Furry-Within

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The deep red fox darted quietly between abandoned cars along a deserted stretch of road. There were few of them around here, but he wasn't going to take his chances by stopping to dispatch any of those ghouls right now... besides, zombies are slow, and stupid. He just needed to stay low, stay quiet, and keep moving. He clutched the bolt-action rifle tightly as he darted around the front of a tall van, moving the way soldiers were trained to (even though he'd only taken self-training programs, his Asperger's syndrome disqualifying the fox from military service...).
He carefully looked through the scope- the early morning fog drifting low over the ground gave the outskirts of the city an eerie look. He saw a few shambling shadows in the fog, and quickly planned a safe course past them before springing from his position, and sprinting past the rotting fiends. A sharp pain in his stomach told him to slow, but he knew that giving in meant death. He kept his breath as calm and shallow as he could as he followed his nose towards the appealing scent that permeated through the dense stench of infectious rot... The irresistible aroma of hot food. He knew that seeking out other survivors was imprudent, but- A fox will be A fox... Especially when starving.

He carefully followed his nose, trying to focus on the scent... but then- something suddenly didn't feel right...
His heart skipped a beat as a cold, lifeless paw gripped suddenly at his shoulder. His well-maintained rifle dropped- the sling around his arm stopping it from clattering to the hard ground.
In a flash, his paw darted to the chest holster- drawing out his baby~
There was a deafening CRACK! as he jabbed the revolvers 6-inch barrel against the zombies forehead and squeezed the trigger. The corpse dropped to the ground, as the fox staggered a bit, his ears ringing, and his heart pounding. The noise would attract attention, a .357 magnum wasn't exactly a gun to go unnoticed. Blowing the odorous wisp of sweet smoke from the barrel of his Python, and jamming it into the holster, he started walking swiftly in the direction he'd been heading, buttoning the pistol holster and checking the rifle for damage before slinging it on his back, and jogging ahead- the rising moans of the undead growing slowly behind him...

Sneaking out of the hospital could certainly be counted as one of the most harrowing experiences of Benjamin's life.  The only sounds that permeated his consciousness were the moaning of the undead monsters at his back, and the steady, nearly-panicked hammering of his heart in his chest.  He could hear his blood roaring in his ears as he kept low, the soft rubber soles of his running shoes barely making any sound on the tile floor as he made his way towards the ambulance entrance to the parking lot.  At that current point in time, there was only one thing he focused on:  Get to the car.

Once he'd reached the short hallway that led to the sliding glass doors to some semblance of freedom, he really got an idea of how bad things were.  The doors had been completely knocked off of their tracks, and were laying flat on the ground with the glass completely destroyed.  While most well-funded hospitals might use either shatterproof or even Plexiglas in the doors, the small city hospital wasn't quite so wealthy.  It was baffling, really, especially considering that the population around the place had a myriad of health problems even before the shit hit the fan.

He carefully picked his way over where the doors lay, trying to make as little noise as possible.  He could hear the shuffling footsteps of the zombies behind him, and knew that he really didn't have many options for escape should he be discovered.  He took slow, careful steps to minimize the amount of noise that he made, the glass crunching softly under his shoes.  Thankfully, however, there were none of the telltale rising moans behind him that would indicate a monster having spotted him.  As soon as he was clear of the doorway, he quickly ducked to the side, out of the line of sight of the zombies lurking in the emergency room.  His nerves were on fire, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.  Now that he was out, it was a grassy slope down to the employee parking lot, and his car.  With his destination in sight, a flashing red sign clicked on in his mind:  "RUN"

It was a serious risk breaking into an all-out sprint, especially since it was easier to spot someone who was sprinting than walking.  Not only that, but the early morning dew still soaked the grass to the parking lot, and losing his footing might end with a sprained or broken ankle.  Crouched as he was beside a parked ambulance, he had a few moments to weigh his options.  The narrow two-lane road that the ambulances used to get to the garage was a better option in the sense that the footing was safer, but the route to the parking lot was a bit longer.  Besides that, the automated street lights that illuminated the access road were still on-- he would easily be spotted if anything was looking.

Neither option seemed terribly promising.  He drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment, trying to think as quickly as possible.  Taking a glance at the ambulance, he saw the city fire department shield on the side of the box and got an idea.  He quietly began opening the side compartments on the truck, knowing that there were at least a couple tools on each one.  Carefully lifting a large compartment near the bottom of the box, he saw exactly what he needed.  Working the straps loose, he pulled a Halligan bar from its mount, keeping the pick end in his right hand.  It was a crude weapon at best, true, but it would at least provide him with a bit more protection should he need it.  With his defense ready, he broke into a run down the hill, trying to stay to the side of the road so that as little light was on him as possible.

