[right][sub][i](Addressing: [@RedXIII] [@Silentfeather] [@DragonofTheWest])[/i][/sub][/right]

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a world of hell like this?"

Christina didn’t even have a chance to react to Jack’s question. Part of her was a bit flattered that he thought her pretty, although he looked a bit like a womanizer, so he probably gave compliments to every skirt-wearing person he came across. What was she doing here? What a silly question. She lived here. And up until a few hours ago, it was a perfectly normal place to live in.

As she dodged to reload her ‘borrowed’ rifle, the mysterious voice resonated through the town. Christina’s fingers trembled, the cartridges made a jingling sound as they escaped her hands and hit the ground which was already filled with empty shells. The Devil? This couldn’t really be the Devil himself, right? But who else could raise the dead from the graves? There was talk of resurrection in the scripture, but surely this was not what God had in mind. What more horrors could possibly be coming? And what the hell did he mean they only had themselves to blame? As far as she knew, Longwater was just like any other town. Some of the folks were goodhearted, some weren’t, but there was no great evil that would require such punishment.

She really needed to regain control of herself, or there was a great risk that the events of the next few days won’t matter to her. The dead were getting closer and closer, the line around the sheriff fell apart as men began to run towards the buildings to get more cover. The mysterious masked man from before headed towards the saloon but got knocked down before he could get to safety. The woman moved in to help him, seemingly faster than the eye could see. Christina thought she was going to help him inside, but for some reason, they stayed on the front porch.

“I’ve seen and read about a lot of sick people, but I don’t remember any mentions of the dead rising from their graves. Sure, sometimes people are mispronounced dead and wake up a few hours later, but that guy,” Christina finally managed to stuff the cartridges into the rifle and raise it to continue shooting, “that guy’s funeral was six months ago.” Her finger gently pulled the trigger, a shot came out… and the bullet flew right past the dead man, into the shop window on the opposite side of the street. Crap. She really needed to focus more, or she’ll end up killing someone who wasn’t dead before.

“What the hell are they still doing out there?” The two people outside were in imminent danger of being overrun by the horde. “Cover me!” she yelled at Jack, dropped the rifle, and rushed towards the door. She might have been a crappy shot, but she was a healer, and the man outside clearly needed some help.

“HEY!” she shouted at the woman. “Are you crazy? Help me get him inside!” She put the masked man’s arm around her shoulder and together they stumbled through the swing doors. “When she gets inside, block the door!” Some of the patrons were covering under the tables, at least this way they could make themselves useful somehow.

Carefully, she lowered the man to the ground and helped him sit against the wall. He looked very weak, but there were no visible injuries. “Sir. SIR!” She didn’t want to yell at him, but the saloon was filled with constant noise from the people firing at the dead. “I’m Christina Emerson, a local healer. Are you injured? Do you feel any pain?”

Lucia, one of the saloon girls, crawled towards them. “Need any help girl?”

“Get him some water. And maybe a bottle of something sharper too.” Men just needed a drink to get back on their feet sometimes. Christina never really understood it until now. Now she needed a drink herself.