[b][u]PO1 Ethan Ryder[/u][/b]

[b]“What the fuck is going on?”[/b] Ethan asked grimly, stroking his medium length blonde beard, and staring into the eyes of his fellow brother, his comrade in arms, Miles Ward. The tall, beefy man shrugged, emerald eyes glinting with excitement. [b][i] “Hell if I know, Ethan, but I’ll tell you this--it’s fuckin bad if our asses our bein’ called! I’m pretty fuckin’ excited!”[/i][/b] He clapped a giant hand over his friends shoulder grinning. There was a large group of men, over 100 total, all lined up at attention, all dressed in combat fatigues. Some wore Army patches, still others were Marines. And then there were about 25 of them off to the side; Navy SEALs. The best of the best, elite of the elite. A small smile crossed Ethan’s lips, and he shook his head. He was about to say something to Miles when, a short man decked out in full General’s uniform. Shaved head, Berrete pulled low, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and mirrored shades hiding his eyes; this 3 star General looked [i]mean![/i]

[i][b] “Alright, listen here you sorry sons of bitches! You’re about to get the fuckin’ briefing of a goddamn lifetime. The Rose Plague as the civilian’s call it, Codenamed Rose Red to us, has gotten severely fucking out of hand. We’re shipping your asses out towards the Texan border, where one of our FEMA camps are set up, and you’re gonna help protect the place. SHIT has descended upon you, do you hear me? Deep shit, that’s why this is a joint Army/Navy/Marine operation. You fucking listen to the big guys in charge, do you goddamn understand?”[/b][/i] Everyone all at once shouted “Yes SIR” and hands raised to salute the man before them. He nodded giving the men an icy glare.

[i][b] “Some of you will not make it home to your families. Some of you are going to fucking die out there. But ALL of you WILL serve your country and protect the United States of America from this goddamn plague, and you WILL succeed in kicking it’s sorry fucking ass and showing what happens when you fuck with the United States Military! Now get your scrawny asses on that C130 and MOVE OUT!!![/b][/i] Miles and Ethan exchanged glances, but dutifully headed towards the nearest cargo jet--Ethan with a frown on his face, while Miles was smiling ear to ear. When they were in side and belted in, they found themselves facing a line of similar faces. Some were ashen and terrified, others were looking like it was christmas. 

[b] “The fuck you so happy for?”[/b] Ethan finally asked, getting annoyed by his friends excitement. Miles shrugged. [i][b] “Come on, Ryder--we’re about to see some action! Don’t you want to get down there, kill a few of those stupid-ass infected, and save our country?”[/b][/i] Sighing, Ethan just leaned his head back as the plane began to thunder down the runway, slowly lifting into the air. It would be a 3 hour flight to the Texan border, where the Fema Camp was stationed. Time enough for a good nap, Ethan figured. 

His eyes popped open when the C130 touched down. And there they were, in Fema Camp 541. Sniper Rifle slung over his shoulder and pistol holstered at his hip, Ethan was one of the first off the damn plane, with Miles right by his side. As soon as he stepped on pavement, he stared, wide eyed. [b] “Oh fuck--GET BACK IN THE GODDAMN PLANE!”[/b] He screamed, motioning for the others to back in right now. 

It was like a legion. He didn’t know what the hell happened, but there were hundreds upon hundreds of...things. Men and women, even children, covered in the trademark red oozing boils for which the plague was named. And they’d all turned. Had been turned for at least a few days, from the looks (and smell) of it. He tried to remember at their pre-briefing meeting what they’d been told...they received an SoS from Fema Camp 541 5 days ago, then all communications were lost. They’d said they needed help, and needed it NOW. They’d been sent reinforcements before, but shit was bad. So, the military was sending a massive joint operation, several Cargo Planes full of troops from the Army and Marines, as well as a small detachment of Navy SEALs for good measure. But it seemed they were too late. 

