Marshall decided to stop for the night, camping out in an abandoned Greyhound bus. Perimeter was clear, and he kept his noise level low. He pulled out one of his MRE's, pouring what little water he had left into it to heat it up. He pulled out his map, checking his position while munching on his cracker. Almost there, right on the outskirts of the city. Tomorrow, a much more dangerous trek into the urban area, probably riddled with God knew what.
He leaned back in one of the seats, looking at the night sky. Stars peeked through the wispy and dispersed clouds, a full moon shining bright and bathing the road in a soft glow. Absolutely beautiful. That was all Marshall could think. Even with the ravaging of the world, beauty could still spring from the ashes.
Checking his main meal and figuring it was done, Marshall continued to observe the environment as he ate. Staring at the wreckage and general clusterfuck of cars in front of the bus, he saw birds of all kinds crawling through the broken windows, picking at whatever they could find. Dead infected, deceased people (though the difference was hardly recognizable) and whatever other corpse laid on the ground.
Marshall packed up his leftovers, deciding to try to conserve as much food as he could. It would probably be awhile before he could restock on supplies. Checking his guns, Marshall settled in for the night. Luckily, between him and Chase, Marshall was a lighter sleeper. If anything tried to sneak up on him, it'd be very likely he would hear them coming before they got close.
Still looking out at the moon light sky, Marshall slowly drifted asleep.
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"Marshall, come on!" Everest was practically radiating excitement as she dragged Marshall through the trees on Jake's Mountain. Marshall couldn't help but smile widely. His other friends have been thrill seekers, but none of them had the energy that the white haired girl in front of him had.
The sky above was overcast, heavy looking gray clouds covering the blue sky. The weather forecast said a heavy storm with the possibility of minor flooding. Nothing too out of the ordinary with Adventure Bay, but unfortunately it had ruined Marshall's plan.
The pair arrived at Jake's cabin, who at the moment was away at a snowboarding convention in Alaska. Everest quickly opened the cabin door, still dragging Marshall behind her. Shutting it behind him, Marshall chuckled at his friend, and was greeted by his dalmatian, whose tail was going at about a million miles an hour. Marshall reached down to pet him, while Everest had made her way into the kitchen, rubbed her dog's head, and immediately began cooking.
"Everest." Marshall couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice as he walked over to the small cooking area. "I thought we agreed that I'd cook tonight."
Everest laughed. "Yes we did. But…' she shrugged, 'plans change."
"Sure, but still."
Everest couldn't help but laugh at her friend. "Jeez Marshall, you act like a housewife sometimes." Marshall looked offended, but Everest continued. "Just sit down and be patient. I'm making dinner, and that's that." She poked him with a spatula. "Got it?' she asked teasingly.
Marshall threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Yes ma'am." They both chuckled. Marshall made his way to the couch to almost immediately get tackled by both his dalmatian and Everest's husky.
An hour went by. Marshall had no idea what Everest was cooking, but it smelled good. She walked out right about that time, carrying two plates with steaks on them.
"Really? You force me to sit down while you cook my steaks, for me, that I planned to cook for us?"
Everest laughed again. "Well Marshall, you can never seem to get the steaks just right. Usually, they're always slightly overcooked."
"Okay, now I'm actually offended. I cook steaks just fine. At least I don't do what Chase did that one time."
"Just burned them? Yeah, thank God for that."
They ate, talking about some of the most random things they could think of while their dogs laid by the fire that Marshall had got going earlier.
After that was all cleaned up, the couple simply cuddled on the couch, enjoying the other's company before both drifting off to sleep in each other's arms.
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Marshall slowly regained consciousness and his eyes opened.
A stagger that had definitely NOT been there the night before loomed over him. At least, he assumed it was a stagger. They weren't too smart and evidently didn't have the greatest of noses.
Marshall, in a panicked frenzy, swifty brought his leg up and kicked the body in the face. Not an easy feat, but there was enough leg room. It pathetically slumped over the seat in front of Marshall, as the medic quickly rolled into the aisle of the bus.
He then found the situation was much worse than first thought.
Somehow, without waking him up, an entire horde, though a small one at that, had decided to camp out in the same Greyhound as Marshall. Sweat started to drip from his face, every neuron in Marshall's brain firing all at once.
Most infected, with certain exceptions, tended to hibernate at day, apparently not liking the sun for some reason. And those that didn't stay with a horde, especially staggers, were a lot slower in daylight than they were at night. No-one was quite sure why this was, but Marshall suspected the heat exhausted them like normal humans.
