AUTHOR'S NOTES (Update):

This chapter (and the previous one) has received some revisions. Long story short: it explains how the group has pipe-bombs now. I figured this story has gone on long enough without these awesome bombs, and it's time they made an appearance.

There has also been a change to the arsenal – Zoey is now armed with her signature hunting rifle.

I normally don't like to make changes to a chapter after it has been published, but sometimes it has to be done, right?

I am also pleased to announce I am not dead (like someone PM'd me to ask). Unfortunately, writing has been slowing down due to life. Chapters will still come, just maybe not as quickly, partly due to the fact that I cannot play the game anymore (due to not owning it anymore, or an Xbox, for that matter).

Chapter 44: Urban Warfare: Part I

21 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

The rest of the night passed without incident, and each time someone was awoken to take over sentry duty, there was nothing to report. In fact, by the time Zoey was shaken awake for her watch, when the first rays of sunlight were beginning to appear, not even a single wandering Infected had been seen outside.

The firebombing must have done a real number on the Infected in the area.

When she took up position at the front counter, she noticed two odd-looking devices, along with a piece of scrap paper upon which was scrawled the message: 'DO NOT TOUCH'. She was certain that they were bombs of some kind, but Bill was already asleep before she had the chance to ask exactly what kind of battlefield he thought they were walking into.

Louis was startled awake sometime in the middle of the morning when he heard Zoey's voice ringing above him. "Up and at 'em, ladies! It's time to rock 'n' roll!" He looked toward the front counter to see her cheerfully slam their last remaining can of peaches on the counter. "I even made breakfast for you all!"

He smiled, glad to see her so much more animated this morning. "Damn, girl. You made breakfast? You're going to make someone very happy someday," he teased.

"This is just a one-off," she replied with a smirk, popping a piece of the juicy fruit into her mouth.

"Fruit? What kind of a breakfast is this?" a grouchy voice grumbled from the floor nearby. "Run down to the shop and see if you can find some bacon."

"You are such a jerk, Francis."

"A handsome jerk."

Zoey snorted in response as Bill came over to join her at the counter.

"Get your asses up," he said gruffly. "We've got a long walk ahead of us today."

"You back in commando mode already, old man?" Francis said sarcastically.

Bill shot him a look. "You said it yourself – the army probably won't be here forever. We're on borrowed time."

His words seemed to have their desired effect – everyone was quickly up, buckling on their holsters and checking weapons.

Amidst the preparations, Zoey stole another glance at the strange devices on the front counter. "Hey, what are those?"

Louis grinned, apparently very pleased with himself. "Pipe-bombs, baby."

Bill nodded in approval. "His idea. When he woke me for my watch, he even helped me to make 'em, and then the crazy bastard goes and attaches fire-alarm parts to them."

"How's that gonna help?" Francis interjected.

Louis shrugged. "Fire-alarms are noisy – I figured they might confuse the Infected if we run into a large crowd again."

"When, not if," the biker muttered. "Interesting idea, though. Maybe you aren't as dumb as you look."

The black man chose not to answer, instead stowing one of the pipe-bombs in his holster while passing the other one over to Bill.

Zoey slung the Winchester 70 hunting rifle over her shoulder and drew her pistol from its holster. She grinned cheekily as she shrugged the stupid Hello Kitty backpack onto her shoulders. "This bag so does not match my shoes. Cue 'Princess Bitchface Syndrome'."

"Please tell me your parents didn't own that book," Louis chuckled.

"No!" she cried, feigning offense. "I was very responsible for my age!"

So 'responsible', I flunked out of my first semester at college, she grimly reminded herself.

"We all geared up?" Bill asked, to which he was answered with two nods and a grunt. "Good. Let's head up the street and get clear of the fires. We're completely out of food, so keep your eyes peeled for a supermarket, convenience store, anything. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Right, let's move out."

The thick layer of ask covering the road soon coated the soles of everyone's shoes as they walked carefully along a pathway beside the road. The smoke high in the air blotted out parts of the sky, and caused the sun's light to murkily and drearily filter through.

After scrounging a charred map book from an abandoned car in front of the store, they were able to deduce that they had to travel several kilometres northwest to reach the airport. Even after they made their way out of the burning district, heavy fighting was still evident everywhere – exploded vehicles were scattered throughout the city, spent bullet casings covered the ground, and corpses lay everywhere.

The battle did not look like it was going well.

"Hey, a supermarket!" Zoey exclaimed, pointing across the street.

Bill looked at her sharply. "Keep it down!" he hissed.

She clapped her hands to her mouth, realising what she had done, but it was too late.

