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!

"It was comical because you're at a firing range, all these people are so seriously shooting their little guns." - Ryan Reynolds

Chapter Ten

(Natalie)

"Did you enjoy breakfast?"

I snorted as I jogged across the uneven ground, quickly catching up to where the others were already grouped. "I hardly think that those fake eggs counted as breakfast, but at least it was real orange juice. Is this everyone?"

"Looks like it," Morgan murmured in reply. He and two men, one of whom was Sanchez, and both Coop and Ranger were waiting next to a real nice looking chopper. "Didn't they leave gear for you?"

"You mean that stupid ass vest and the hat?" I rolled my eyes as I tucked my hair back in a sloppy pony tail and eyed the group thoughtfully. "I thought it was a joke. No offense, but I don't do vests unless they're Kevlar. And I've got my own." I glanced down at my boots, my jeans, the long-sleeved shirt tucked into the jeans, and the Kevlar vest that was equipped with a few pockets for gear. "Ain't nothing wrong with mine."

"Fine. This here is Dick and he'll be showing you the ropes." Morgan nodded to a tall, broad-shouldered man with blonde shaggy hair and light green eyes. Dick smiled at me and I lifted a brow as I clambered into the helicopter. "Do you have supplies for the day?"

"This isn't my first rodeo, Morgan." I clambered into my seat, pulled on the headset, and strapped myself in. "Get in, strap yourselves in. I assume the bird's good to fly?" Of course it was. The controls were familiar, but there were a lot of added gadgets that were, for the most part, rather self-explanatory. "Nice."

"It's equipped with M60 machine guns, and it's incorporated the AFCS, the automatic –"

"Flight control system," I interrupted Dick's explanation. "You're riding shotgun, big guy. Go over the weapons systems while I get the pre-flight routine done. Oh, this holds a lot of fuel." I nodded in appreciation as my eyes flicked over the gauges, pleased that I understood all of the read-outs. "Is everyone ready back there?"

"Strapped in and ready to go," Morgan assured me over the headset. "Start heading Northwest, keep low, and keep contact to a minimum."

Since it sounded reasonable, I finished the pre-flight routine and smirked as we lifted into the air. My breath rushed out of me in glee as we rose up over the helipad and hovered in the air. The Outpost looked different from the air, a little smaller than it did from the inside. I loosened my grip on the controls and exhaled, eyes wide as we jutted forward, low and fast.

"Nice and smooth," Dick reminded me over the headset, laughing when we gained a little altitude. "She's not half bad, Morgan. Looks like she has more balls than Al ever did."

Morgan didn't reply; even though I really wanted to know who in the hell Al was. Within a minute, we were clear of the Outpost and moving Northwest. The sun was low in the sky, as it was only a quarter after six. Surprisingly enough, I'd slept well on the lumpy mattress. It sure didn't hurt that I found myself at the helm of a Blackhawk.

How many people in the world had ever been able to say that? What was more, how many women ever got to say that? Hell, I was probably one of the last people in the world that was actually airborne; I hadn't seen anyone in the air for so long that it didn't seem possible. And yet, there I was, flying.

When the HQ chimed over the headset, I found myself smiling. "WO HQ, this is Black Bird – our coordinates are as follows." I glanced down at the displays and relayed our cords before signing off. It was more than a little neat, and a lot different than conversing with the local authorities, or employees at my father's tourist agency.

Fifteen minutes had passed before Morgan's voice came over the headset. "There's a small town about three miles ahead. We've slowly been clearing out the supplies. As far as we can see, the electricity is steady, and we haven't had any issues with the undead. The Wal-Mart is being used to store supplies. Any way we can set down and check things out?"

I pondered it for a moment as we approached the large rectangular building. There was no roof access, but the parking lot was pretty well empty save for several crashed or abandoned vehicles. The town wasn't really much to speak of. It looked like there had once been a gas station and another shop or two nearby, but they were abandoned. Several gutted buildings remained, clearly victims of a fire.

There weren't any wandering undead, but there was always a chance that they were down there. In fact, there was a really good chance that there were at least a few roamers.

