[u]Desmond Williams[/u]

Finally at ease after the surprise close-quarters fight, Desmond holstered his pistol and breathed an easy sigh of relief. However, mid-way through, he began to tune into the formerly inaudible conversation one story above. Switching his gaze back and forth between the staircase up and his partner, he listened as a female voice confronted one of the others in the room:
[i]Who the fuck are you?[/i]
Just like that, Desmond's period of relief was over. Hostility was a tricky thing now. Zombies, you could always count on them to rip your neck out at any opportunity. It made them predictable, easy even, in small numbers. But people? People were hard.. Any survivor with an attitude could be cautious or a killer. Hell, even the nice ones were out for blood sometimes. Desmond knew that, and it's why he stayed away. Until he found the lady in the thick jacket and impenetrable sunglasses, that is. Still, he felt lucky today. Like maybe, these ones would be different. And if not, he knew where his gun was.
"Let's check it out," he gave a sideways nod in the direction of the staircase, and then led the way.

The scene upstairs was about as bloody as the ground floor. Desmond felt as if he was walking into a warzone; doubly so at the sound of more argument and debate within one of the first rooms on their right. Moving cautiously, and with the feeling of going into something potentially lethal utterly blind, he made a few steps toward the open door until the occupants could be seen clearly. He kept his hands well away from his pistol, palms open.
"It sounds like we're all strangers to each other," he offered to the group, looking around, from face to face. There was a younger guy in a hat with a gun, along with another man -- bigger, and rather intimidating, with a face that seemed just a bit too familiar. Closer to the door, he saw a beautiful girl with blonde hair under a baseball cap standing alongside a young boy; the kid couldn't have been older than thirteen or so, and Desmond couldn't tell if he was more unsettled by the fact that he looked a bit sick, with a bit of a yellow hue to the face, or by the piercing intelligence in his eyes. Finally, there was a brunette woman in jeans and a tank top, with a look that held a thousand words and shared none. Desmond guessed that she might have been the one yelling earlier, but he couldn't be sure.
"Look, I'm not saying we should all get in a circle and start singing kumbaya, because that'd probably only end with drawn weapons, more yelling, and more walkers. Now I don't know about you, but I think that whole fight probably would have been a tad easier if all of us had been working together. I mean, I know we're strangers, but hell: her and I just met a few minutes ago ourselves," He added, gesturing toward his new partner.
"If that many zombies got in so soon after the gunshots, who knows how many are on their way now. Let's at least work together to get somewhere safe. Then, we can go our own ways, or whatever. But we all have guns, and seven pairs of eyes are better than one."

[u]Douglas Knowles[/u]

It took about twenty minutes, but the radio finally began to show the first real signs of success. Doug peered out the window, and saw three tired-looking survivors standing outside. One was holding his "flag", just as he had said. Omar came to the window beside Doug.
"The one with the flag must be Chase," he noted, remembering the guy's instructions over the radio.
"And the other one, the soldier," Doug replied. "That could be that John fellow. Looks like they all made it here okay."
For a moment, the office was silent. The four were both excited and terrified; the newcomers could be just folks looking for a safe place, or they could be killers. There was just no way to tell, other than to take the chance on them and open their doors.
"Ron, would you mind getting on the roof with your rifle and checking around for stray walkers? It'd be good to have you up there watching our backs and theirs while we go out and speak to them," Doug asked his partner, and the other man nodded, though Doug had a suspicion that he would be making sure of a different thing entirely.
"Yeah, I'll make sure nobody catches us by surprise down there," he said, and left for the roof. Doug turned to Omar.
"Let's go meet the new neighbors."

The pair walked outside, and could feel the warmth of late summer even in the shadow of the office building. The two approached the newcomers unarmed; Doug had his pistol holstered on his belt alongside his other utilities, of course, but kept his hands well away from the gun. Omar matched his step with the officer's, studying the faces of the guys and girl ahead of them. They stopped about fifteen feet away. Up above, Ron had made it to the roof and began scanning around the street with his rifle.
"Welcome," Doug said to the trio with a genuine smile on his face. "Don't worry about my partner up on the roof, he's making sure no walkers get the drop on us while we're out here and exposed." He adjusted his shirt collar, and looked each of the strangers in the eye before continuing.
"Thanks for making the journey, I know it was probably pretty tough. Not everywhere is as safe as our little safe haven, I understand. I'm Douglas Knowles, Wilmington PD and the guy you've been speaking with on the radio. This here's Omar Tulley."
"Pleasure," Omar offered, but felt no need to say any more. He didn't know them, not yet, and was still not sure as to how he should feel about them.
"Why don't we go inside and continue this conversation?" Doug motioned back toward the office, away from the danger of the open street.