Walking Dead Survivors Versus Perfection Nevada Citizens

The citizens of Perfection Nevada live in the middle of nowhere for a number of reasons. Some like the isolation, others are in hiding from the Mob- the Las Vegas branch, and others live there because their job is there. Until 1990, practically nothing went on. After that though, creatures began to show up on a regular bases, in the forms of Graboids, Shriekers, Assblasters, and Mixmaster Mutants. Since 911 tends to take a while to respond, the citizens, tourists, scientists, and even government agents often turn to one Burt Gummer, a local gun-enthusiastic, government-paranoid, survivalist, with something of a heart mixed with gold, silver, and lead, lots of lead. With this gun-nut leading the charge into battle, it would take an army to force these people to leave their homes- and even then, they'd fight every step of the way.

Rick Grimes was a small-town police officer, until he ended up in a coma after being in a shootout with some dangerous criminals. Several months later, he woke up to a world where the dead were coming back to life- part way. Rick then set out to locate his family, and thankfully managed to do so. Currently, he leads a group of survivors, or is at least one of the main leaders, from within the West Georgia Correctional Facility, where fences tend to keep out the Walkers, and a Three Questions policy of "How many walkers have you killed? How many people have you killed? Why? (to the second question)" helps the group recruit more people, preferably those who haven't lost it or become murderous. This is because "People are the best defenses against walkers and other people."

The Intro

Rick Grimes looked at the others on the bus; most were former residents of Woodbury, who were either elderly, or children. Others were stragglers whom he and the rest had let join, once they passed a series of questions: How many walkers have you killed? How many people? and Why? (to the second question)

He needed to find someplace safe for them. He sat back down in the driver's seat, and took a look at the map. The only place clearly marked was Las Vegas, but only a fool would set up camp there. "There has to be a place," he said, as he looked at the area. The group had come better than two thousand miles since they abandoned the Prison.

Rick's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a pounding on the door. The former Sheriff's Deputy looked, and saw Daryl outside. Rick looked back, and said, "Carl."

Rick's son came to the front, wearing his cowboy-styled hat. "Yes dad?"

"I'm leaving you and Hershel in charge of the group when I go out on the run," Rick said. "Listen to what he tells you, and be sure to run if he tells you."

"Why not just leave him in charge?" Carl asked.

"Because sometimes one has to move fast, and even with his prosthetic leg, Hershel can't run," said Rick. "If someone needs to run, you have to act as his legs, and protect him; he's one of the few doctors we have."

"I understand," said Carl.

Rick looked at the old farmer. "You'll keep an eye on him?"

"Just keep an eye on my daughter out there," Hershel said.

Rick opened the door, and got off the bus. "Are we all set?"

"We are," said Daryl. "The doors are shut, they have food for five days, and they know to head North in case the run goes south."

Rick looked at the convoy- which consisted of several buses, prison, school, and metro, an assortment of semis, many of which had gasoline and diesel containers for fuel, as well as an assortment of civilian and military vehicles. Altogether, over a hundred people depended upon the success of this mission. "We've come a long way," he said. "I just hope that we can stop running soon."

"I know what you mean," said Daryl. "Still, I doubt that the Governor followed us past the Cumberland Pass."

"I just hope that he was held up to," said Rick. He then looked at his right-hand man. "So, what's the name of this place we're going to check out?"

"It's called Bixby," said Daryl. "Formally home to a few thousand people, now home to a few thousand walkers."

"It's a good thing we brought these along," Glenn said as he and Maggie came up, carrying some pieces of riot gear, specifically, the shin and forearm sections. "It's not like there'll be people shooting at us, but we can keep our arms and legs protected from bites."

"Good idea," said Rick. "Do we have enough for all seven?"

"You, Daryl, Me, Maggie, Michonne, Tyreese, and Sasha," said Glenn.

"Good," said Rick. "Let's get going."

At the same time, Burt Gummer was looking at a sheet of paper, tapping a pencil on the counter in Chang's Market. He lifted his eyes, and looked at the Asian woman on the other side. "Jodie, are you sure about this?" he asked.

"You know me," the woman said. "I've been keeping inventory ever since this whole thing started."

"Well, this figure worries me," Burt said. "Between my stash and the store's goods, we should have had at least ten years worth of food."

"That was before we started rescuing people," said Tyler, as the former tour guide sat on a stool next to them. "Now, don't get me wrong, I'm still all for helping others, but the thing is, even with stretching the food budget to include edible wild plants, like cactus, not to mention wild game, we were bound to run out at some point."