Ethan could make out the fatigues on some of the shufflers, former brothers turned...something. Others were clearly civilians who’d been brought in for treatment. And every last one of them was now looking at the noisy Cargo planes that had just landed. All 92 soldiers that had been in the plane were gaping at the scene before them. Tents in flames, curls of smoke rising into the air, trash and debris strewn about, human body parts littering the fields, blood smeared everywhere. It was a mess to be sure. Everyone made to get back into the planes, but the infected began to run towards them. They ran, and they were coming much too fast. Fast beyond belief. [i][b] “Jesus CHRIST, look at them move!!! We ain’t got time to load up, OPEN FIRE!!![/b][/i] Miles yelled out. Chaos ensued. It was a merciless dance of erupting gunfire, screams ringing through the night, limbs flying, flesh being torn asunder as the infected quickly reached the platoon of soldiers. Soon the other planes landed, hundreds of soldiers taking position, caught off guard by the carnage that was unfolding before their eyes. And Ethan saw it all in slow motion. His pistol was in one hand, survival knife in the other. He hardly even heard the sound of his own Socom over the death surrounding him. Brains splattered across pavement. Bodies fell to the ground. Soldiers went down beneath a sea of infected, agonizing cries of help suddenly cut off and ending in bloodcurdling screams. Surrounded. Completely surrounded, no way to get back into the plane, no pilots left alive because oh god, now the infected were [i]in[/i] the fucking thing. He spun around, not sure what to do for the first time in his career, and found himself staring right in the eyes of a man in Army dress, a Master Sergeant according to the stripes on his uniform. He raised his pistol to fire, but the creature--yes creature, for surely there was nothing human left, just a shell of what once was--leapt upon him, dragging him to the ground. He could see the puss-filled boils upon the face, smell the stench of rotting flesh--and then it’s head exploded. Blinking, wiping the gore from his face, he felt someone grasp his shoulder, pulling him away. [i][b] “You ain’t dyin’ on me yet, Ethan!!”[/b][/i] Miles yelled, yanking him away from the death-trap that the cargo plane had become. 

It had only been about 10 minutes, but it seemed like 10 years. Almost every one of the soldiers were dead. A few gunshots could still be heard as assault rifles and pistols sounded. Ethan was still clutching his Socom in his right hand, survival knife in his left, ready to slash and shoot anything that moved. And, judging from the blood staining the blade of his knife, he already had. Funny, he couldn’t quite remember pulling the trigger, stabbing and slashing, he’d just done it automatically, in the heat of the moment, all else fading to instinct. 

They were running now, the final sounds of gunfire dying down to a dismal silence. [b] “We gotta get the fuck out of here, Miles!”[/b] Ethan cried, gazing at the walkers that were now beginning to notice there were still two left alive. [i][b] “No goddamn shit![/b][/i] his friend remarked. They managed to make it towards the gates of the Fema Camp, and Miles shoved them open. Ethan moved quickly, dashing through pistol at the ready. [b] “Clear!!”[/b] he shouted to his friend. And then he heard the sound of the M4 his brother in arms was carrying. He spun around in time to see the startled look on Miles’ face as an infected crashed into his side, sending the assault rifle scittering across the ground. [b] “MILES!!!”[/b] Ethan screamed, raising his pistol. But it was too late. The undead sank it’s teeth into his best friends neck, severing the jugular. He could hear the gasping of breath, the struggle to breath, the gurgling as he choked on his own blood. Ethan didn’t think twice about it. He pulled the gates to Fema Camp 541 shut, and made a mad dash for the freeway. The infected gave pursuit, of course--but the gates allowed him to make it to the abandoned cars that lined the streets. They were still in working condition and it didn’t take him long to find one. Ethan didn’t know where he was going, he just had to get away. So he headed south in the Kia Spectra he’d found, keys still in the ignition. [b] “Fuck!!”[/b] Ethan screamed, slamming his fist onto the dashboard, cracking it in one swift blow. [b] “Damn it...Miles...goddamn….”[/b] his voice trailed off, and sobs took over, a trail of tears falling from his eyes. 

