

Survivors and Bandits

A DayZ Novel

Cherno Journo

www.chernojourno.com

Copyright 2013 Cherno Journo

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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# CHAPTER 1 – The Sinking Ship

## Captain Nestorenko looked out over the coastline of Chernarus through his binoculars. It was all quiet and as expected there were no lights on anywhere. He knew this coast well - somewhere in that foreboding dark there should be two lighthouses providing beacons of safety to passing ships. Instead all he saw was a long endless blackness that was only broken by the outlines of trees, silhouetted by a backdrop of flickering stars.

The ship's First Officer Shutov was worried at being so close to the shore "Captain, this is foolhardy. We can no longer trust the GPS to ensure our position is safe"

Nestorenko nodded – Shutov was right – it was risky to traverse this area without the aid of lighthouses. But Nestorenko did because he had to see the coast for himself – he had to see if the reports about Chernarus were true. Now that he was here he realized it was a pointless endeavor.

The reports started coming in two months ago, garbled and panicked transmissions on the civilian frequencies. They spoke of ordinary citizens who suddenly turned into seemingly mindless creatures, they were called the 'infected', but the disease was never named. Mothers would turn on their own children, tearing them to shreds without hesitation, consumed by a ravenous desire to feed on the flesh of the living. The deeply religious called it Armageddon - the beginning of the end - when the dead would walk the earth.

Only the Captain should have received the reports but on such a small ship, word got around fast. At first there were jokes - no one believed that the living dead could really exist. Then the reports became more pressing, the stories so fantastic they had to be true. The Russian army had been sent in. They'd secured key locations and airports with the United States providing military help. Even in this post-Cold-War Russia it seemed fantastical that the Americans would send their troops in.

Then the troops were attacked by the infected. Unlike a traditional fighting force, the infected could not be reasoned with. They had no moral qualms, no supply lines to disrupt, their attacks were relentless and continuous until the troops were overrun. Over time, every established point was lost. The last reports were desperate and pleading 'Whatever you do, don't come to Chernarus.' That was a month ago. No further radio transmissions had been received since.

Regardless of the warnings, he still changed course for Chernarus, a flagrant misuse of his command. He brought with him a merchant ship that had forty souls on board and should have been returning to port. Chernarus was the land of the Captain's youth - he grew up just outside a small town called Zelenogorsk. He worked the docks of Elektrozavodsk until he was old enough to work on a ship. His parents were still here on their small farm. He had to come back, like visiting a terminally ill relative for the last time before they passed. He had to see Chernarus one last time.

"Shutov you're right. There's nothing here," said the Captain as he looked out over the coastline.

"Then let us be away from this coast. It was a foolish venture to come here," replied Shutov.

"And where would you have us go now?" challenged the Captain, "we've had no further radio transmission, haven't seen or heard any other ships, the world has been dead for a month. Which port will be different from Chernarus?"

"Then we stay at sea. Our provisions are good, although fuel is running low. We could last another month before needing to go ashore."

"But you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later we need to face what's out there."

"Then I vote for later," replied Shutov.

The ship suddenly juddered and they heard the unmistakable sound of steel tearing, that pierced the otherwise silent night. Bedlam erupted as the ship groaned in pain. From the bow, a crewman pointed to the tear as the ship began to list.

"We've hit some rocks under the water, the tear is too great," called out the crewman.

"Captain?" Shutov asked as he watched the bewildered Captain try to stand upright while the boat leaned over, "Captain, we must abandon ship!" Shutov's words sounded less like pleading and rather like barking an order.

Nestorenko looked over at his second in command, his face expressed how defeated he felt. What was waiting on the shore for him, for the entire crew, was certain death. Almost imperceptibly he nodded, and Shutov fired into action.

Over the ship's PA system he addressed the crew. "Abandon ship. This is not a drill. The ship is sinking fast, take the survival patrol packs and swim to shore. Disregard the boats we are close to shore..." too close he wanted to say, "so swimming is possible. We are sinking fast. Every man to shore."