"I can set us down in the lot." But, it wasn't the greatest idea. We would be open to attack on all sides, and although the undead weren't known for being able to sneak up on someone, there was always a chance that something could go wrong. "That work?"

"Do it." So, it wasn't an order exactly coming from Morgan, but it was close enough. "Everyone, gear up. Sanchez, you're staying with the bird."

Landing always made my stomach jump into my throat. It was like coming out of the last turn in a death-defying roller coaster; it was a rush. I inhaled sharply, holding the breath in as I sat the bird down gently. As breath rushed from my lungs, I closed my eyes for a split second before slowly powering down the Blackhawk.

"Let's head in." Morgan was the first out, followed closely by Coop and Ranger.

I tore the headset off and blinked as I stood, stretching as well as I could in the cramped space. "See you shortly, Sanchez. Keep an eye on my bird for me." I hopped down out of the Blackhawk and immediately pulled my Beretta out, glancing around. The parking lot looked even worse up close. "Where are the supplies?"

"We're storing them just inside." Morgan led the way with Coop and Dick close on his tail. I paused for a moment, brows furrowed as I tried to figure out why Morgan wouldn't have left me or Dick with the chopper. There was always a chance that something could go wrong. "The building still has electricity, so there are a few frozen goods still stored in the freezer section."

It sounded a little spotty, but I merely lifted a shoulder in a shrug. Weapon at the ready, I trotted alongside Ranger, eyes darting back and forth. There was a slight chill to the air, seeing as how it was still early morning, but my zombie hunter senses weren't tingling. Maybe we wouldn't run into any trouble.

"Dick and Coop, you're inside with me. Dick, you check the area and ensure that it's secured and I'll get the cargo ready to go." With a quick nod, Dick disappeared inside, his M-16 at the ready. Morgan's eyes met mine for a moment before he stepped through the broken door and disappeared inside.

I held my breath for a moment before exhaling, turning sharply on my heel and glancing around worriedly. "This feels like a bad idea," I murmured, sparing Ranger a hesitant glance. He seemed bored, standing with feet shoulder width apart and an M-16 in his hands. Had it not been the post-apocalyptic world, he would have struck an imposing sight on nearly anyone. To me, he looked like the right kind of guy to hide behind. "Got a smoke?"

"You know those are bad for you," he replied, voice quiet.

"Yeah, but I need to pick up a few new habits since drinking and shooting shit is bad and I can't seem to get laid." The corners of his lips twitched and I got the distinct feeling that he almost wanted to smile. Feeling emboldened, a lifted a brow in his direction and rocked back on my heels, wishing there was a way to look attractive in kevlar. "Not that I'd want to ride just any cowboy, or anything."

"Uh huh."

"I mean, there are a few guys I wouldn't mind taking for a test drive, if you catch my drift. But I'm picky about what ones I'd like to take out of the lot." I really wasn't sure how I'd gone from using cowboys to cars as sexual innuendo, but it seemed almost natural. Besides, what guy didn't think the same way? And then, in a moment of clarity, I realized that I was kind of hitting on Ranger.

Shit. Did I want to hit on Ranger? I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye and a tingle raced down my spine.

Shit! I did want to hit on Ranger. I wanted to ignore the fact that there was a good chance there were a few zombies lurking about. I wanted him to shove me against the nearest surface and -

"Hear that?"

I swallowed thickly, wondering if he'd heard my heart hammering in my chest. It took a minute for the ringing in my ears to subside, and by that time he had flipped off the safety on his gun and looked ready to rumble. "Hear what?"

He took a step forward nonchalantly and turned on his heel before pointing his weapon skywards. I followed his gaze and let out a mild shriek at the sight of a Lurker clinging to the side of the building, staring down at us with its distorted face. To my surprise, a slithering beast of a tongue slid out of its mouth, causing my eyes to widen in surprise. We'd come across only a few Lurkers, and I couldn't remember any of them having a tongue the length of their body.

"Mutating," Ranger offered in way of explanation as he opened fire. An unearthly squeal of pain exited the creature's lips as it lost its hold on the side of the building and flew toward the ground, limbs spread at an odd angle. I jumped back, Beretta in my hand, and fired off three rounds as it hit the ground with a thunking sound. "Means we're probably not alone." He took a step forward, pointed his gun downward, and fired several rounds into the beast's head, ending its miserable existence permanently.