An angry scream came from a nearby alleyway as three Common Infected came charging out of it, their eyes alight. A withering burst of gunfire from Bill's carbine felled them before they could even cross the road. However, a throaty snarl echoed down the alleyway, followed by several piercing screeches all around.

Zoey's mind back-flipped in panic. Oh god, oh god, she'd killed them all because she couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut.

"Come on, let's get out of sight!" Louis exclaimed, breaking into a run across the road toward the supermarket.

The others followed him and found that, to their surprise, the front doors were unlocked. Throwing caution to the wind, they ducked inside, locked the doors and slowly backed away into the dim store. The sounds of many pairs of feet pounding against the asphalt drifted in from the street, and the survivors backed away into the store, away from the glass doors. There were angry snarls and, from the sounds of it, a number of zombie brawls had broken out. After a while, the sounds outside ceased, and everyone slowly allowed themselves to relax.

"Zoey," Bill said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.

"Yeah?" she peeped.

"Do that again and you're grounded."

"Yes sir."

"Get a load of this place," Louis said, looking around. "It's been looted already, but there's still loads of stuff left!"

We might even find some peanut butter, Zoey thought, clapping her hands together silently.

It was Louis who said what everyone was thinking. "Who's up for lunch?"

"Shit yeah," Francis grinned, reaching out and grabbing a bag of potato chips off the nearest shelf.

"Alright, let's gather anything that looks useful and pile it here," Bill said, casting a thoughtful glance toward the front doors. "Hopefully the Infected outside will disperse soon." He looked pointedly at the others. "We still don't know if there are any hostiles in here, so we go in pairs."

Zoey just about jumped a mile in the air, until she realised it was Francis' hand on her shoulder. "Wanna be my date to the prom?" the burly man winked.

"I told you not to do that!" she snapped.

Bill rolled his eyes, before motioning for Louis to follow him into the stacks. "Stay alert."

"Found some SPAM."

"Nice work. Grab the cans of mushy peas next to it."

"Mushy peas? Ugh, that stuff tastes like shit."

"Francis… Just get them, okay?"

Zoey held her SIG-Sauer pistol forward in a firm two-handed grip as she led the way down the murky aisle – the gun-mounted flashlights they had found in the gun store already finding use. Her newly-found Winchester Model 70 was too unwieldy for the close-quarter conditions of the shopping aisles.

Francis brought up the rear, grabbing what food could be found off the shelves and shoving it into the open backpack strapped to her shoulders. It was a good system – she could keep an armed guard out and carry supplies at the same time, while he had both hands free to grab supplies, or a pistol if needed.

The biker picked up a can of baked beans from the shelf. "I used to love baked beans," he said morosely, before tossing the can away over his shoulder. "You know what? I hate 'em now. I hate shopping, too. And shop clerks and check-out chicks. And doctors, and lawyers, and cops…"

Zoey sighed in exasperation. "Francis, is there anything you don't hate?"

He paused. "You know what I don't hate? This."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "'This'? What do you mean, 'this'?"

The large man gestured all around them. "This! No work, no law, no responsibility. Just killin' sons of bitches day in, day out. Livin' in the here and now. Hell, if it weren't for the zombies, I could almost get used to life like this."

"Very funny, Francis." The young woman shook her head in disbelief. "But seriously, how do you do it? How do you keep making jokes, when everything just keeps going to shit?"

"I ain't jokin', Zoey," Francis said genuinely. "The apocalypse is the best thing that ever happened to me."

PHILADELPHIA

TWO DAYS AFTER FIRST INFECTION…

"So lemme get this straight," the 'Duke' said. "You break into a shop, steal a TV, tell the cop who catches you red-handed that you're a cop, and that the TV is evidence for a crime?"

Francis grabbed his beer from the bar counter and took a sip. "Yep. And that's why I'm going to prison."

Duke shook his head in disbelief. "Man, are you dumber than you look!" He nodded at a large man standing next to him, wearing a matching Midnight Riders denim jacket. "Ain't I right, Danny?"

A petite, young woman with strawberry-blonde hair hugged Francis tightly. "I'm gonna miss you, Francis!"

The biker hugged her back. "Yeah… I'll miss you too, Becky."

"...Sandra."

"Whatever," Francis replied, taking another swig of beer. "We'll have plenty of time to learn each other's names during conjugal visits."

The bartender laughed. "Unless you're going to jail in another state, you ain't gettin' no conjugals!"

Francis almost choked on his drink. "Huh – what?!"

"Pennsylvania don't do conjugals, buddy," Danny interjected.

"Goddamn it!" he growled. "Next time I impersonate a cop, remind me not to do it in Ohio!"

"Better not waste any more time, then!" Sandra giggled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him along toward the back door. "Come on, Francis!"