He looked out the bridge at the panicking crew jumping over the side. The smart ones waited, getting their bearings, finding a landmark to swim towards. The weak just jumped in and hoped for the best.

The bridge emptied out quickly until only Shutov and Nestorenko remained. He looked over at the Captain who was at the ship's safe, unlocking it. What important papers could he need now? Shutov pondered.

"Captain, shall we sweep the ship before departing?"

The Captain didn't respond and instead removed a M1911 pistol from the safe. Shutov was surprised that the Captain was thinking of weapons as he watched him load a magazine into the gun. Yes, we would need control on the beaches and a weapon would be handy, he mused, impressed by the Captain's foresight.

"What have I done?" asked the Captain.

"Sir?" replied Shutov, bemused.

"Are the men off the ship?"

"We need to check to be certain, but it appears so."

"And they are swimming to the shore, to the infected coastline of Chernarus."

"Yes sir, that is where you brought us."

"So I ask you again - what have I done?"

"Sir I'm confused, we need to check the ship and swim to shore."

The Captain snapped back the pistol loading a bullet into the chamber. He raised the gun and pointed it at Shutov.

"Stop kissing my God damn arse and answer the question. What have I done?"

"You fucked up! You brought us here to this God forsaken place and most likely killed us all," Shutov yelled back, unable to control his rage.

The Captain was taken aback by Shutov's outburst.

"Thank you Shutov for being honest this one time," said the Captain.

Shutov was momentarily confused until the Captain put the pistol to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. In the small room the gunshot and its accompanying echo was deafening. As the ringing faded from his ears, Shutov looked over the dead Captain. He had been weak, his weakness brought them too close to shore and his weakness had him check-out early. He didn't feel pity for the Captain but instead his mind became clear – he knew with the Captain gone he must lead the men once they reached the shore. He must command them.

These weren't disciplined men, sure some were ex-military, but they were also merchant seamen. Most were running away from lives that didn't want them. To lead this rabble he would need to control them. And to control them he would need a gun, that gun. He pried the M1911 from the dead Captain's hand and wiped off a small smear of blood onto the dead Captain's shirt. He looked in the safe and took out a second magazine, pocketing it.

At the bridge's exit he took one look back at the Captain, his brain matter slowly oozing down the wall beside his limp body. "Coward," he uttered and walked out. Captain Nestorenko would be the first victim from the MV Rocket, a mocking name for such a slow and lumbering work ship. He may have been the first of the crew to die but certainly he wouldn't be the last.

Shutov looked down the ship's corridors, there could be more people inside. Technically he was now the Captain and therefore it was his responsibility to sweep the ship. Under maritime law he could be prosecuted for failing to do so... he spat onto the ship. What law? Only the law of the jungle matters now, he thought as he jumped into the cold black sea. Being First Officer, Shutov had seen all the reports, heard the radio transmissions first hand. He understood that he was swimming towards a future fraught with danger, facing an enemy unimaginable.

# Chapter 2 – The Boy

## They called him 'The Boy.' The nickname was apt as he was only fifteen. To get on the ship he lied about his age and although they may have suspected he wasn't eighteen, they didn't probe. This was his first job, his first outing and although big and strong for his age, he couldn't hide his youth or innocence. The others joked with him, mocked him, some kidded that he might make a nice wife on those long journeys – at least he hoped they were kidding.

Even at shore they called him The Boy. At the seaside brothel they'd stopped at in the last port he was mocked by the crew. The girls were kinder, they called him cute and one grabbed his crotch. He remembered how hard that got him – how quickly his erection had come on. But he didn't have enough money to pay and the others, his so called crewmates, wouldn't lend him any. When he asked about owing her or paying next time he was in port the girl laughed at him and suddenly the erection was gone.