"We haven't run out yet," said Burt. "We still have a week's worth of food, and that's before we start butchering Rosalita's cattle. Still, the numbers don't lie- we will need to leave the valley, and raid the nearby towns, like Bixby."

"Are you nuts?" asked Melvin. "Those things are out there- they'll eat you."

Burt looked at the former land developer. "Listen up, you little turd. You ought to thank your lucky stars that we let you live in this valley after what you tried to do."

"I'm with Burt on this one," said Twitchell. "You've caused nothing but trouble here."

Melvin scoffed, and left the store.

"Should of left him on a rock," Burt muttered.

The former government man looked at the survivalist. "He does have a minor point though. The dead are out there. Now, we can hold them off, but going out there, we'll have to be prepared for anything; not only the dead, but other people. You think Melvin's bad, what if we encounter those New Jersey-Las Vegas types, or worse?"

Burt chuckled. "In that case, we give them a run for their money, like we always do."

"I'm with you on that," said Tyler. "So, who do you want with you?"

"I want you for sure," said Burt. "As for the rest, I want Rosalita, Val, Earl, Heather, Desert Jack."

"Why them?" asked Twitchell.

"Because, unlike you, they won't drop their guns if someone shoots at them," said Burt. "Also, they've proven themselves in combat."

"I won't argue with that," said Twitchell.

"Good," said Burt. With that, he and Tyler walked out of the store, onto the main street of Perfection. Burt growled a bit as he heard the noise of others. "I'll be glad when things get back to normal."

"One can only hope," said Tyler. The two looked at the former mining town- once home to a handful of people, it was now the refuge to close to a hundred people, most of which lived in their vehicles, which were comprised of a mixture of cars, trucks, RVs, buses, and even a few military things from the National Guard unit that had resided in Bixby.

Burt then looked at a small group of three men, and two women, who were waiting by his and Tyler's trucks. "Alright," he said. "We're going to check out Bixby- with any luck, there should be plenty of canned goods in the grocery stores. We'll also check out gardening stores, and other places- we're going to have to get seeds for future food stores."

A while later, Rick and his group arrived on the edge of Bixby. Rick took a look through some binoculars. Aside from a few scattered walkers, everything seemed clear, so far.

"Alright," he said. "Let's load up, and get scouting; look for maps and the like, so that we can locate the stores." He watched as the group got their weapons; everyone had a handgun and a knife, though Daryl also had his crossbow, Tyreese was carrying a Mossburg 500 shotgun, as was Glenn. Maggie, Michonne and Sasha were carrying M4A1s, with Michonne also carrying her katana. Rick made sure that he had ammo for his Python, and picked up a Winchester Model 70 hunting rifle, and made sure that everyone had some flashbangs and grenades, just in case they met up with hostile raiders. He then picked up a machete.

"Remember," Rick said. "Keep the noise to the minimum; blades and crossbow unless we have no choice."

At the same time, Burt and his group had parked on the other side of Bixby. Burt looked through the scoop on his Barrett M82. "Aside from a few of those dead freaks, things are all quiet. Still, it's best not to take chances. Keep the noise down." He then made sure his Desert Eagle was in its holster, and his Bowie knife was in its sheath. He also checked to see that the others were also packing; Earl had an elephant gun, Rosalita, and Val had Remington 870 shotguns, Heather, Tyler, and Desert Jack had M16A2s. Val was also carrying a pickax- not much use in a fight, but it had other uses, like breaking down doors. Everyone else was also packing a handgun and a knife. They were also carrying concussion grenades, and a few were carrying remote control cars and blocks of C-4- the grenades were good for distraction, and the cars, with C-4 strapped to them, could both distract, and kill, or at least, injure the dead.

"Alright," Burt said. "We know the first store to hit, and we know to keep things quiet."

A few minutes later, Glenn and Daryl were checking out a little flower shop, specifically, the little files that held the "Places to See" pamphlets, which tended to have maps of the area.

"Find anything?" Daryl asked, as he kept watch, just in case a walker was in the shop.

Glenn picked up one, and took a look. "Yeah, there's a grocery store five blocks down this street."

"Good," said Daryl. "Let's tell the others, and get stocked up."

