When the Man Comes Around: Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, sometimes you have to fight back. And you have to fight back with everything you have.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to have any ownership to any of the characters that may be recognized throughout this story. Several characters from the Resident Evil Universe are portrayed in this story, but they are in no way the main characters. However, the storyline does borrow from concepts presented in the Capcom creations, so please do not sue me! In addition, Kurt Morgan is a creation of a good friend of mine; I'm merely borrowing him.

Rating: This story is rated M+ for Mature Audiences only. Adult content including coarse language and a great deal of violence and gore. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with zombie-related things!

"Never trust anyone who wants what you've got. Friend or no, envy is an overwhelming emotion." - Eubie Blake

Chapter Eight

(Natalie)

"I'd take you over to the Helipad now, but we figure you'd like to settle in first."

"Yet, dragging me all the way to HQ to give me a tour despite the fact that you, yourself, admit you're going to give the others a quick tour in the morning was imperative." Sighing, I folded my arms over my chest and spun around in the low-sitting leather desk chair. "Can I go now?"

"Morgan will be back in a minute," a man by the name of Sanchez assured me. Smith had disappeared not long after leading me into the HQ, and I'd been left with Sanchez. He was slim and barely hit six foot, but he looked capable. Kind of. "He asked for you to wait."

"I'm not deaf." Sure, Morgan had asked me to stick around when he'd been called out of our long and drawn out meeting, but that didn't mean that I necessarily wanted to stay. "So, seen any good movies lately?"

Not surprisingly, Sanchez didn't even crack a smile. I had a good feeling that he was one of the types that had been born with a rod (or maybe a boot) up his ass and still hadn't quite figured out how to pry it out without causing further damage. For all I knew, he liked it up there. I'd been introduced around the HQ, and didn't really know what to think of the whole situation.

It was clearly well organized, I'd give Morgan that. There was a command center that made me think of NASA - computers and more computers and lots of headsets, along with a huge overhead screen that depicted a strange-looking map of the entire world. There were also numerous offices as well as several rooms that were used for storing artillery. I wasn't sure what to make of the HQ - it was high tech and organized and a little eerie. I couldn't remember the last time that I'd seen so many people together that looked and smelled clean.

Sure, they were all armed and appeared capable of blowing a few undead sons of bitches to pieces, but they didn't look worried about it. And I wasn't used to not worrying.

The door to the large office opened and Kurt Morgan stepped inside, leaving the door partially open. "I'm sorry about that. Sanchez, go grab a coffee." It wasn't a suggestion, and Sanchez knew it. An instant later, he slipped out of the door, closing it firmly behind him, and left me alone in the large office with the leader of Whiskey Outpost. "Want a beer?"

I perked up at that, sitting up straight and lifting a brow. "You serious?" To my glee, he walked around the side of his desk and sat down, leaning forward and pulling out two long necks - I assumed from a mini fridge under his desk. "Awesome." He untwisted the cap and handed one to me, smirking as I snatched it from his hand and drank down half in a single pull. "Not bad."

"We may have a hard time with our fresh meat supplies, but we always seem to have fuel and beer on hand." He shook his head as he leaned back in his chair, his beer balanced in his left hand. To my surprise, I found myself relaxing as I slumped down in the seat a bit, sipping on the beer slowly as if to savor the moment. "You're probably wondering why we've been hustling you around."

"Yep. You could say that."

"It's not economical or sensible to use the planes except for long-range flights," he murmured, running his hand over his already disheveled hair. "My last chopper pilot didn't last long. The other pilots wouldn't even consider training or learning how to fly one. I'm told that it takes a certain person to even think about going up in one."

That made me smile. I'd heard the same thing dozens of times when I'd started going with my dad and my older brother to get my flight training. "So they say. You're saying you want me to train your guys?"

"In a matter of speaking." He seemed a little uncomfortable as he shifted around in the chair, clearly trying to get comfortable. "I planned to talk to the others in the morning, but since you're here already I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to go ahead and divulge a few minor details. Since we got the electricity going full-time, as well as access to several satellites, several disturbing facts have come to our attention."

"Uh huh."

He stared at me, his dark eyes calm and unsettling. I sipped at my beer thoughtfully, wondering why I was having a meeting of sorts alone with Morgan. Everybody knew that I wasn't even close to being in charge of our little ragtag group. Hell, half the time I wasn't even sure why they let me stick around.

Probably your charm, I thought to myself, smiling slightly.

"We have reason to believe that there are other survivors out there." Eyes wide, I stared at him, more doubtful than confused. I was thinking 'That's good, right?' but couldn't manage to get the words out. "They're organized and deadly. They're the reason I lost my last helicopter pilot."

He let those words hang in the air for several long moments and I found myself swallowing the rest of my beer in a hurry. "You're serious." Of course he was serious. Kurt Morgan didn't look like the type to joke around about – well, anything. "You're concerned."

"We can't be certain that they don't know about the location of Whiskey Outpost. When we first regained use of the satellites, we had every reason to believe that there were other Sanctuaries out there. We'd started picking up a lot of false promises on the long-range and we realized a little too late that someone out there was broadcasting already. That's how I lost my last pilot. She was part of the group that followed the coordinates – we wanted to set up contact. I'm still not sure what happened."

I leaned forward and placed the empty bottle on the desk, gripping the edge of it weakly. "Okay."

"But, we had one survivor. For awhile. He managed to get in contact with us via the long-range radio. It was a trap. They were well-trained, efficient. My man said that the ship that was supposed to take them to safety was empty, except for undead and soldiers. But, that's not what's so disturbing."

Well, that was reassuring. A boat that promised safety that caused death. Sounded like a real nice opportunity for a cruise. "Lovely."

It brought a grim smile to his face, but it didn't lessen his severe features at all. "They had access to the air; I need access to the air to ensure the safety of my people. That means that I need to get at least one bird operational. You ever had experience with a military chopper, Natalie?"

Now, that was a tricky question. "Not long after the Infection," I admitted, searching his face. "Jo and I were with a small group in Miami. My brother was in the National Guard and we thought that if we met up with him that we'd be safe. The pilot made it through most of the flight before he turned and I had to take over. You've got manuals on the weapons systems?"

"They won't be needed. We have weapon systems specialists that can handle that, but they can't fly the damned bird. We may have had an issue with one a few weeks back that ended in a crash." His lips twitched slightly, as though fighting a full-on smile. "You can see why I was so desperate to get your group here after learning that you had flight training."

I managed a nod as I leaned back in the chair, thoughts whirling. None of it made sense, but I wasn't sure if it was supposed to. Not only were we dealing with armies of undead, but there was an unknown, an unknown that apparently wasn't friendly.

"I guess I'll be seeing you bright and early." I stood up slowly, glancing down at my fingerless gloves before tugging my fingers through my tangled curls. Since Morgan said nothing, I let myself out of the office and inhaled sharply.

Things weren't exactly looking up for me.