Dejected, he left and walked the streets – in hindsight he was lucky not to have been robbed and murdered. Being a naive country boy, he wasn't aware of the dangers that existed in a city late at night. He didn't understand the perils of trusting people who would do him harm just for the paltry sum of money he carried. Even his plan for the ship was naive. He figured that he would travel on the ship until he found a country that was interesting and then he'd just jump off and stay. Oblivious to the need for things like visas and immigration clearance, The Boy thought the plan sounded reasonable – and what adventures he would have.

Those adventures seemed to be short lived as he huddled, cold and wet, on the shore of Chernarus. The First Officer had announced that they should jump and swim to shore and that's just what he did. It had seemed close, but he wasn't a very strong swimmer and the currents had pushed him down along the coast. After a while his arms became heavy and each stroke weighed them down further. He heard the waves crashing on the sand and he knew the beach was close. Pushing on, he swallowed water until actual waves formed, dunking him underneath the water with every crash. He knew then that he was close to the shore.

The sand scrubbed his baby smooth face as he was suddenly thrown on the shore. Coughing up sea water, he dragged himself further up the sand and flipped over, staring up at the sky. The sky was cloudless and the stars were bright – without any electrical lights or buildings to blanket them. It reminded him of home. He stared for a long while - as his breath slowed and his brain began to function again. There was the northern star. Using that and his watch, he could find north. Being a country boy had its advantages it seemed. His back was sore – something was digging into it. The patrol pack – he still had it on. They were designed to provide assistance in an emergency – everything he needed would be inside.

Greedily, The Boy opened his pack, certain he would find water, canned food, a compass and a map - all the survival essentials. Looking inside, all he found was a torch, painkillers and a bandage. How could anyone survive with this useless bunch of junk? Where was the gun? Or at least a hunting knife?

Lying in the sand he cursed his bad luck - what sadist decided this would be useful in a survival situation? Fortunately he was near a town, even though there were no lights on, he could see the shadows of tall buildings in the distance. All he needed to do was walk in that direction, and he had a torch, so it wasn't like he was going to break a leg fumbling in the dark.

He rested for a while in the sand, double-checked his provisions and tested the torch. Waterproof - of course it was waterproof - this is a boat survival kit. Satisfied everything was in order, he rose and brushed the sand off his soggy clothes. Walking away from the beach, he listened to the sounds of crashing waves and his almost silent footsteps on soft grass. Not wanting to waste battery life, he kept the torch off as he made his way from the beach towards the buildings' shadows. His footsteps changed sound as he arrived at something hard. Kneeling down, he patted the surface which felt like bitumen. He turned on the torch to be sure - he was right – he'd arrived at a road. Sweeping the road with his torch he saw an unused road flare which he grabbed. The road went north and south but north was where the buildings and...

"Urrrrrrrrr," softly in the distance he heard the moan. It was faint and he wasn't completely sure he'd heard it. He turned on the torch and shined it in the direction of the sound. "Hugrhuhhhhhhhhhhh," the moaning was a little louder, definitely coming from up the road.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Ugurghhhhh," the moaning sounded back. The Boy walked down the road calling out with the moaning response that came closer with each step. One of the crew must have washed up ahead and was hurt, he thought.

He could hear a sound – a scraping along the bitumen. He stopped walking so that the only sound was now the scraping. Looking down the road he saw a person crawling along the road. Oh shit he's hurt really bad, The Boy thought as he rushed to the person, the light of the torch swinging wildly with every step. Looking down at the person on the road his first thought was that whoever he was, he was not from the ship. Then the smell hit him – rot and the decay of human flesh. Whatever had broken this poor person's legs had turned gangrenous – just like the lame sheep they had to put down last year. The Boy looked around; there were no buildings or cars nearby. How long had this poor person been crawling along the road for help?

The injured man crawled closer and his face looked like it was caked in dried blood, especially around the mouth. But it was dark and even under the torchlight The Boy didn't really believe it was blood, it was dark brown and could have been dirt. The man couldn't speak, he just kept groaning and crawling towards the light.