A little while later, Burt and his group entered a store. "Earl, Val, you check Aisle 20 and 21, Rosalita, Tyler, 18 and 19, Jack, Heather, 16 and 17. I'll check down this way." The Perfection Residents nodded, and set down towards their Aisles.

A moment later, Burt heard the door on the other side open, and some voices. "Glenn, Maggie, check out Aisles 1 and 2. Michonne, Daryl, 3 and 4. Tyreese, Sasha, 5 and 6. I'll check down this way." He then heard footsteps.

Burt turned his head, and saw that the others had their heads around the corners of their respective aisles. He then flashed a few hand signs, and they nodded, and set themselves up. Setting his rifle against the wall, Burt drew his Desert Eagle, and began walking towards the voice, stepping on a few creaky boards.

Soon enough, he caught sight of a man carrying a nice sized revolver, taking baby formula off of a shelf. "Hey cowboy." The man turned, drawing the revolver. "Not bad- but I've got the drop on you."

"That's what you think, desert rat," Rick said.

Burt felt the tip of an arrow against the side of his neck. Burt chuckled at this. "Not bad, but your friend might want to turn his head down towards the back."

Daryl turned his head, and saw some other people, all of which had guns pointed at him.

"We have more people," he said. "You can't cover us all."

Burt smiled. "You came in with seven, as did I. Of course, any one of us fire a shot, it won't mean anything if those dead freaks decide to investigate- we'd all be dead."

"What are you suggesting?" Rick asked.

"A truce for one," said Burt. "And for another, let's see about lowering the blinds; we don't want to attract any unneeded attention."

Rick turned his head, and looked at the windows. There weren't any walkers visible yet, but he could hear them, coming close. "That might be a good idea."

Burt chuckled. "I know a thing or two about stealth. Your people can come out now, from behind my people."

"How do you that?" Rick asked.

"The creature I tend to fight hunts primarily by sound," Burt said. "My people have learned how to stand still, and stay silent. You have two kids back there who haven't quite learned that trick."

"I see your point," Rick said, as he holstered his Python. "Daryl."

Burt felt the arrow leave his neck. "A wise decision. Heather, you and the others can lower their weapons," he said, holstering his Eagle.

"Glenn, same with you and the rest."

"So what do we do now?" asked a young man.

"We'll take care of the windows," said Rick. "After that, we'll get what we came for."

"Let me guess, food and other supplies," said Burt.

"Basically," said Rick. "The group has a few days worth of food left- came here because it's the first place we found- couldn't risk Las Vegas."

"Heh, that city was a death trap on a good day," said Burt. "Had to deal with some unfriendly types from there once- they decided to shoot at us when we found out that they were dangerous criminals."

"What did they do?" Rick asked.

"They tried to kill a creature that I've grown rather fond of, a graboid we call El Blanco."

"What's a graboid?" Rick asked.

Burt looked at a rack of magazines, and took one out. "This ought to tell you." He gave it to Rick.

Rick flipped through the magazine, which was about the creatures. "Large man-eating worms?"

"That's one way of putting it," Burt said. "Now, the windows?"

"Oh, yes, right."

Within a few minutes, the blinds were down, and introductions were made.

"You're telling me, that you trekked two thousand miles, across dead-infested country, just to escape the clutches of one man?" Burt asked, after Rick had told him his story. "I don't know if I should call you overly-cautious or paranoid."

"What's your story?" Rick asked. "Why do you live out in the middle of nowhere?"

"I didn't like dealing with people, or the government," said Burt. "Problem is, since El Blanco is the only one of his kind, his territory is deemed Protected by the Government, meaning that I had to deal with a few of them, from time to time- wish I had those days again. I didn't like those government stooges butting into things that they had no business dealing with, but at least the dead stayed dead, unlike now."

"So, you know it's not just bites?"

"People at the Lab in the valley did some tests when I brought in the messed up body of a bird watcher- they said it was two viruses, one killed you, while the other lay dormant, until you died- then it would bring you back, but not in the manner that Jesus did."

"Burt, Rick, if you two don't mind, we'd better get to collecting supplies," said Tyler.

"Good," said Burt, as he grabbed a grease can, and tossed it to the former tour guide/mechanic. "Apply that to the wheels of the shopping carts- it will keep them relatively quiet, and we can gather more supplies than just using packs."

Tyler chuckled at this. "Very good."

"We can put the rifles and shotguns by the counter until we're done," said Rick. "Me and Burt will keep watch."

With that, the members of the two groups got some carts, and greased their wheels, before going "shopping".