I'd learned long ago that Ranger was always right - but I found myself hoping that he was wrong as I spun on my heel and looked around, eyes narrowed into dark slits. My ears were ringing in my head when I heard the first moan, and for a moment I found myself firmly hoping that it was nothing. But, then an undead ambled into sight at the far side of the parking lot, walking slowly with its head thrown back.

Glancing over at Ranger, I watched in stunned silence as he let the M-16 slide around on its strap and rest against his hip before he swung a rifle around and took aim. I held my breath as he pumped the trigger twice - in the distance, the zombie's head exploded.

"Moaner," I whispered as the sounds of scuffling in the distance grew louder and louder. "Gasser!"

It was heaving and puking as it ambled toward us, several undead trailing behind it. The parking lot was at least the size of a football field and they had not only a lot of ground to cover, but there was a lot of debris to go around as well.

"Other end, babe."

Blinking, I turned on my heel and stared at the opposite end of the lot, in the direction of the helicopter. My eyes went wide as I spied what looked like a moving mass of dark color moving in our direction. I didn't need binoculars to tell me that something was moving toward us slowly, but steadily.

"Morgan, this is Ranger - we've got company out here moving in fast." I glanced up as he communicated via a two-way radio, his eyes narrowed upon my features. Gunfire echoed over the two-way and we both frowned, knowing that it could only mean one thing: they'd met trouble inside. "We're positioned at the entrance, but we're not going to be able to put up much of a front here."

He was right. We were exposed on both sides. We needed to get to higher ground or leave the area immediately; the undead tended to travel together once a Moaner or a Gasser was on the scene. And if a Lurker had managed to sneak up on us, something told me that the whole brigade was probably inbound.

"We're moving out," Morgan finally replied, voice clipped. "Supplies are - fuck! Duck, Cooper." Gunfire echoed through the two-way again and I frowned as Ranger shook his head and clipped the radio to his belt yet again. "On our way."

I pulled the magazine out of the Beretta and nodded once before slamming it back into place. Without waiting to see what Ranger's plan was, I stepped up next to him and put my back to his, facing one side of the parking lot while he faced the other. It wasn't the ideal way to take care of things, seeing as how I merely had handguns on me with several extra magazines, but it was the best we could do under such a situation.

"Runners." I swallowed thickly as crazy-eyed undead raced toward me, looking more like Olympians than undead save for their distorted flesh and soulless eyes. I took aim and pumped the trigger, catching one of three in the knee and bringing it down. A second later, I'd managed to clip the same one in the neck and it seemed stunned for the moment. "Where the fuck are they?" I hissed as I emptied the magazine taking down the two remaining Runners.

I got into a sort of rhythm. Slam in a magazine, pick off zombies one at a time, remove the magazine, slam in another. Sweat beaded my brow and trickled down my back and my ears were ringing from the constant gunfire, but we seemed to be holding them back.

"Incoming," a voice crackled over the radio, causing me to glance over my shoulder as three men stumbled out of the front of the building. Coop was pulling a trolley of some sort behind him, and it was stacked high with containers that were strapped down tightly. "Head to the chopper!" Coop yelled as he fired a sawed-off at a pile of zombies rushing toward the group of them from within the building.

I spared Ranger a quick glance as I rushed forward, legs pumping as I headed toward the helicopter. I slid the Colt Double-Action out of its holster and fired a round between the eyes of a Moaner, snarling when it slumped to the ground. "Anyone got a grenade?" I shouted, slamming the butt of the gun against the forehead of a Runner. As it staggered to the side, I buried a bullet between its eyes and kept moving.

"Nice ass, Nat!"

I laughed as I slammed my elbow into the side of one's face, snapping its neck in the process. "Fuck off, Coop!"

The helicopter was only twenty yards away and Sanchez was standing to the side of it, a rifle in his hands and a disturbed look upon his face. His eyes met mine for a split second and I struggled to breathe regularly as I skidded to a stop next to him and pivoted, putting my back to the chopper.