"You kids have fun!" Duke hooted after them.

The pair burst into a dark back hallway and immediately brought their heads together, engaging in a long kiss. Francis moved his hand down Sandra's side and rested it just above her hip. Their lips were locked in a tender kiss, and the biker felt the young woman's tongue twisting its way into his mouth. He unfurled his tongue in response, and began to feel a hot, rushing sensation in his lower region. He made to move his hand lower –

GLOMP. Without warning, Sandra vomited a sickly-looking green fluid all down his side.

"Aw, Jesus!" he hollered.

Sandra held a hand to her mouth, her entire body heaving. "Oh god, Francis! I'm so sorry!"

"My vest!" he exclaimed angrily, turning to leave.

"Francis – wait."

The young woman wrapped her arms around him and gently pulled him back toward her. She bowed her head apologetically and slowly eased him closer, as her breathing stuttered and her heart fluttered wildly. She roughly pulled the man closer and closer.

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK!" Francis roared, pushing her away and bringing his hand to the painful bite mark on his neck. His hand came away sticky. "First you puke on me. Then you bite me! What's next, you gonna take a crap on me?" He turned and marched back toward the main bar. "If I go to jail in another state, you are banned from conjugal visits!"

Behind him, he did not see Sandra's figure stalking him briskly. Her eyes were brimming with rage, and her teeth were clenched as she snarled. Francis turned to see her coming up behind him.

"Oh, hey Beck – augh! Holy shit!" he yelped, as Sandra launched herself through the air straight at him, murder on her mind.

CHOOM!

A deafening gunshot exploded throughout the bar, and a bloody hole appeared in Sandra's chest in mid-air. Chunks of flesh and blood arced through the air. She was thrown backward and fell on her back, never to move again. Francis whirled around in shock to see Duke hefting a smoking shotgun, and looking rather pleased with himself.

"Yeah!" he hollered. "That's what I'm talkin' about!"

"Duke, what the hell?!" Francis yelled. "You just shot Sandra!"

"Nope."

"Duke, we all just watched you do it, you – "

"She was a zombie, you idiot," Duke said over his shoulder as he walked toward the bar. "I hate to break it to you folks, but this ain't no flu!" He leaned back against the bar, grabbed his beer and took a long drink. "That's just what the government wants us to think. First they tried to kill us with heroin. Then they built the satellites. Then cell phones. Connect the dots, man."

"Duke..." Danny began, but the biker in question cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It was all leading up to this." He pointed out the window. "Apocalypse."

The others followed his gaze and were shocked at the scene that was unfolding right outside the bar. Large crowds of people were attacking each other, with unfortunates being mauled or beaten to death with bare fists. Blood ran in the streets.

"Holy shit..."

"And you fell for it. Hook, line and sinker," Duke continued smugly. "Now who's crazy?"

Francis casually reached behind the counter and poured himself another beer. "You are, Duke. But you're right about one thing. If everybody out there's a zombie... then everybody's a zombie but us!" He excitedly stood up on the counter for effect, but all it achieved was making him look rather silly. "Zombies can't put us in jail! Zombies can't do anything. They're idiots! Which means... we can do whatever the hell we want!"

"Too right, buddy!" Duke agreed.

Francis eyed the shotgun. "And if these things are tryin' to kill us, then I know exactly what I wanna do."

Ten minutes later, the bartender and the three bikers were walking out onto the roof of the tavern, a duffel-bag full of guns and ammunition carried between them.

"Everybody grab a gun and a beer!" Francis called, walking over to the edge of the roof. "The night's gettin' warmed up, and we got plenty of both!"

"Jesus..." Danny blanched, looking down into the streets at the enraged people below.

Francis pulled out an old-fashioned hunting rifle, raised it to his shoulder, and fired. A spray of red mist shot up from a man's head below as he crumpled to the ground. He whooped and hollered between gunshots that rose up into the night.

NEWBURG

PRESENT DAY…

19 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

Zoey found herself shocked, irritated, and ultimately saddened by Francis' story. "Your girlfriend turned?"

Francis shrugged. "Well, she wasn't really my girlfriend at the time…"

"You don't seem too concerned. Did she mean nothing to you?"

"I was sad to see her die, sure," he muttered, tossing back a handful of potato chips. He proffered the bag to Zoey, to which she declined. "But she was just some girl, you know?"

A beat passed as the former college girl led the way down the dark aisle. "What about us?" she finally said. "Are we just some survivors you happened to bump into?"

Francis continued to pick items off the shelf, stuffing them into the backpack Zoey was wearing. His work was interrupted when she stopped walking, and turned to face him. Her eyebrows were raised expectantly and a long silence followed.

"No."