"So, I take it that you're the leader of a fair-sized group," said Burt.

"How do you figure that?" Rick asked.

"The fact that you were getting baby formula, when most would be going for actual food," said Burt. "Tells me that there are others, possibly young children even."

Rick smiled. "A son, Carl, and a baby daughter, Judith."

"You're a lucky man," said Burt. "Heather and I broke up some time back- the only reason she's with me is because of the Outbreak- she and a bunch of the others were in town to celebrate the twentieth anniversary since graboids were discovered when, well, the dead stopped dying. After that, since I had the most combat experience, as it were, I was named Pro-tempore commander of the local, militia, such as it can be called, considering that many lacked the experience of using a firearm outside of paintball and such. Still, me and the others managed to train them, and now they can hold their own, at least against the dead. Of course, I hope that they never have to fight the living, especially those who are a group of hardened criminals, or military-trained- the thought scares me worse than the dead do."

"I know what you mean," said Rick. "I've had to fight the living on several occasions- lost more than a few friends."

Burt nodded. "I've been there- hard to get over at times." The survivalist noticed the M4s that were by Rick. "Mind if I take a look at your assault rifles?"

Rick picked one up, removed the magazine, and took out the chambered round. "I don't mind." He passed it over.

Burt picked it up. "A little lighter than my M16A2, a little smaller, more maneuverable in confined spaces I bet." He handed it back.

"It has its uses," said Rick. "Though I'm surprised that you have a double barrel shotgun with you; you'd be better off with another pump."

Burt chuckled. "It's not just a shotgun, it's an elephant gun. B*** that gets hit with this, gets a one-way ticket to Hell."

"You also have a .50 rifle that has to be like thirty pounds," Rick said, as he tapped his Winchester bolt-action rifle, which was less than ten pounds.

Burt grinned at this, and picked up his favorite weapon. "I bought this specifically for dispatching graboids- the skin on those beasts makes the skin of an elephant seem like a human. This baby can penetrate that like a hot knife through soft butter. It can even take out lightly armored vehicles, like cars and trucks."

"And against walkers?"

"It takes out the first one, and more than a few of his friends behind him," Burt said, as he pulled a bullet out of his vest. "This thing is five times more powerful than the .30-06 your hunting rifle uses."

Rick chuckled. "Yeah, but at least I can run with this." He then noticed the remote control truck that someone had left on the floor. "Is that for playtime?"

Burt grinned. "Decoy and transportation of explosives, actually."

"How does that work?"

"The concept originates during the 1990 Graboid Incursion," said Burt. "My friends were trapped on the roof of the store, with a graboid circling under them; just to inform you, these things hunt by sound, including some that only dogs can hear, so it wasn't like they could just jump off the roof. However, Miguel, a late friend of mine, reasoned that if the creatures liked noise so much, they could chase something, which would give one of the others a chance to run for this Caterpillar Bulldozer Tractor, and hook it up to this semi-trailer, and then get the rest to take them out of town. For the decoy, they used a riding lawn mower, which had belonged to another late friend of mine, Walter. It worked, until the thing tipped over, and fell on its side."

"And the explosives?"

"Again, the 1990 Incursion- we dragged a pipe bomb that I made using some rope, fishing-like you might say. It killed one of the creatures- only annoyance was that the other one learned rather quickly, like they tend to, and spat up the next one we tossed out."

"And using them together?"

"That would be from the 1996 Incursion, down in Mexico- Earl decided to attach a few sticks of dynamite to a remote control truck, and use a wireless transmitter. We managed to kill twenty of the sightless brutes that way, until they changed into shriekers."

"And those are?"

"Similar to big ugly ostriches, only uglier, and they only see heat," Burt said. "Best way to kill them is with rapid firepower, like that of a full-automatic machinegun. What's more, they multiply after they eat enough food."

"Is there another stage?"

"The Assblaster- it can glide after, effectively, lighting a f***, hence the name. You shove something hot in that thing though, it will blow itself up."

"So, let me get this right; you use high powered weapons, because your foes require high powered weapons in order to be killed."

"Precisely," said Burt.

Rick chuckled at this. "People must think you're crazy."

"A few have," said Burt. "But given the situations that tend to occur, even those that complain about me will come running to my place for help, especially since I have plenty of weapons."

"Had to look for a number of the weapons we have," said Rick. "Found them in homes, military bases, and also, on the dead."