As Marshall was slowly trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to get out of this situation without dying a horrible death and in turn fail to find Everest, he just so happened to glance out the window to see a group of people, no more than three, standing on a deserted van no more than a hundred feet in front of him, and looked to be observing him and the soon to be shitshow that was his situation.
Quickly as Marshall had seen them, they hopped off the van and disappeared. "Great. There goes any chance of survival if I wake them up."
Next thing Marshall knew, several sources of noise erupted from in front of the bus. The horde quickly woke up.
"SHIT SHIT SHIT!" Marshall realized how utterly FUBAR his situation now was.
One of the infected screamed in rage, and soon the entirety of the horde was streaming out of the windows. Marshall quickly lied flat on the floor, hoping to God that the horde didn't notice him. Luckily, they all seemed to be much more interested in the cacophony outside.
Two seconds later, gunfire erupted. The sound of a shotgun blasting rounds, a full auto rifle, and what sounded like a machine gun filled the air. Rage filled screams came from the infected as their numbers were swifty cut down, followed by someone yelling "Take that you bloody bastards!"
Marshall felt his breath quicken in panic, feeling the bullets wizz over his head as the group kept firing. After about two minutes of gunfire, they stopped firing. He heard them walking around the outside of the bus, firing every so often and killing whatever infected managed to somehow survive the onslaught on bullets.
One of them stepped onto the Greyhound, slowly climbing the stairs, scanning the bus. Marshall saw the tan combat boots of the man. Marshall looked up to a young teen, no more than fifteen, wielding a Benelli M4 shotgun. "Dad, I found him!"
"Oh bloody hell!" Another man stepped onto the bus, carrying an Ak-47 and a Desert Eagle in a leg holster. "Christ, guess you have." He had an authentic sounding Scottish accent, and a thick one at that.
"What do we do with him?" The teen didn't have the same accent as who Marshall assumed was his father, and he seemed more anxious than anything else, his grip on his shotgun shaky. The older man smacked the back of the teen's head. "What do ya think? Christ, I've had privates smarter than you! And stop shaking like it's the first time you killed something." He pushed his son out of the way and walked over to Marshall, offering his hand.
Marshall took it, though still suspicious about the group of what appeared to be good intentioned survivors. The man chuckled a bit. "Apologies for my son. He's a bit slow when it comes to things like this, not familiar with what to do with other survivors.."
Marshall didn't respond. The man shrugged. "Alright then, we've a quiet one. Perfect." He turned back to his son. "Oi, go tell Ramirez to start up the truck. We'll be there in a second." The boy nodded and ran out of the bus.
Marshall finally spoke. "Seems like a good kid."
The man chuckled again. "Aye, he's a good one. Good intentioned, but he's a bit blinded by emotions sometimes. Gets in his way." He offered up his hand again. "Name's Blackwood. Scott Blackwood."
Marshall returned the gesture, though warily. "Marshall Fitzgerald. You military?"
Scott gestured for Marshall to follow him, talking as they walked. "Aye, served in the Rangers. Ten years since I was eighteen."
Marshall nodded, impressed though skeptical. "Impressive. Only eighteen?"
"Aye. Took a lot of work, got a lot of scars, almost died once, but I made it through. Rangers don't bloody fuck around, I'll tell you that. Most of my family and most of the trainees doubted me." He sighed sadly. "How about you? Got a family? Group of survivors?"
Marshall decided that the man seemed to have good intentions, but revealed no more than needed. "Yeah, I have a wife and kid."
Blackwood nodded. "Good for you, lad. Good for you." He said no more about the subject. They made it to a heavily armored truck, a faded SWAT logo on its side and a giant makeshift snow plow like slope on its front. A woman sat in the front, the LMG Marshall had heard earlier in her hands.
"Christ, we really did find one, didn't we?" A hint of a European Spanish accent was present in her voice.
"Aye, that we did." Scott opened up the back of the truck, and turned toward Marshall. "Need a ride?"
Marshall shook his head. "Look, I thank you for the help, but I can get to where I'm going from here. I just need directions to the hospital and the police station. Judging from the truck, I presume you know where it is?"
Rameriz, still in the front of the truck, turned her head, and young Ethan tried to disengage the safety of his shotgun behind Marshall quietly. Scott shook his head, signaling them to stand down, though Marshall picked up on it quickly. "And just out of curiosity, any reason why you're needing directions to those two very specific locations?"
Marshall realized he'd said too much, but also came to the realization that trying to back track would only result in his savior's suspicion growing about his intentions. Trying to not reveal anything more, he spoke slowly. "I'm just looking for supplies."
Scott nodded. "Alright then. We'll help."
Marshall cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Aye, why not? We're all just trying to survive, aren't we?"