The Boy stood looking around. There was nothing he could do for this poor man alone, but maybe with someone else helping, they could carry him to help. He waved the torch around but it wasn't that bright, so people wouldn't see it from far away. He dropped the still lit torch and the man crawled towards it grabbing it with both hands.

Then he remembered the flare he had just found. The Boy took it out of his patrol pack and looked it over. This was better; people would see this from far away. Stepping away from the crawling man to the middle of the road, he cracked the flare.

Suddenly the whole area was illuminated in a bright red light. He waved the flare over his head a couple of times before dropping it at his feet. That would get their attention. Proud of himself, he stepped back from the red flare and looked around for people.

Behind him he didn't notice the injured man crawling towards him. Although technically he wasn't crawling to The Boy as he was more interested in the red flare, The Boy was just between him and it. The Boy heard the man crawling towards him.

"It's okay, help will be coming soon," he said as even now in the distance he could see shadows running towards them. He felt the man grab his leg as he watched the shadows run towards him, it looked like three men had seen his flare.

The grip around his ankle tightened and then without warning he was suddenly experiencing pain. He looked down to see that the man had bitten him - like a rabid dog. Instinctively he kicked the man off his leg and stepped back. But the man now had a taste for blood and was no longer interested in the flare as he crawled back towards The Boy.

The Boy called out to the running men, "hey this guy's really sick. He just bit me so don't go near him." The running men had no intention of helping and they ran straight at The Boy, toppling him over. In the red light of the flare he could see their eyes were solely white, no pupils or iris within. And that was definitely blood on their chins and around their mouths.

They bit into him at his arm and stomach. He felt their hands tearing at his chest, pulling the flesh apart to get at the organs inside. The Boy remembered there was talk on the ship about an infection in Chernarus, but being new, nobody really spoke to him about it. On the ship they called him a noob and being a noob, he had to learn things for himself because no one would tell him. As he bled to death with these three monsters ripping and gnawing at his flesh his last thought was of the lame sheep he had put down last year, how its soft brown eyes looked up at him as he swung the axe above his head.

# Chapter 3 – The Butcher

## Although he wasn't a qualified chef - and what the fuck was that anyway - Jeremy Kristiakov was still the ship's cook. He was instead a trained butcher, and for a ship full of men who wanted meat all the time, this was a useful trade. They would have a whole cow delivered on board and The Butcher, as they liked to call him, could make that cow last for weeks. He would strip it bare - every useful cut served as meat and turning the not-so-useful parts into sausages or mince.

Still, he was just the cook, low on the totem pole of the ship's hierarchy. He was also soaked through, shivering on the wet beach - he longed for the warmth of the kitchen. In summer they stayed away in droves but at sea in the bowels of winter, the warmth of the kitchen was what everyone flocked to.

Looking around it was dark – so dark. Being a city person, Jeremy hadn't known a dark like that which was presently surrounding him. Even his torch cut a meager swath of light that barely extended 8 feet in front of him. There were many stars above him and although he didn't know how to read them, they did look impressive. He had been walking along the beach for a while but had not come across any other people, hadn't passed a building. It was just sand and the occasional ship's debris that had washed to shore.

Absentmindedly, he picked up a jagged part of steel, most likely derived from the ship's hull. It ended at a sinister point and could possibly make a useful weapon for any wild animals – although deep down he knew wild animals wouldn't be his problem.

One thing about being the ship's cook is you're often ignored whilst people are eating around you. And when people ate they usually talked, or, more appropriately, gossiped. They may joke about their wives and how much the women gossip but the gossip swapped by the men on a ship would put any sewing circle to shame. Information and rumor was the currency on board when you've been out to sea for a while, and the galley is usually where such trade occurs.

