I am not too impressed with this chapter, but I wanted to post something before I go back to school.

I'm not going to do Review Replies today because I really don't feel like it. But thank you, NiekaWow, mozzi-girl, The Beautiful Filth and ZeDancingHobbit! I appreciate the reviews. As to everyone else, I really appreciate the continued support. :)

Anyway...I hope you enjoy this short, quickly written chapter. ^^

Thank you again!

Chapter Ten: Strader's Delivery

It all rode by in a blur, but he knew what was going on.

Taken hostage by the gruesome infection, Strader and his wife hid in their home on the outskirts of San Francisco, where an Undead Town had been formed. Undead Towns were small areas occupied by a large group of Infected beings. These beings lived in the shadows, trying to avoid death and keep loved ones safe. Even though the entire population was Infected, they held a certain human like quality; order. It was as if they had created their own form of government. They relied heavily on Hunters, Infected beings with incredibly strength within their legs to hop great distances, and razor sharp fangs and claws to attack prey. Hunters scouted larger cities for any survivors to take down and bring back to the Undead Towns. They also carried news of other cities and individuals of greater importance, such as the Carriers. Hunters were the only semi articulate zombies.

The day everything fell apart, a Hunter was making his rounds, bearing ground-breaking news. His last stop was Strader's home.

Strader and his wife were doing nothing but sharing insightful grunts and struggled laughter. They tried to make their life in the Undead Town as normal as possible, though it was hard when you were constantly starving and unable to share words. They were one of the very few Infected beings who were able to control themselves to a certain point.

The Hunter hopped through the open door of the Strader household. The couple looked up expectantly and the Hunter spoke.

"Cure has been found," he growled. "Carriers approaching cities and Undead Towns in hopes of spreading cure."

Strader growled under his breath and grunted, urging the Hunter to carry on.

"They will shoot. Hide away."

And that was that. The Hunter pounced away, leaving the couple in alarm. They were eager for the cure, but they knew how dangerous the situation was. Though they maintained order in their town, whenever something with a heartbeat entered, they were all reduced to the beasts that they were. Much like a vampire craved blood, zombies craved fresh meat.

"H-h-hide," Strader struggled to say and his wife nodded.

He couldn't recall the next events in full detail, but he knew his home had been invaded when his wife ran away from their special hiding place, screeching and determined to pounce. He roared after her, but she ignored him completely. He heard a gun shot and a soft thud, knowing instantly what had happened. Scared for his life, he kept hidden. His attempts were to no avail, though. Soon after, the survivors, turning out to be the famous Carriers, threw open the door of the closet he had been hiding in and seized him. He thrashed about, but their hold was too strong. They dragged him through his home, and past the body of his wife, sprawled across the ground. One bullet wound pierced her cranium, and he knew she would never be getting back up.

"You'll be okay," a man next to Strader said. He was surprised this odd stranger wasn't terrified of him. "I promise you." Later he would find out that the man was Kai Kalaba.

"Doctor Strader!" a woman within a sea of reporters called, waving her pad and pen in the air. "Doctor Strader, over here!"

Strader shook the haunting memory from his mind and nodded to the young reporter. "Yes, ma'am?" He had called a press conference just outside of the White House a few days after the President had been killed.

"Several of my colleagues and I," she began, "are wondering why you banned the use of guns. We need to defend ourselves, but you refuse to allow us that safety. Why?"

Strader cleared his throat, side-glancing at Jeremy, who stood armed beside him, stone-faced. He returned his full attention towards the reporter. "Violence is not the answer."

The sea of reporters began shouting disagreements. Taking this as a threat to his 'campaign', Strader held his hands up. "Let me ask you all this; how many of you lost family in the first infection due to the misuse of a firearm?"

Several hands shot into the air, and he nodded slowly before raising his own hand. "I too, have lost someone I loved. I wish to prevent further loss, which is why I have brought my company, VOPA, into this. They will be responsible for controlling the outbreak and taking those who have become infected into captivity so the cure can be administered into their bodies. This is why I ask each and every one of you who are standing before me or tuning in on this conference to report any sign of infection you or a loved one may be experiencing."

Reporters scribbled down his answer and resumed to shout questions. Strader eyed the audience before picking out a young male, waving his hand.

"You, sir in the back," Strader called and the man responded,

"Have the Carriers been notified of this impending disaster, and/or are they finding a way to combat it?"

Strader clenched his fist and shook his head. "Unfortunately, our contact with the Carriers has been…obliterated. We have sent search teams to their homes, but they are not present. We do not know if they have a plan to further advance the current cure."

"So," the man continued, "who is going to save us?"

"VOPA, of course," he grumbled and raised his hands. "That is all the questions I am taking. God bless America."

He turned his back on the roaring group of reporters and made his way towards his car, Jeremy following behind.

"You said," Jeremy began, but Strader cut him off.

"I know what I said," he barked. "And every time you bring it up, I consider giving her just an extra dose."

"But you promised that you'd save her!" Jeremy shouted. The group of reporters turned to face the two, and Strader gripped Jeremy's jacket, dragging him further and further away from the rising suspicion.

He threw the sniper into their car and crawled in. "I know what I promised," Strader growled. "And I know how much this girl means to you. However, it's obviously distracting you from what you have been commanded to do. I have told you over and over that she'll be fine…As long as you don't pester me about her."

"I expect you to keep your end of the deal," Jeremy growled, his voice barely audible. Strader clenched his fist and pulled out a walkie-talkie. Jeremy immediately regretted saying what he had said.

"Give Blaise another dose," he muttered and Jeremy tried to snatch the device away, but Strader blocked the advance. "Make that two. Also, prepare my jet. I need to drop off a package at VOPA HQ." He side-glanced at Jeremy. "I expect a new sniper by dawn." Jeremy's eyes widened.

"Yes, Sir," a man on the other line replied. Strader pocketed the walkie-talkie and stared ahead.

"Those doses are going to kill her," Jeremy hissed. "You promised…"

"And you promised to help me," Strader retorted calmly. "I only fulfill my end of the deal if the other end has been received."

Jeremy was silent, before shaking his head and muttering, "What's going to happen to me?"

"Oh that's simple," Strader stated. "You're going to go where all the other traitors go…"

"And where's that?"

"The VOPA HQ on the outskirts of Los Angeles."

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that where…"

Strader nodded. "I'm sure you'll make friends very quickly."