Burt nodded. "Had to do that once when fighting shriekers- broke into a man's home because he, allegedly, had an arsenal, and I was out of ammo at the time; I was somewhat disappointed though- the weapons were single shot muzzleloaders from the Civil War. Thankfully, Tyler had made a few friends with the local high school baseball coach- between him and his team; we made a firing squad that would have made the boys of Gettysburg proud."

"So, you've seen plenty of action?"

"On and off for almost twenty years, though I'd rather fight graboids and their ilk again- they're just smart animals. The dead though, they were once people- every so often, the thoughts of who they once were run through my mind- what they did, where they lived, the kind of people, and so on."

"So, how many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked.

"At least twenty, if not more than fifty," Burt said. "I try not to count them- though I do try to see that their remains are taken care of properly, if possible, with a prayer, or something close enough to one."

"What about living people?" Rick asked. "Have you killed any?"

"No, though there have been a few I've been tempted to," Burt said. "Some people just like to push my buttons, and mess with things that they shouldn't. Thankfully, I'm a peace-loving man, though there have been times that I'm glad that Tyler was around; he has that way of getting through to even the most stubborn of people, and convincing them to help you, though his methods are highly unorthodox."

"So, if you were to kill someone," said Rick. "What would be your reasons for doing so?"

"Let's put it this way," said Burt. "If any of yours had opened fire, I would have seen to it, that none of you would be telling anyone the story."

Rick chuckled. "I doubt it; as you've said; your people have never killed anyone. On the other hand, me and my people have, albeit for self-defense. Do you want to know what I think would have happened if our meeting had been less than friendly?"

Burt chuckled. "I'm all ears for a good story; how do you think that it would have turned out?"

"It would have turned out like this…."

The Battle

Perfection Citizens: 7

Walking Dead Survivors: 7

Rick and his group locate the store. He makes a motion to Tyreese and Sasha. The two nod, and take up position, covering both ends of the street, Tyreese with his Mossburg, and Sasha with her M4. Rick then mouths to Michonne and Daryl, "On me," as he loosens his machete. The other two nod, with Michonne getting her katana ready, and Daryl making sure that an arrow was in place.

At the same time, Burt and his group were on the other side of the store. The survivalist points at Rosalita and Tyler, and the two turn to cover the streets, Tyler with his M16, and Rosalita with her Remington. Burt looked at Val and Earl, saying quietly, "On me." Val readies his pickax, and Earl makes sure that his elephant gun is ready.

The two groups enter at practically the same time, Burt and Rick mistaking the extra noise as belonging to their own group. The two leaders silently issue their orders to check the various Aisles.

Burt however, hears a set of footsteps that doesn't belong to a member of his group, and sets up position with his Barrett M82. An Asian teenage boy carrying a shotgun comes out from the aisle.

"S***! Rick! This guy has a cannon!" Glenn says, firing a shot at Burt in his panic, some of the pellets striking the survivalist.

Feeling that War had been Declared upon him, Burt opened fire, the .50 caliber bullet practically vaporizing Glenn's head. "On me!" he shouted.

WD Survivors: 6

Rick popped out from his aisle, and fired at the survivalist with his Winchester Model 70. However, while the shot missed the survivalist, it did damage the big rifle he had. However, he was forced to find cover when a man swinging a pickax came at him, disarming him of his rifle.

"S***!" he said, as he tried to pull out his machete. Luckily for him, an arrow pierced the man's skull. Pushing the body off of him, he saw Daryl reloading his crossbow, at the same moment he heard someone shout, "Val!"

Perfectionists: 6

Darly then turned to face the person that had spoken, only to be met with both barrels of an elephant gun.

WD Survivors: 5

"Take that, you motherhumper," said Earl. He then started to reload the big gun, ignoring the pain that his shoulder was in from the recoil, when he heard a sound that caused him to turn his head. The last thing he ever saw was a black woman wielding a sword.

Perfectionists: 5

Michonne wiped her sword on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed it, placing her M4 back into her hands, and joined Rick near the front, where she and the rest began exchanging fire with the survivalist and his friends.

"What do we do?" Tyler asked, as he fired his M16.

"A strategic withdraw, with a b*** trap surprise," Burt said, as he picked up a remote control car, and placed some C-4 on it. "Cover me."

With Jack, Tyler, Rosalita, and Heather firing, Burt ran to the back door, and placed the car in the shadows. "Come on!" he shouted. "Time to get the hell out of here!" Covering each other, Burt and the others ran out into the streets, which were soon becoming filled with walkers.