Ranger was running smoothly, his movements refined and practiced. Morgan was close on his heels, practically running backwards as he picked off the zombies that were chasing Coop and Dick. More and more zombies were moving in our general direction, and it wasn't looking good.

"Shee-it!" With a snarl, I shoved my guns back in their respective holsters as I clambered up into the helicopter, hustling forward and sliding into my seat and slamming the headset on. My hands were flying over the controls as the rotors started spinning, slowly but surely. "Get the shit stored and get in here!"

I was new to the Blackhawk, but it operated like almost anything else I'd flown. Less than two minutes later, all systems were functioning and we were in business. When I glanced over my shoulder, I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Ranger shoving crates into place, his back to me. Coop was leaning out the side of the bird, firing wildly as he mowed down zombies in his wake.

"Get this bird in the air!" Morgan shouted as he bounded forward, blood smeared across his face. His hand rested on the back of my seat and I shuddered at the cold, calculating look in his dark eyes. "Now!"

Teeth gritted in concentration, we lifted into the air slowly, hovering no more than a few feet in the air as I checked the instrument panel one last time. "Are we all clear? Answer me, you motherfuckers!"

"Dick's a goner!" Coop shouted over the roar of the bird. "It would be a waste of ammo to try to get them off of him."

Seeing no other way, I spun the bird around so that we were facing the direction of the building, nose of the Blackhawk pointed slightly toward the ground. My stomach rumbled in disgust at the sight of at least a dozen undead clawing at one another as they piled onto something. Dick, I thought to myself, flipping back the cover of the M-60 control and taking aim. The sound of the machine gun fire was deafening over the roar of the Blackhawk, but there was something almost cleansing about mowing down the undead.

"Get us the fuck out of here!" Morgan ordered, practically snarling. "Now!"

I didn't consider him to be my boss, or anything, but since it was a good idea, I followed through. I closed the cover of the M-60 control and jerked the controls upwards, careful to make sure that the blades didn't get too close to the ground. A handful of seconds later, we were airborne and hovering several dozen feet off of the ground.

"They don't give up easily," I commented dryly as one of the gassers spit upwards. I pictured a layer of green film on the underside of the helicopter as we lifted higher into the air. "What are my headings, Morgan?"

"I want an overview of the rest of this area. This area is closest to the Outpost, and therefore our greatest source."

"Ten-four."

With my altitude hovering between two hundred and four hundred feet, I circled the city (it was really more of a small town) five times in just under half an hour. And I didn't have a co-pilot, seeing as how my weapons specialist had been eaten by an entire horde of zombies.

There were several fires, most dying, in certain sections of the town. A number of apartment complexes appeared to have been leveled completely, but several of the smaller homes looked intact from above. Overall, it didn't look like the greatest out-base, in my opinion.

"There are a few places of business downtown that could be used," Coop explained, practically shouting over the headset. "They're already lined with fencing, and there's a good chance that we could fortify them."

"That's a negative," Sanchez replied, and I could practically see him shaking his head as he said it. "The location isn't good. We'd have to protect ourselves on every side."

After the fifth or sixth go around, I pulled up and eased west of the city. When Morgan didn't comment, I stayed on course and swung low over a cropping of trees.

"Morgan?"

"I'm thinking."

I eased over onto a busy highway and flew above it, frowning at the multitude of abandoned vehicles and destroyed roadway. It was just another sign that society had completely crumbled – and it was disheartening.

A few minutes later, Morgan came back over the radio. "We just had contact from base. They've received a number of different distress signals from a group claiming they have a dozen or more survivors in their numbers."

Surprise had me staring in confusion for a moment before I swallowed and bobbed my head. "Cords?"

He read them off mechanically and I punched them into the navigation system. "They should be just an hour or so northwest from our current location. Keep a close watch, and alert me when we're a few klicks out. I'd like to make the final approach by foot."

"Understood."

I adjusted our heading and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when I realized that the weather was perfect for a day of flying. If we were lucky, we'd near the location in just over half an hour.

And though I wouldn't admit it aloud, the prospect of meeting more survivors was quite intriguing.