Thankfully, he made it to his car without any issues.  He knew that driving out of the parking lot would most likely be the last thing he'd do, especially with his car recently dropping the muffler on the freeway a few days before.  Even more thankfully, he hadn't had time to change before making his way out of the hospital, so his keys were still in his pocket.  Ducking behind the back of his old Honda Accord, he fished his keys out and hoped that there wouldn't be any horrible surprises waiting for him.

Unfortunately for him, that didn't quite seem to be the case.  The security system on his car had always been a little buggy, and even opening the doors after unlocking them would set it off sometimes.  He'd had estimates on the cost to get that issue fixed, but every time he'd come close to having the money to fix the problem, something came up and he'd have to start saving all over again.  He unlocked the trunk with his key, but the moment that the latch had opened and he lifted the trunk lid, the alarm went off.  The horn itself was nearly deafening in the near-silence of the early morning, and he knew every zombie within a four-block radius would be drawn to the noise.  Luckily for him, he was only after one thing.  He grabbed his black sling backpack from the trunk and took off, keeping on his toes as he sprinted down the sidewalk towards home.  After running for about a block, he realized that he'd left the Halligan behind, but didn't dare risk going back to get it.  He only lived a few blocks away, and there were a few more things that he needed to get.

There were claws tearing into her flesh, picking past the armor of her scales. Gnarled teeth pierced her throat, causing her screaming to turn into gurgling, drowning noises. There seemed to be more and more of them slowly closing in on her, consuming her, and she could feel every tear of her body by their harsh, hungry tugs. Even still, the girl thrashed, unable to give up even as she was facing certain death. 'I don't want to die!' rang out in her head, over and over again, but the voice was not her own.

The groggy female reptile swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up with haste. In terror, she looked around to find herself in her safe house, where she had been since this whole terrible situation had started. Before it had exploded completely actually, but only by a couple of days. She made a small moaning noise out loud, and the sound of displeasure echoed through the big, nearly empty house. She felt a pang in her heart, but quickly pushed it aside; instead filling her head with thoughts of what she needed to do today. 'One day at a time,' Mack reminded herself, 'Just one day at a time.'

She pushed up off of the bed, and smoothed out the clothes she had passed out in. It'd become routine for her to sleep in the clothes she wore throughout the day. The first time she'd not slipped into some sweats to sleep in, she felt odd the next morning, but the sudden realization that if she had to make a quick get-a-way, normal every day clothes would be better settled in, and since then she had very rarely worn anything that she couldn't run or fight in.

Glancing out the window found that nothing in the yard had been upturned, there were no signs of anyone coming near her home, and none of the traps just outside the house had been triggered. She felt as safe as she could since this whole thing started. She crossed the master bedroom to the bathroom, and peeled her clothes off as she went, dropping them in the hamper when she passed it.

She was concerned, at first, that she'd have to go without showers, and other things that required water. But she'd gotten a house with a well, and as long as her plot of land stayed relatively free of zombies, she felt safe using it. She'd picked up some water testing kits, not sure if they would be of benefit or not. But she checked the water from the tap every few days anyway. The balances were always normal. Bottled water for drinking, well water for showers. She was content that this way, she'd at least be able to retain some sense of normality. Useful in keeping herself sane.

After a nice, hot, albeit short, shower, the girl pulled on some fresh clothing. Similar from the day before. A comfortable cotton t-shirt in a deep navy color, and cargo-type pants. She shook her cropped, white hair out, combed her claws through it, and let it hang wet for the air to dry it. She sat at her desk, and read over the journal entry from the night before. Writing was another thing that kept her relatively sane. Especially with no company. This journal was one of the first things she focused on. It calmed her, and if someday the world were to revive from this... Someday it might be of use to those wanting to know what it was like.

She glanced out the window again, then down to the clock. It was only just after ten in the morning. Mack sighed, crossed to one of the bedrooms that she'd converted to a sort of kitchen for the top floor, and got herself a banana for breakfast. It was stupid, she knew, to stock some perishable food, but she was only human, and fruit and vegetables were better fresh. She just had to remind herself to eat that food first. She debated a garden for the vegetables; it'd be nice, and give her something to do with her time once that's all she had left. But she hadn't gotten around to gathering the supplies before things exploded. Maybe in the future, she told herself, when things settled down, and the beasts roaming the streets all have eaten each other.