He'd heard the snippets of conversation, the hushed mutterings and the shared looks the senior members of the crew gave each other. This place they were sailing near had been... damaged, scarred? The word he heard a lot was 'infected', especially from Doc with whom the Captain had spent a lot of time talking, away from other crew members.

From what he gathered, some sort of virus or infection had decimated the population. Those that were alive were primitive; they didn't possess normal human functions. They feasted on blood and each other, although to Jeremy that sounded like rumor, the military had been overrun and had abandoned the area a while ago. No one knew if other areas had been infected as well, if the whole world had gone to shit. For weeks, long range communications had been silent, satellite and radio had ceased to receive anything. Either they were shut down or they were blocked to stop information getting out, as the tin foil hat wearers on board kept spouting.

All he knew was that some bad shit had gone down on this miserable part of the Russian coastline where he was now washed up with nothing more than a Band-Aid, flashlight and some pills. He'd seen enough shit to know it was better to have a weapon and not need it than not to have a weapon and need it. He thought about all the mistakes he'd made to get him to this point. People talked about karma and but he'd always laughed it off. He'd done a lot of bad shit and gotten away with most of it – for him it had always seemed that karma had turned a blind eye.

Now he was thinking maybe karma just stored it all up and gave it all back as one major 'fuck you.' He had a feeling this situation was karma butt fucking him back, and the prick wouldn't even give him a reach around. His instincts told him this shit was about to get a whole lot worse and he trusted those instincts unquestionably. He tested the sharp point of the steel shard and felt ready to give back as good as he got.

# Chapter 4 – The Dunce

## It wasn't a nice name but it beat Dopey which was what they had formerly called him at school. And it was an apt name for the simple fact that he just wasn't that bright. Sure he was a nice guy, he followed the rules and did what he was told - he just happened to be dumb. Show him how to do a task and he'll follow it, ask him to reason out why, or to come up with a better way, and you'd get the same response from a lump of cheese. The Dunce just did what he was told, he didn't care about the how or the why. As far as he was concerned that was unnecessary information.

When they told him to jump off the ship and swim, that's just what he did. He didn't ask why, he didn't ask where to – he just swam until he hit the beach. And now he just sat here waiting for someone else to come along and tell him what to do next.

He didn't even grab one of the patrol packs before jumping into the water, so he didn't have a torch to see anything around him. He wasn't afraid though – many of the crew assumed he was like a child because he was naive and slow. But he was no child - he was just dumb.

It was cold on the beach and dark, so dark. The dark bothered him so he sat on the sand tracing patterns with his fingers. Some of them were letters, which together made words and some of those words he knew. Like his name. Rory. His parents had helped him in that regard, nice and short, two of the letters the same. For The Dunce, it was easy to remember. His last name was long, it had too many letters and was long forgotten. Since everyone on the boat called him The Dunce, it didn't matter anyway.

His reverie was broken by the sound of someone coming along the beach. It sounded like a person hopping along, slow but methodical, and definitely coming towards him. He stood up, uselessly waved his hands, too stupid to realize that no one could see that far away.

"Over here," he called out. Now that got a response, a low moan echoed back and he called out again. "I'm over here," this time the returned moan was louder and definitely coming towards him. Its pitch and tone increased, like it was becoming more aggressive.

And then the smell hit him, like old meat that his mother always said you shouldn't eat. This person really needed a bath and in that slow brain of his a warning light began to flash.

"Who is that? You smell," The Dunce asked, but the hopper just groaned in response. And then it ran, straight to him. He'd encountered enough bullies to know if someone ran towards you and you didn't know why, it was best to run away - fast. So that's what he did.

Away from the groaner and along the beach he ran. But the groaner followed him and he could hear others joining him. The joiners all groaned as they chased after him. Now he was back at school with a gang of children chasing him, pens in hand ready to write bad words on his forehead.