"Let's go after them!" shouted Rick. He and his people ran to the door, only to be stopped by an explosion.

Burt chuckled from behind a car that he and his friends were using to shield themselves, as he watched the debris settle. He then pocketed the detonator. "Looks like five pounds was their limit."

"Let me take a look," Jack said.

"Just be careful," said Burt.

"You just stick with Jack, and you'll make it back," the man said, as he got out from behind cover. However, he was cut down from a bust of automatic fire.

Perfectionists: 4

"No!" Burt and the others screamed. They then readied themselves for any of the enemy to come out. Out came a young white woman with an M4, a black man with a shotgun, who looked angry, a white man with a large revolver, a black woman, who also had an M4, and was carrying a sword.

"You killed my sister," the black man shouted, as he opened fire. Heather popped out from hiding, and shot her M16, killing the black man.

WD Survivors: 3

"Come on," Rick said, as he fired a shot with his Python. The shot took Rosalita in the heart.

Perfectionists: 3

"The b***!" Tyler shouted, firing his M16. "I'll kill them for that!"

Burt fired his Eagle, killing Maggie. "Do that later! Now come on!" He then picked up Rosalita's shotgun, and he and Heather began running.

WD Survivors: 2

However, Tyler was so preoccupied, by grief, and anger, and revenge, that he didn't notice that Rosalita had changed. The undead woman grabbed him, and he was forced to fight her, and in the process, was bitten. "No!" he shouted. Thankfully for him, an M67 Grenade put him out of his misery.

Perfectionists: 2

Rick groaned in pain as he picked up Tyreese's shotgun. He then looked at Michonne, who looked as tired as he did. "Let's put an end to this."

The woman nodded, and the two pursued their remaining foes.

Burt and Heather break into a house, and deal with some of the former inhabitants of the house. "Reminds me of how our place used to look," Heather said as the two entered.

"I know," said Burt. "And if we ever get the chance, I'd be willing to share the house again, with you in it."

Heather smiled. "Let's talk about that later. You'd best check upstairs, I'll check the kitchen."

A few minutes later, Rick and Michonne entered the house. "You check upstairs, and I'll check down here."

"Be careful Rick," said Michonne. "This man reminds me of The Governor."

Rick nodded, and the two separated. Rick soon heard footsteps, and the sounds of someone breathing heavily. He took out a flashbang, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the room. He heard someone say "S***!" as the device unleashed its load of smoke, as someone came out, carrying an M16. Rick fired his shotgun, catching the person in the chest. When the smoke cleared, he saw that it was a redheaded woman.

Perfectionists: 1

Back upstairs, Burt had heard footsteps of someone coming up. He took out a concussion grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it. The force from the shockwave caught who ever had been trying to climb up, because Burt could hear someone screaming in pain. Burt cautiously walked over, and pointed his shotgun down the stars, where he saw the sword carrier holding onto her ears, which had blood coming from them. As if on instinct, the woman looked at him, or tried to. "Broke into the wrong goddamn house, you b***," Burt said, as he fired the gun.

WD Survivors: 1

The survivalist placed his hand on his wound from before. It was bleeding, badly. He took out his Bowie, and carefully ripped that part of his shirt. "S***!" he muttered. The shot from the Asian has been a lucky one; the pellets had entered his kidney and liver. He then checked his shotgun- it was empty. Setting it down, he drew his Eagle, and carefully walked down the stairs. He looked at the woman, and noticed that the woman was turning. Using his Bowie, Burt stabbed her between the eyes. "That's why we're at the top of the food chain." He then resumed walking, his vision getting blurry, and feeling his life's force draining from him.

At the same time, Rick checked his own wound; the shrapnel from the C-4 had sent a nice sized wood sliver into his side. Thankfully though, it wasn't too serious, providing that he could get to Hershel in time. It was then that he heard the footsteps of the other person. "I'll get to you," he said, as he noticed the woman's body start to move. "But first things first." He took out his machete, walked up to her, and split her skull with the blade. He then got out his Python, and followed the source of the footsteps.

Rick soon found the person, sitting in an easy chair, a Bowie knife in one hand, and a Desert Eagle in the other. when the sound of an desert Eagle 8 shots goes of blowing rick apart.

WD Survivors 0

Burt goes to patching himself up.

winner Perfection Nevada.