After swallowing the fruit down with a bottle of water, Mack slid a knife into a strap on her thigh, and slung a long bow over her shoulder. The cross bow was more practical, but the long bow was easier to carry; she didn't feel in any real danger, the crossbow didn't seem needed. She snagged a quiver of arrows and descended the stairs, carefully avoiding the traps she'd placed, and getting out the front door with ease.

The fresh air felt good on the parts of her body that were exposed, and for a moment she left this horrid, terror torn world, and she was back in a time where it was possible to lay out in a field and just feel the breeze on yourself for hours...

The sudden 'SNAP' of a twig brought the dragon's attention back to the present, and her head swung in the direction of the offending noise. At the same time, her hands were springing into action, the longbow was posed, an arrow pulled from the quiver and at the ready just as she turned to aim it at the head of whoever was trespassing on her property.

Her narrowed, harsh eyes locked onto huge, sweet brown eyes of a solid, gunmetal-colored, rather large mutt. His tail wagged slowly, but he stayed unmoving where he was, making a small noise, something of a whimper mixed with a happy bark. Mack groaned, and the tension in her arms dropped. The dog's ears perked up, as well as his lowered head. He had submitted to her instantly, she couldn't just kill the poor thing... But still, another mouth to feed wouldn't help her chances of survival, not to mention having to look after him... Although, if there came a time that she needed to hunt for food...

Mack began to weigh the pros and cons, never taking her eyes off of the dog. After sometime, as her face turned from that of hard determination when she heard the snap, to a thoughtful twist of her features, the dog began to inch his way forward. When he was about three feet away from her, he sat back on his haunches, and stared up into her face, the wagging of his tail picking up speed.

"Fine... fine!" Mack exclaimed with a sigh. Her arms dropped completely, and the long bow was slung back over her shoulder. "Fine. You can stay. Company might not be so bad. But the second you become a hindrance, you're back out, you got that?" The dog yipped slightly; Mack arched an eyebrow in skepticism, then reached down to scratch her claws behind one of his ears.

"What's your name anyway, mutt?" Mack paused for a moment, then laughed quietly to herself for pausing for a reply from the dog. "Alright, I'm gonna call you Alex, sound alright?" The dog yipped again, and pressed his hand against her claws. "Okay Alex, we've got work to do."

Mack set about her daily tasks of checking her various traps, and worked on setting up a few new ones. The dog's... Alex's tracks into her yard were still fresh. She could see that he was smart. He'd maneuvered around three of four of her traps, at least. 'Maybe he will be of use after all,' she thought. They covered his tracks out to the road, where the asphalt covered his foot steps, and covered their own tracks back in a ways until they were past the fence of the property. The dog seemed to want to be of use to her, and for being a primitive animal, he was. For the first time since she'd started training on the bow and arrow, Mack was grateful for the pause she seemed to always take before letting her arrows go.

A gentle orange hand delicately and strategically plucked another bottle of medication from the supply closet shelf. He rolled it in his hand to get a good view of the label. He wasn't sure when he'd get to visit another such well stocked supply and would pay close attention to shelf dates.

Bach's Aria would be playing in his ear from one of the many CDs he'd managed to swipe in his mild looting spree. He knew that with the power out in most places, it would soon be out all over. The outside world would pull the plug and all would go dark. Fortunately, a good battery operated player still had a function in this world. The disc spun without end in his Armani shoulder bag. Keeping him sane with it's tremulous melodies.

Nester would hum the melody to himself while conducting his work in a rather casual manner. The door wasn't locked, but the heavy weight would keep most zombies from entering without a major struggle. He took his time filling his prescription for fatigue depressants, energy pills, mood enhancers, neural and reflex stimulants, pain pills and even a cocktail of drugs that would give him no fear and another which was rumored (before the news went out) to suppress the zombie virus if contracted. He had no proof of such a cure, but took a good supply anyway just in case. Better a possible cure than no cure.

Adjusting the cuffs of his deep blue D&G suit and his Armani tie, he primped his attire before making his exit. Sure, he may have looked a bit sharper than the average survivor, but why die in anything but the finest? Especially when it had been simply just hanging there in the back of the fine clothing boutique, waiting for someone who would never come (coincidentally with his own measurements) to come and claim it. It would have been a crime not to have taken it.