He knew he could run fast but this gang, these naughty boys who wanted to hurt him, were keeping up with him. And now it sounded like there were at least four of them back there. It was too dark to see but he could differentiate the groans behind him. In school his saving grace was always his stamina. Most bullies just got bored and gave up after a while. But these bullies just kept chasing, matching him step for step.

Ahead he saw a small building. Since he couldn't outrun them maybe he could hide in there. He ran to the building, through the open door and slammed hard against the wall opposite. Pushing back off the wall he spun around and shoved the door shut. It was flimsy and there was no lock. Seconds later the things were outside, thumping against it. He didn't have long before they were inside.

He looked around the ground for something to brace against the door but all he saw were old tin cans and used soda cans. Someone had holed up here for a while and there was blood on the floor, but no body. And then he saw it, lying on the floor near the dried up dark brown blood stain.

An axe. It must have belonged to whoever had previously hidden in here, but now it was his. He picked it up feeling the weight and heft – it was strong. Not strong enough to brace the now splintering door, but maybe strong enough to scare them away. He swung it a couple of times, getting used to it as a baseball player might get used to a bat before stepping out to the plate. Then the door broke and four of them stood there at the only entrance/exit looking at him. They were long dead, one so injured that he was unable to stand and instead crawled inside.

It was too dark to see the detail on their faces but as they shambled into the confined room the smell overpowered him. Now he could place it - it was the smell of death. These weren't people, these were monsters, the bringers of death. He swung the axe one more time as they moved towards him – batter up.

# Chapter 5 – The Hippocratic Oath for Hypocrites

## Doc was certain that he would be the last person off the ship. The cowards had all lept off at the first sign of trouble and left him with his patient, a crew member who had been struck down with malaria on this trip and was currently shivering in the ship's poor excuse for an infirmary. Doc had spent the last hour looking around the ship for a life raft to go with the stretcher since the patient was unable to swim. In the bridge he did find the Captain with a bullet hole in his head – you didn't need to be a doctor to know that was fatal.

The ship was drifting at a 45 degree angle which made his searching much more difficult. As he moved through the ship he was overwhelmed with how empty it seemed as it drifted along the coast in the dead of night. His patient was unconscious, strapped onto the bed to prevent falling in high seas, which meant he had no issue with the current angle.

With the search proving fruitless and his patient stable, he had nothing else to do. Savoring the moment he stood on the deck and watched the stars. It was peaceful.

For a moment.

Then the ship juddered and rocked as it hit sand, slowing down. He heard the sounds of rocks scraping the side of the hull and the ship lurched to a sudden halt. The speed with which it happened caused Doc to lose his footing and he knocked his head against a rail. The impact would leave a mark that he wouldn't see until morning, although the pain was instantaneous.

Rubbing his forehead he looked out at the coast. The ship had beached at a peninsula somewhere on the coast. He could see the outlines of nearby rocks but that was all. His head throbbed not only from the bump but from the ungodly noise that was coming from the bowls of the ship. The engine lurched and whined, screaming for mercy with the propeller jammed in a rock, forcing it to screech as the motor tried to dislodge it.

Thankfully, something in the engine blew and it cut off, granting Doc blessed silence. It was so dark that he would need to wait it out here until dawn. The wait would give him time to form a plan and find some way of getting the patient off the boat.

He could see the shore; it was just a small jump to land. Would it be so bad to just jump off? He had been abandoned so why should he risk his own life to look after this sick person who would inevitably die anyway? Even with a stretcher, getting him off the boat would be risky. Doc could break a leg and then what – he'd be no use to anyone.

He pondered going to shore, looking for help and maybe some supplies, and then coming back for the patient. There might be a town right near him or he might have a long hike ahead. And if he made it there would he really come back and would there be anyone to come back to? The patient was very sick and would most likely die without the right medication – medication Doc just didn't have on board. He couldn't just leave him here to die a slow and painful death – but he couldn't just euthanize him either. Why was this suddenly my problem? The Captain had checked out so why can't I?