****************

The car ran out of gas just in front of a sign that read “Welcome to Gainesville.” Scowling and still distraught, Ethan left the vehicle behind, bringing along his pack, his sniper rifle, and his pistol. It was night. Dark, with stars glittering overhead. He tread uneasily through the streets, thick combat boots making a surprisingly small amount of noise. His pistol was drawn, and he gazed warily into the desolate streets, passing stop-signs and intersections, shocked at the detritus that was strewn every which way. It looked like someone had unleashed the gates of hell itself! Somewhere in the distance he heard barking, and something--either a dog or a wolf--let out a mournful howl into the nearly full moon. Ethan crept forward, kept moving. He needed shelter, he needed to think, he needed SLEEP. He saw a library not terribly far away, but the windows were busted out, and the door kicked in. Wouldn’t make much of a shelter, there was no way he could secure it. Not in his time frame, anyway, it would take hours. But, not to far away, Ethan saw an apartment. It looked abandoned, as far as he could tell. No lights were on or anything. He made his way to the door, and made to push it open when he noticed the door jam was broken. Carefully holding his pistol in hand, he tried to push the door in, but something was blocking it. Well, Shufflers didn’t block doorways, even if they did break them down. He figured someone was in there. Slamming his fist into the door, he called in his deep voice to anyone that might be inside, [b] “HEY! Hey anyone in there? I’m Petty Officer Ethan Ryder, United States Navy--I need some help. Please! If anyone’s in there, open this goddamn door before one of these fucking shufflers rip my damn head off!!”[/b]

---

[b][u]Elendria Price[/u][/b]

Elle was gazing at her mother’s tear-stained eyes as she gazed at the TV in disbelief. [b] “Mom, what’s wrong?”[/b] Elendria asked, walking over to her and giving the 45 year old woman a kiss on the cheek. Her mother gazed over at her, and shook her head softly. [b][i]”It’s nothing dear, just...something on the TV,”[i][/b] her mother answered in a low, hoarse voice, flipping the television off. But Elle wasn’t stupid. It was more about the Rose Plague. Maybe she was only 15, but she knew that things weren’t looking bad. She let out a soft sigh and shook her head. [b] “Mom, I’m not a little kid, you don’t need to hide things from me. It’s bad, isn’t it?”[/b] Her mother stared at her then, and for a long moment neither mother nor daughter said a word to each other. Then, the woman slowly stepped forward, and wrapped Elendria up in her arms, holding her tight. [b][i] “I love you so much. No matter what happens, I want you to know that, okay?”[i][/b] Elle nodded, tears stinging her eyes. It scared her, to hear her mom stalking like that. Scared her to death, more than the reports on TV about something happening to the infected, and about staying home if at all possible. Even the dreaded word “quarantine” hadn’t scared her as much as this moment with her mom.

[b][i] “I’m going upstairs to take a nap, hun,”[i][/b] Sarah Price said to her beautiful daughter. [b][i]”You wait for your dad now, kay?”[i][/b] Choked up and barely containing her worry, Elendria nodded. Sarah went upstairs, gently shut the door behind her, and stared into the mirror at her thinly lined face, pale blond hair and bright blue eyes. She pulled back the sleeve of her shirt, gazing at her arm and the tiny little red bump that had just started to protrude through the skin. A tear slid down Sarah’s cheek, and she looked back into the mirror, into her own eyes. She found a piece of scrap paper on her nightstand, and with it a pen. [i]I love you all. Please forgive me. I didn’t want to be one of them, to give you the burden of doing to me what I’m about to do to myself. You were the best daughter a mother could ask for Elendria. And Michael, if you see this...take care of her, of our daughter. She’ll need you more than ever. I love you.[/i] 

With her note finished, Sarah sat down on the bed, reached beneath a fluffy white pillow, and pulled out a long, serrated kitchen knife. Sliding the knife across her wrist, she had to stifle a cry of pain as it cut deep, severing the artery, and rendering her left hand useless. Still she forced it to cut deeper, blood seeping from the wound and staining the white linens a gruesome crimson. It was done. The deed was done. Sarah already felt her head begin to spin, and she layed herself down, resting her head upon the pillow. Her last thoughts were of her daughters stunning face, a face that looked just like hers...and that of Michael, the man who’d loved her when nobody else would. All faded to black.