Clearing his throat, the fox planted one Boss shoe against the frame of the door for support and began to pry the heavy door back. His other hand slipping the 9mm Beretta from it's holster. He'd considered his range of weapons earlier that day when he'd found the keys to a certain police evidence locker. A crossbow seemed stealthy, but would take too long to reload. Not practical if there were more than one attacker. An assault rifle would eat up ammo in a blink and create far too much noise and a rifle was no good in close contact. Pistol would be best and a reliable one with easy to find ammo would be better. The silencer he'd found beside it was a bonus.

He couldn't leave with just that though. He didn't know when he'd have another chance to raid another police locker and it appeared someone had been rather naughty. A few grenades, some claymores. All complete with all the works to go with them. He was fortunate he knew a thing or two about them. He'd make a mental note of the location of such a fine collection just in case and lock it up behind him on the way out. Keeping the key in his pocket.

Back in the hospital though, he would peer out the door to make sure the coast was clear before heading out. One last thing he'd need and he knew right where to get it.

As the fox made his way down the garage ramp towards the parking lot, the sound of a car alarm going off would have his ears perk up atop his head. Twitching excitedly to pick up the other sounds around him as he made his way over towards a nearby ambulance.

"Idiot!" he cursed quietly against the side of the ambulance as the alarm screeched through the quiet lot. Sure enough, a small band of zombies were making their way out to explore the sudden signal of life. Hungry and ravenous. Two looked like nurses, the others likely would have been patients.

First, the escape route. There was a fine looking BMW motorcycle laying on it's side just there between the fox and his would be assailants. Key's still in the ignition from the looks of it. Guy probably left it in a hurry to get inside, but never came back to claim it.

Using the engine hood for support, he'd raise his gun with both hands and take his time. Taking a deep breath before popping off four shots in rapid succession. Four zombies crumpling to the ground.

He'd wave the gun about to try and cool it a little before slipping it back into the holster under his jacket while taking a brisk walk over to the bike, nearly tripping over a Halligan bar along the way. "Oh! Here's one. Great!"

He picked up the bar and then the bike. 3/4 tank. He'd take it. A few other zombies were quickly making their way towards him, but he'd pay them no mind. He'd be gone in a moment.

The engine revved up to life and taking the nearby discarded helmet (likely from the same source) he'd ride out of the lot. Tightening the strap of his satchel a bit tighter to keep it from moving too much against his back. Halligan bar resting between the bag and his suit secured within the straps.

The motorcycle would grant him speed and agility to gracefully slip between abandoned vehicles which littered the streets and blocked off many of them entirely. He'd make his way casually enough out of the parking lot, whipping past and around a few members of the shuffling hoard. He thought about clipping a few with the Haligan, but it'd likely throw him off balance and possibly get zombie blood all over him. That wouldn't be good.

On the way out, he sped past the blinking lights of the abandoned car as well as the dozen or so zombies who had already come to examine it for signs of life. There'd no doubt be far more within a minute or so, but he wasn't sticking around to find out just how many. With quick steering, he made his way around them on the side walk and headed on further down the road.

As he drove, his eyes stared 100 yards ahead. His mind was so focused on his driving that it not been for the fact the guy was running, Nester may never had spotted the Doberman on the side of the road or would otherwise have mistaken him for another mindless zombie.

Slowing down a bit, but keeping his distance, Nester pulled up alongside the canine cautiously. He may be a zombie or may be sick, and the fox wasn't interested in making friends with someone who would just as soon infect him as well. At the same time, the fox would keep his head on a swivel, constantly looking out for zombies who may have been tailing the hum of his bike.