Doc had always been selfish, always looked out for number one. When he was younger he worked hard, and did his best. But age and life had beaten him down and now he just coasted by, did what was needed and took care of himself first.

Perhaps that's why he punished himself by working the ship – running from his problems like most on the ship did. He wanted to run now – and he could find many reasons why he should. Survival was key and this patient was already proving to be dead weight. He'd had many conversations with the Captain so he had a pretty good idea what was waiting for him in Chernarus. Dragging a fevered malaria ridden patient through a town already swarming with the infected didn't seem like a very good plan – unless your plan was to be lunch. But then again, he couldn't just leave him without any chance of survival.

Looking out at the shore that was so close and yet felt so far away, he knew he was going to be in for a long night. And if he was honest with himself he already knew what the outcome would be – it was always the same for him. Self over others – but because he was selfish he needed the night to reason it out and come up with an excuse. He knew that inevitability he would abandon the patient - he just needed the night to make himself feel better about it.

# Chapter 6 – Footsteps on Concrete Are Never Good

## The shivering had almost stopped. Janik's hands were starting to get warm and his clothes were almost dry. It was quiet and his eyelids started to push down on his eyes. He didn't want to sleep but it felt like he didn't have much say in the matter. Maybe just a quick nap then, five minutes or so, a power snooze to recharge the batteries.

Then he heard it - footsteps on concrete. He'd already seen one of those things kill Ruben. They'd both washed up together, but Ruben had made the mistake of running on concrete, while Janik walked slowly, staying on the soft grass. The infected went to town with his body, ripping and feasting away at it. Janik watched from the distance, unable and unwilling to help.

The sounds were louder and definitely coming towards him – urgent, fast footsteps on the hard concrete outside. His breathing stopped and his heart started pounding. All his senses were heightened as he listened to the sounds.

There were more pounding footsteps chasing the first set - a group running behind the first man. Janik listened, straining, turning his head towards the sounds. Yes, they were outside this building. Janik was hiding under a window. If he wanted to, he could just look up and see.

But he didn't want to. He wanted to sleep. He wanted this to all be over, a bad dream perhaps. And if he couldn't wake up from it he'd go to sleep and escape that way. He didn't want to be here. Anywhere but here, hiding in a warehouse with those things outside. Walking around, groaning, looking, no not looking, hunting. Yes, hunting - and he was the prey.

Being prey came with the territory if you were unfortunate enough to have been born much smaller than your peers. Janik was born short and in his world, size really did matter. If you were small you were weak – he wanted to be like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas, small and angry, kicking ass and not taking shit from anyone. Instead, he was more like Pee Wee Herman – small, skinny, and getting his ass kicked all the time.

So the concept of being prey wasn't new to him, but getting killed and eaten if he was caught certainly was. At least he'd had years of hiding and dodging under his belt. He knew how to be quiet, stay off noisy surfaces and avoid roads and footpaths – unlike that clumsy oaf outside, pounding the concrete as he ran, drawing the attention of all those things around.

Maybe that wasn't so bad. It might give him a chance to run. But to where? What was out there that wasn't in here? He should wait until morning when he could get an idea of the lay of the land. Work out a path, a destination. The truth was he'd rather stay and hide than run and fight – waiting until morning was just a lie he told himself.

I should look out of the window. They won't see me since it's so dark. He was up one flight and felt reasonably safe. As he looked out the window his vision was obscured by both the dark and the built up grime on the window. He could make out shapes, one large shape chased by four smaller ones. The large shape ran into a small shed, slamming the door shut behind him. Janik had already been in there before. It had only one way in or out so he'd left it and instead went into this larger warehouse. The warehouse had two exits which suited him - he always looked for more than one way out of every hiding place.

He watched the things pound on the door. The door was weak and broke easily. And then they were inside. The poor guy inside was a goner for sure. He heard the groans and an inhuman scream tear into the night's silence. Subconsciously Janik did the sign of the cross – no one deserved to die like that. He could hear the crunch of bones and soft splotchy sound, like a wet mop slapping down onto a concrete floor.