Elendria was sitting on the couch, listening to her Ipod, wondering how long her mother was going to sleep when there was a banging on the door. She frowned, looking at the clock. 3 hours already? It was now half past six, and her mom was still upstairs. And someone was banging on the door. Sighing, she stood to her feet and moved to the front door, pulling it open. And a bright smile crossed her lips as she saw who it was. [b] “DADDY!!”[/b] Elendria cried out, throwing her arms around him. To her surprise, he shoved her back--hard! So hard, in fact, that she fell on her ass to the floor. She blinked, taken aback and tears stinging her eyes from hurt feelings. That is, until she got a good look at his face. A face covered in red boils, eyes wide and swear pouring down his forehead. [b] “Oh my God! Oh my God, Dad!!”[/b] she cried out, leaping to her feet. He let out a low groan, took two steps forward, and then his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor. [b] “Dad!!!”[/b] the teenage girl screamed, kneeling down and resting his head in her lap. He gazed down at those eyes, and knew. He’d stopped breathing, and his eyes were still, staring up blankly. A lump formed in her throat but she still held hope that everything was going to be alright. She ran to the phone, picked up the receiver and dialed 9-1-1. It was busy. [b] “Come on, what the hell!!!”[/b] she cried frantically, trying again but to no avail. She dashed back into the living room and ran upstairs straight to her mothers room, banging on the door and calling her name. When no answer came, tears began to run down her cheek. [b] “Please, God...no…”[/b] she murmured under her breath. She twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door, only to be greeted by the smell of blood. And she saw her mother, lying on the bed surrounded in a pool of her own blood, arm hanging limply off the bed. She felt dizzy. Elendria took a tentative step forward. [b] “Mom…”[/b] she whispered, as though she were only asleep. She stood over her body now, and she leaned down gripping her in a tight embrace, not caring that blood now stained her dark sweater. Tears trickled down, and she kissed her mother's forehead. And then something grabbed her from behind, throwing her to the ground. She rolled over on her back, to see her…[b] “Dad??? Dad, what the he--”[/b] she was cut off as he lifted her off the ground, slamming her into the nightstand. The side of her head was smashed against the mirror, and she felt sharp glass dig into her flesh. Letting out a sharp cry of pain, she reached blindly, struggling to find the drawer. She somehow managed to open it as her own father’s hands latched around her neck and began to lift her again. Just as her dad flung her once more, she’d managed to grab his Glock--but didn’t get a chance to fire. She *did* manage to hold onto the gun, however, as she flew through the air. She slammed face-first into the dresser, several books clattering to the floor. She could feel the gash on her cheek and the hot blood mixing with tears. Gasping for breath, the wind knocked out of her, she rolled over, back against the dresser and squeezed the trigger. She fired every last round in the magazine, not even sure if anything hit. It was several minutes when she caught her breath that she knew she must’ve managed, or she’d be dead by now.

Blinking, and trying to clear her head, she stood to her feet, wincing in pain. Her leg tingled and hurt from the knee down with every bit of weight she put on it. Limping, she made her way towards her dads fallen body, several gunshots in his chest and two right in the face, blowing his head from his shoulders. She tried not to throw up...but failed. Lurching, she rested her forehead against the bed and vomited the entire lunch she’d eaten that afternoon. Then she ran to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and leaned against the door, tears falling from her eyes. Sliding down the door, she drew her chest up to her knees, buried her face in her hands and began to weep. Her body wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking, she cried and cried and cried, an endless flood of tears and no way to stop them.