The deep red fox twitched his ears as signs of life could be heard off in the distance... or- based on his more recent experiences, they were more likely signs of very recent death.
Nevertheless, he was starving, and the distant scent of hot food was in the direction of the far-off sirens and... engines? He didn't bother dwelling on the sounds, after all, it was probably some rocker going all Wild Zero with a motorbike, or perhaps someone was after the foxes own heart by fighting the ghouls off with a gas-powered chainsaw. Whatever the case, he deemed the sounds entirely unimportant and inconsequential compared to the task at hand: Finding some food.
Jogging onward, he saw through the rapidly clearing morning fog a Seven-Eleven gas station... the scent of food wafting out from the shattered quick-mart windows of the establishment. He tightened the sling on his rifle, and slid the large black yellow and silver claw hammer from the tool loop on his carpenter jeans, and cautiously made his way over the smashed-in doors.
As he carefully navigated the broken glass, he lamented quietly his displeasure at the lack of easily located digigrade shoes. Especially since he, like most with digigrade legs, often went bare-pawed.
One the vulpine had safely traversed the sea of broken glass, he readied the claw hammer and carefully navigated the seemingly deserted shop.
A large red sign hanging by two chains from the ceiling advertised in large, gold lettering "DELICIOUS HOTDOGS! Made FRESH every day!". Eagerly rounding the next corner to where the sign was pointing, he felt a pang of disbelief and quickly regretted not realizing that it was too good to be true.
There was a working, heated hotdog cooker alright, and the succulent scent of the cooking meat hung heavilly in the air, but there was one problem... The decaying, torn-eared jackal with a 28-gauge wound in his back who was greedily chomping down on the very last bit of glistening, steaming, 100% vienna beef.
Now, A thing about foxes and jackals... Throughout history, they never seem to get along. Nobody knows why, but they never quite see eye to eye on things. Naturally, the starving fox fighting his way this far only to find a dead jackal eating all the food was too much for him to handle: and then, for obvious reasons, he snapped.
"Y-You... YOU... YOU GOD DAMN SON OF A BIIIITCH!" He shouted, charging forward in rage as he lifted the hammer- the zombie only now realizing that he was there. "DIIIIEEE!" The fox shouted angrily, bashing the tool hard against the rotting jackals half of a face. He kept shouting angrily, bashing the corpse again and again, the hammer completely obliterating the skull after the first few swings. He beat the bloody pulp into a bloodier, and pulpier bloody pulp, grabbing the bloodstained shirt of the ghoul at the shoulders and smashing the violently decimated body angrily through the empty machine. The machine, and the essentially headless corpse both crashed loudly over the counter, smashing into a horrible mess on the other side.
He stood there a moment, panting heavily until he started to calm down... Once settled, he checked his suddenly shaking paws for any sign of injury. Somehow, he had come out unscathed, his worst shock being the minor blood spatter that had gotten on his right arm and hammer. He grabbed a rag off of a shelf of car-care supplies and wiped himself off, taking the opportunity to also wipe the blood from his hammer, as well as the barrel and scope cover of his pistol from earlier.
Sighing again, a sharp-sudden pain made him double over, clutching his stomach. The scent of the hotdogs still hanging in the air was like an insult now, and he tried to block it out as he pilfered some bags of beef jerky and cheesy snacks from one of the shelves, also snatching up a few packs of triple-A batteries for his puny Mini-Maglite Solitaire flashlight, a tiny first-aid kit meant to fit in a glove box, and a fresh apple from near where the hotdogs were supposed to have been. He ate his food and stowed his other loot in his bag, stashing some extra snacks just in case, and then washed it all down with a bottle of water from one of the wall freezers in the back, and took another two to fill his canteen. Then, almost as an afterthought, he padded over to the counter and peered over. Lying on the floor on the other side was a headless body in a green apron. No doubt the former clerk. Laying on top of him was a damaged looking Mossberg Onyx reserve side-by-side shotgun. Two spent 28-gauge shells were on the floor.
Climbing over the counter, he examined the shotgun. Much to his dismay, it seemed that when it's owner had turned the weapon on himself, the resulting fall had cracked a few pieces of the stock and receiver, as well as dent the choke tubes on the end of the barrels. In short- it wouldn't work.
Leaving the destroyed waterfowl piece, he opened up the register, looking around before taking a few pawfuls of cash, and smiling into the security cameras, his mind flashing back to the bank scene from the '70s film 'Dawn of the Dead'.
Content with his score of loot, he grabbed a cheap beach towel from a nearby rack, and tossed it down over the broken glass in the doorway, and walked out into the now clear, sunny day.

He couldn't tell just how far he'd run, as the only thing on his mind was escape.  He kept to the grass as much as possible, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible.  After running for another block, however, he slowed to a walk, not wanting to spend all of his energy in case he needed to move quickly again.  He tightened the strap on his sling backpack to make sure it stayed tight against his back, and tied a knot near the buckle to make sure it didn't slip if he started running again.  His eyes swept back and forth in front of him as he entered the small neighborhood near the hospital, keeping an eye out for any zombies that might be laying in wait for someone to walk by.

Benjamin would have been more impressed with the total damage of this disaster if the dilapidated state of the salt-box houses in the neighborhood wasn't a constant thing.  Broken, boarded-up windows were common, and rusted-out vehicles sitting in the driveways were even more so.  Luckily, though, the cars parked along the curb provided excellent concealment should he need it.

