is?"

Not even a budge. Eerily silent and still, and Rich heard nothing from them. He backed away, slowly, a hand reaching for the knife in his back pocket. This wasn't right. Ain't nothing about this whole damn thing was right...

"Officer." The all too familiar drawl came from behind his ear, but when Rich whirled on the source there was nothing. "Officer Richard Filth, reportin' fer duty." The voice, his own God Damned voice, mocked, spiteful and scorning. "Officer Richard Filth, coward of an American, fled to Canada ta escape from his blunders. Officer Filth, born n' raised in a one horse town, come to the Great North to only end up abandonin' his wife and daughter, can't even save one little girl. Can't save the bartender, can't protect no one from a bunch 'a crooks who go 'n eat other people." The voice cackled, circling around the frantic Officer. "Y'all thought you'd be so noble, didn't ya? Thought you could be a hero 'n save the day, huh? Thought that, somehow, y'all'd make up for Deputy Jeffers' death, haw? Thought y'all could redeem yerself from sendin' a boy out to die?"

"Shut it."

"You shut it, pardner. Shoulda jest stayed back in Kentucky, shoulda owned up to yer crimes. But naw, y'all used yer own daughter as an excuse to escape the line o' duty, escape the guilt of killin' that boy."

"I didn' pull the trigger, dammit. He went in on his own, charged ahead!"

"But yer the one who told 'im that those meth heads had to go down, no matter what. You put that idea to charge into their house in that boy's head. Yer the one responsible for his death, Filth. Got a fittin' name, Officer."

The voice was gone, but Rich still roared and swung the knife wildly at the air for a solid minute, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping into his eyes, saline sting making him even angrier.

But he had to move, even if he deserved to die in the fog a traitor, a coward, a man who valued his own hide more than his family's. So he kept moving, eyes peeled and knife at the ready. He moved until it felt like his body couldn't budge any more, and he moved still. Lora had to be alive, still, with Coral huddled up in her arms. They'd survived, somehow, they had to. Lora was strong, she had her gun. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, even if every stride felt like pulling lead up from a magnet.

But he had to stop. His body couldn't keep up, tired and achey and over the hill. Rich's face had gone from sweat soaked to caked in his own body's salt, and when he looked down to catch a breath, instead he let out a strangled cry. A sea of corpses around his feet, a sea of corpses everywhere. Rich needed to vomit, but he only dry-heaved. He didn't eat a thing in the mall, and any alcohol in his system had already been converted to sweat on the floor. He didn't want to see who these people were, but morbid curiosity and deprivation of sleep got the best of him. Turning one of the corpse on its side, Rich's blue-grey eyes went wild and he dropped the stitch-smiled face to the floor, before bolting yet again,

And he was only stopped by the site of gilded gates, and a cross. A hospital. Shelter. Somewhere not the casino.

It was dark, abandoned, and probably chalk full of infected and Shamblers. But it was also not the fog, not the visages of his wife and child.

Rich threw the gates open, skin itchy from perspiration and anger simmering from everything he'd seen.

None of it was real, right?