[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/mydSCaW.png[/img][/center][hr][hr] [i]L'Effet Cumule'. Reflechissez Et Devenez Riche. L'Amour.[/i] Leeroy had thumbed through the books on the ground. He didn't understand a lick of French. It was a fruitless effort to find something useful for him. Nonetheless, he still searched through the books for something useful. Anything that could teach him something would be useful - survival handbooks, the anarchist cookbook, even a nudie mag would suffice. His search for anything useful came up with nothing. He couldn't even tell what anything was with all of the French titles. Earlier, Leeroy had been dismantling shelving and reinforcing the windows. He had been doing a good job of it. But besides that, Leeroy had been doing nothing. Searching for anything useful in a bookstore was difficult. Tinder was everywhere, but flammable objects weren't in short supply. Without much to do, Leeroy had decided to try to rest up. Picking a nice spot in the corner of a booth, Leeroy sat and tried his best to catch any bit of sleep he could. His dream was frightening. This time, he was a shambling corpse. No control of his own body, but fully lucid. Simply trawling through the streets, moving with the legions of walkers. It felt like an eternity to be trapped inside of that prison he called his body. Thankfully, his sleep had been broken with a crash of a door and plenty of screaming. [color=red][b]"...the fuck...Enrique?!"[/b][/color] [color=magenta][b]"Gott...Wir...tot!"[/b][/color] [color=yellow][b]"Quit...got company!"[/b][/color] The yells of the others had been obfuscated in the confusion of Leeroy waking up. Another slam. Groans. This was serious. Leeroy's stupor was instantly cured. Moving quickly, he grabbed all of his things. He slung his bag over his back and kept the two make-shift knives tied with rope on his thighs. He left the booth, grabbing his glorified stick and went to assess the situation. The glass began to shatter. Leeroy had faith in the barricades, though he didn't trust the nails to be a permanent solution. [color=FF9145][b]"The fenced off alleyway next to the building. We can use that to escape,"[/b][/color] a calm but accented voice said. [color=00aeef][b]"We aren't leaving Enrique!"[/b][/color] A voice had screamed, replacing the first. [color=FF9145][b]"Let me finish. A gate connects it to the street. We can use it to maneuver around the walkers before they attract more. Do we have a plan or not?"[/b][/color] the first voice finished. Leeroy ran to the front of the store only to see Enrique on the ground with the scavenging party around him. With no more than a cursory glance, he could tell that Enrique was, for lack of a better term, fucked. Michie had been holding the door shut as legions of walkers tried to break through. [color=#7893bf][b]"Enrique's fucking dead. He's been bitten!"[/b][/color] Leeroy sternly stated to Michie, [color=#7893bf][b]"whoever tries to carry him is going to die when they finally bust through."[/b][/color] His words were harsh, but Leeroy didn't want to die. If need be, he would shove a knife directly into Enrique's soon-to-be-turned skull. Trying to carry out Enrique, who was little more than a ticking time bomb, was an extreme risk. One that he wasn't willing to take.