That point proved useful a few moments later, when he heard an engine approaching from behind.  Since he didn't know if the rider was friendly, combined with the fact that he didn't have anything to defend himself with, he dropped down behind a car and kept as quiet as possible.  The engine, however, did make him nervous, and he contemplated trying to sneak away or at least convincing the dumbass riding it to turn the damn thing off.

He waited for a few moment to see if the driver would simply pass by him or not, spending those few moments looking around for anything that he could use to defend himself if need be.  Finding nothing and hearing that the engine continued to idle, he slowly stood up and glanced around.  "If you're going to sit in the middle of the street, you should at least turn your bike off so it doesn't attract anything."

Noticing the suit, of course, he couldn't help but wonder just what sort of impression this guy was trying to give off.  He'd never been impressed by suits, and that hardly seemed like decent survival wear.  Regardless, the outlandish attire made him rather suspicious, and he'd wished he'd put his KA-BAR knife in his backpack instead of in a box at home with his other weapons.  He didn't have anything to barter with, either-- his lockpick set, first-aid kit, and his Leatherman were all in his backpack.  He didn't even have quick access to the pocketknife either.

Quick, labored breathing came from the hanging open maw of the girl. Her chest rose and fell without relent, as her body grasped for any bits of air it could grab. There was a pain in her side; her lungs were protesting. She was crouched down, hidden behind the corner of a long abandoned house. But the cover wasn't much, and she still had vulnerable sides. She could hear the moans of those stuck in a purgatory of rot and decay as they made their way down the road, chasing her, slow and relenting... Sooner or later, she'd run out of energy, and they would claim her as their meal. Or worse-- one of their own...

Suddenly, the entire scene changed. The same girl was there, but she looked considerably younger. Not much physically, no; but the way she carried herself, she seemed to be lighter. She sat in a modest kitchen at the table, across from a smaller, almost carbon copy of herself. The smaller girl's giggles echoed through the room. The mood was entirely opposite of the scene before, and genuine happiness played on the reptilian's face, coupled with a tender expression that hadn't graced the girl's features in years.

The scene changed abruptly again. This time to a gnarled, bastardization of the two. The setting was a graveyard, presently in the middle of a funeral. But the dragon girl was the only one there. She sat under the tent calmly, staring with a hallow expression at the casket in front of her. The dream glitched. The casket was open, and something was crawling from it, the stench of rotting flesh reaching the girl sitting in front of it before the sight of what the ghastly smell wafted from. It glitched again, and the girl was struggling against the tiny, rotting copy of herself. Tears streamed down her face.

Everything went black.

- - -

Mack's nights replayed the terrible things over and over again. It was fitful, and she woke up every few hours.  There was always some mixture of the same bits. But it continued to surprise her. She'd wake up in the same state every time; gasping for air, cold sweats, and just barely stopping the screams in her throat.

They would continue to get worse every night. But since she'd had company... There was some sense of comfort. When she awoke, she felt the heat of a body next to her. At first, she'd freaked out at the dog, his presence confusing her before she registered who he was. But it wasn't long before she'd drifted into a sense of comfort with the mutt. And having him in her bed next to her was something she expected.

The first night he'd been with her he had placed one of his front paws on the foot of the bed as she climbed in, and looked up to her, meeting her eyes. His head cocked to the side, as if he were testing the waters, asking if the closeness was okay. She reveled in the dog's perception, but she hadn't given him any indication of her preference, just turned away, and settled down into the bed. The dog pushed the limits and hopped up into the bed, curling up there at the foot. Mack's body stiffened slightly, but she eventually relaxed enough to sleep.

That first night with Alex there had been one of the worst of her nightmares. After awaking and barely choking back her screams after a few moments, she lay in the bed sobbing, her body shaking with emotion. At first, the dog seemed to just move over a bit. His body brushed against hers, and he left it there, a bit of contact. She stiffened again, but her emotions were too high to keep her completely closed off.

As if pushing to see how far she'd let him go, the dog began to crawl on his belly up the side of the bed until he was next to her. In the dark, she could see the gleam of his eyes as he looked at her. She would swear that she saw empathy in them, and the smallest bit of a whine escaped his throat. He shuffled forward just a bit more, and pressed his wet nose to her cheek. Her sobs caught in her throat as she looked at the dog questioningly.

Slowly, Mack's hand drifted out with hesitance, and it was the first time in years that she had touched another living creature willingly. She felt a jolt run through herself as unexplained relief washed over her body. Her hand ran down the dog's back slightly, and she felt his tail begin to thump the bed in approval. Mack laid there for quite a while, experimenting with her new broken barrier, and allowing just a bit of affection to break through her wall.

