[color=9e0b0f][center][h1]Ved[/h1][/center][/color]
[hr]
	He stood slowly, wiping the vomit that was on his lower lip with the back of his hand, then wiping his hand on his pant's leg. He needed to get the fuck out of here, but if their were undead still animated in the house, that would mean it hadn't been raided, and he need all the supplies he could find. Perhaps some food, or water, maybe even a few weapons and ammunition he could use for trade. Reaching down, he ripped the bat out of the walker's skull, then smacked it at an angle against the door frame, knocking the chunks of brain matter from it's place, lodged between the nails.

	Making his way slowly from the room, he looked back down the hallway he had come from, and walked down it at a more regular pace, not certain if the house was clear yet, he kept his bat at the ready, held at an angle in front of him. He approached the closet that was midway down the short hall, and opened it quickly, then stepped back preparing to swing, seeing that it was empty, he pulled the light-switch an looked in. It appeared to be nothing but bathroom supplies, so he grabbed a bottle of Rubbing alchohol that was on the upper shelf, put it in his bag, and moved on.

	Continuing down the hall, he reached the corner in front of the steps, and saw two open doors, one appeared to be empty, a few half-empty boxes laying about, but otherwise not much to see, and moved past it, into the master bedroom. It looked so peaceful, in stark contrast to the gruesome scene in the nursery just a few feet away. Stepping in, he shut the door behind him, and put down his bat, knowing that he was safe, as the room only had one open closet, and a window facing the front yard.

	Looking around the room, he noticed an open book, a journal perhaps, sitting open with a pen holding the page on the nightstand to the right of the bed. Walking over to it, he sat down on the impossibly comfortable bed and picked it up, setting the pen on the nighstand. Looking at the most recent entry, dated 13 days ago, he began to read.

	"[i]My Wife has gotten worse, her screams fill the halls of our house and it won't be long before the police come knocking on our doors, that is, if there are any police left. There has to be, right? Surely the government was prepared for something as terrible as this, the military received billions of dollars a year, someone HAS to be out there, fighting whatever this is. They must be working on a cure for now, and are just trying to avoid needless casualties. Wait, I can hear the baby, I will be right back.[/i] 

A break between line's indicated the man's return

	[i]Finally, it took about three hours but I managed to get him to fall asleep, poor kid is starving and I'm too afraid of whatever my wife has become to go back downstairs. I have her locked in the broom closet, but we can still here her. She gets louder and angrier everytime I go downstairs, In all honesty, and pardon my french, but I'm fucking terrified. I miss her, I forgot how lonely it was to sleep alon-[/i]

	The entry ended suddenly, and presumably from him getting up to check on his wife, perhaps she had fallen silent and he feared for her life? Perhaps he was convinced he heard her voice, who will ever know? But clearly, due to the mess in the other room, he had done something that freed her from the closet.

	Standing up, he moved out of the room, grabbing his bat as he went and walked down the stairs. He needed some fresh air, and a cigarette, so he went outside, and lit one up, the soft sobbing of someone unseen ringing in his ears.

[color=9e0b0f]"Hello?"[/color]

	He called out, looking around to see where the sound was coming from.