Before she knew it, she was awake the next morning, not phased by a nightmare the rest of the night. They didn't stop, that would be too much to ask. But she certainly got more sleep, as they came less now that she had a warm body next to her, and a small seed of love growing in her heart once more.

Days on Mack's land passed almost the same as the first with Alex now. He helped her much more than she ever could have expected, and she actually felt herself growing grateful that he was there. It turned out he didn't eat too much, and he wasn't greedy with his consumption. He seemed to understand, just like Mack, that small proportion meant longer life expectancy. She slowly began to realize why people said domesticated pets were intelligent, before Alex she never believed it.

In the back of her mind though, despite all of the good that was happening here in their little slice of peace and quiet, Mack knew there was havoc not too far from them. She tried not to think of it too much, and Alex always seemed to know when she was; no matter where she was at, he'd find her and press his nose to her leg, as if reassuring her that she wasn't in this alone. But it was there, not far from them, and it was only a matter of time before something broke through and found them.

Zombies she could handle. She had a means to kill them off, and doubted there would ever be enough to wander this way unwarranted that she couldn't stand her ground.

It was other survivors she worried about.

The fox let the engine idle as she stood there straddling it between his long legs. Unfastening the matte black helmet and then clutching in his hands in front of him. A broad smug grin on his face. It was obvious this canine, despite looking like he'd stand his ground well in an even fight, posed no immediate threat. His gun was ready to go and if he needed, he could always just flee on the bike and leave him to the shuffling horde.

Still, he was rather lonely and there were advantages to making alliances in such a situation.

"Oh, I'm not worried. I won't be staying here long," he replied in a rather matter-of-fact manner.

"I see you've survived this far. So have I," he said with a wave of his hand as if presenting himself. The suit, the bag, the bike. "I'm Nester and I think we can help each other. If you like, you can climb on and we can get to wherever you wanted to go, but a little faster of course. It would certainly beat that car you were planning on taking back there." The last bit of course was just assumption, but a good one. There weren't any other survivors around he could see and zombies certainly would have no desire to open empty cars if they could.

As he stood there rather patient and collected, his ears twitched back and forth searching for movement nearby. Sure enough, a could cans would tumble in the distance. They were getting closer he thought to himself. 2 minutes, top and he'd have to leave this fellow survivor to whatever fate he choose.

(yuki has decided to skip his post for this turn for perfectly legit reasons. We will move on to the next poster, and hopefully pick up yuki again when his turn comes around)

The fog had cleared and the sun was bright as he came out of the kwik-mart. He shielded his eyes a bit as the transition lenses on his glasses polarized. He was, naturally, surprised at how bright the day had gotten while he was inside. Needless to say, he was even more surprised to see the twenty or thirty shambling corpses walking towards him once his glasses darkened.
"Oh shit!" he gasped suddenly, rapidly working the bolt on his rifle. He quickly looked around, finding the biggest gap between the zombies, and then edged slowly towards the widest opening. Shouldering the rifle, he aimed carefully at the nearest fiend, controlling his breathing, his heart slowing with an almost abnormal calmness as he slowly exhaled- breathing out for three seconds as he leveled the duplex-style crosshairs in the center of the nearing ghouls forehead.
Then, as always when a marksman has his shot: time stopped.
Zen, peace. His mind was clear. The moment was almost instant, but yet he drew it on. With a well practiced squeeze, he heard the nearly inaudible click of the two-stage savage accu-trigger releasing its locking safety mechanism... He twitched his finger- it only took about 3 millimeters of movement, a few ounces of force...
There was a pop- no louder than a balloon popping, and a minuscule jolt of pressure against the foxes left shoulder. He smelled the smoke from the 'smokeless' powder, inhaling the sweet, familiar aroma as he lowered the rifle and his mind caught up with the rest of reality. The openings, his escape, survival, and the rest of the living dead limping towards him.
The vulpine took a deep breath, stepped over the crumpled body before him, and flicked back the bolt on his rifle with his thumb- closing it just as easily.
He faced the majority of the creatures, and backed through the opening he had made- the gun on his shoulder as he circled the small horde.
Once he was on the side that led in the direction he had been walking, he quickly slung the gun on his back, and took off running from the ravenous cadavers behind him.
He ran for a few minutes, then slowed to a walk- stretching out slowly, and yawning into the bright, late-morning light as he made his way northward along the cities edge... He looked at the smoking structures in the city. He had no idea what nightmares were ahead of him, but some compelling force seemed to draw him in. He knew the safest choice would be to head up the causeway that left the city to the northeast... But yet he didn't

Ten minutes of walking later, it didn't matter. When the causeway came into view, he saw what happens when thousands of cars try to crowd a bridge built for hundreds...
There, beautifully silhouetted by the morning sun. The fox watched through slowly watering eyes as explosion afer explosion drowned out the distanced screams, before the entire overloaded elevated roadway collapsed into the water below, silencing them all at once.
He turned towards the city... If he wanted to escape, he knew that there was only one way left that wasn't impassible from barriers f flaming cars, and innumerable undead... And he wasn't sure if the mile and a half tunnel under the river was even there. Regardless, he tightened the straps on his backpack, and trudges on towards the looming city. All the while trying to forget the screams of those on that damned bridge...

The only thought running through his head at the moment was how much he'd love to shoot that stranger through the head and shut the bike off for him.  He was sure that the noise of the engine was attracting more zombies as the other guy wanted to sit and have a nice chat, but he planned on staying alive.  "Yeah, well you might not be worried about yourself, but you shouldn't go around fucking other people over by driving that damn thing and stopping every passerby for a morning talk and a cup of coffee out in the open," he stated, not bothering to hide the ice in his words.

He'd personally never been able to get along with foxes, mainly because most of them tended to have a smug attitude about them.  They were remarkably hard to trust, too, with their silver tongues and quick wits.  This one didn't strike him as any different, and the fact that he was riding around on a motorcycle in a full business suit didn't help the image.  The canine smelled trouble, and he wasn't about to have any of it.  "I'm not stupid enough to jump onto a vehicle that's going to make a lot of noise and only announce where we're going to these undead bastards.  If you're smart, you'll kill the engine and leg it like I am."  To add to his point, he waved a paw dismissively.  "If you want to keep that motorcycle, you'd best keep going, and in the opposite direction that I am.  And I wasn't about to break into that car, either."

He was growing more agitated by the moment, as the fox seemed determined to keep his attention longer than he wished to give it.  Standing out in the open with a motorcycle engine buzzing only feet away from him was practically an invitation to anything in the vicinity.

He jumped when he heard the cans tumble over behind one of the houses, and decided that it was time to go.  "If you want to follow me, dump that thing and try to keep up.  If not, good luck dealing with the hordes."  With the pleasantries out, the Doberman took off at a run, headed the same direction as he had been before.  His house was only at the next block over, and he was certain that he could make it there without difficulty if he stayed in the grass, where his footsteps were quiet.  And if that dumbass on the motorcycle didn't try to follow him.  He'd just end up getting the both of them killed.

(For obvious reasons, my RP is progressing more quickly than the three of you, given I don't have to play out any interaction with others just yet. To that end, I'll pass this turn. From my posts, a few days have occurred. From yours, it's been merely hours. If anyone protests to my passing, I'd be happy to post, but I think that's taking away from the flow of the story.)

(Oh crap! I didn't realize it was my post. I will post either today or tomorrow. I mentioned in a previous posting on the announcements that I would be gone for the better part of the summer. I just got back last week. Again, sorry for the delay.)

The fox blinked in surprise. He didn't think he was causing that much trouble. And besides, after all he'd done to show up and give a simple 'Hello' instead of shooting the other canine in the back, this is how he was treated? So much for solidarity at the end of the world he thought to himself.

"Well I wasn't going to ride it forever," he said looking down at the thing. "I was going to find a place to stay, rev the engine, pop the clutch and send it soaring down the road to distract the dead while I walk away in the other direction." Of course he didn't admit he'd only tired that once before and it sent the cycle through a nearby living room instead.

"Alright, fine! I'll loose the bike. It is a nice one. Shame," he said sounding rather discouraged. "I've always wanted one of these." With that, he walked the bike around, held the clutch, gave the engine just enough of an idle and then let go. To his amusement, the bike did indeed do as he directed. The handling of the expensive sports bike was enough to keep it upright for nearly half a mile as it coasted at a good 25 mph down the shallow slope, eventually coming to a rest in someones well trimmed hedges.

When the fox turned around to receive a well deserved apology, since now the zombies must have thought the fox was way down there, he only caught a glimpse of the Doberman leaving him behind.

"H-hey!" he said in a hushed whisper. "Wait for me!" His voice was low and quiet as he started his own quiet run. The soft jet black cashmere of his suit gliding through the grass without making a sound. He'd do his best to catch up to the other canine, trotting along quickly and silently.

(And it's not a 'business' suit. It's a 'fine' suit.