Then it was quiet. Janik realized he was still holding his breath. He loudly exhaled. From the shed he heard a similar exhale and the heavy panting as someone tried to catch their breath. Wait, those things didn't breathe, they groaned but it was like air pushed through vocal chords, a long monotonous groan with no real pitch or tone.

In the doorway of the shed he saw the outline of a man with the axe held up high. He remembered seeing the axe but at the time he didn't think anything of it – further proof to him that he was a coward. This man was obviously a warrior, a fighter. What Janik saw as debris he saw as a weapon and used it to take four of them down. One part of Janik wanted to signal to him, call him inside for safety. But the other part, the part that had been calling the shots for most of his life, vetoed that idea. What if he kills you? What if he attracts more of those things inside? Best to leave him be. You stay down, you stay quiet, you stay alive. End of that internal discussion.

Janik slinked down from the window and sat up against the wall. He heard the sound of the man running along the concrete. Stupid fool doesn't realize he'll attract more of them, his cowardly conscience reminded him. Axe or no axe he keeps that noise up he won't see the sun rise tomorrow and if you follow him you will share that fate. Janik buried his head in his arms and finally let sleep overcome him.

# Chapter 7 – The First Murder

## Helmut had just found a shotgun with some ammunition so his luck was still holding out. He'd already managed to avoid being killed twice that night and that was only through sheer luck. His friend Freddie wasn't so lucky.

They'd found each other at the docks and Freddie thought the people shambling around were other survivors. Helmut thought differently and held back. The way they walked was what tipped him off – they had no purpose or reason, they were just roaming and groaning. And their heads were strange - they hung off their necks like a piece of meat. They killed Freddie and chased after Helmut – but he was lucky as they lost their line of sight on him around a building.

When he'd lost them he rested against a wall while another one had just walked right by him. It was only two feet away but it didn't pay him any attention. He stood still, held his breath and just watched out of the corner of his eyes as it shuffled past him. Helmut assumed the dark was what saved him that time – two times lucky.

And now he was armed. He had a double-barrel shotgun with 6 slugs. He gathered the gun and ammo up and walked towards the beach, away from the rest of the buildings. The monsters seemed to stay around buildings so he hoped the beach was clear. Helmut didn't know much about guns but he loaded up the shotgun shells and looked for a safety catch - there didn't seem to be any. He assumed that meant the gun was now loaded and ready to fire.

What was it his dad always said about assumptions? It makes an ass out of you and me. He should be sure it was working before he needed it to be working. But not here of course. He could hear them walking around and it seemed like a bad idea to make a big noise in the middle of town. Better to wait until he was far away from everything and test the gun then. To Helmut, that sounded like a plan.

A plan that was about to be upended as he heard the sounds of running footsteps come towards him. He unslung the shotgun and trained it towards the sound. Is he friendly? Helmut thought as he listened to the running.

He could see the outline of the runner but Helmut was pretty certain the runner couldn't see him. With his back to a wall and the shotgun ready, he felt fairly safe as the runner approached. There was a gate near him and he assumed that's what the runner was heading towards.

As he approached, Helmut recognized the runner. Oh shit it's the fucking Dunce and he's got a bunch of them on his tail. Helmut's mind raced through his options. He could do nothing. He could help. He could kill The Dunce. Hell, they might feed on his body and that would give him an opportunity to get out. Fuck who are you man? He berated himself, three hours of this shit and you're already turning cold blooded.

He couldn't do that to the guy. Sure he was a simpleton but that didn't mean he deserved to be killed in cold blood. "Hey Dunce! This way," he called out. It took The Dunce a moment to register that someone was there.

"Helmut help me, please help," he pleaded.

"Sure man sure. But not here, let's lead them out to the beach," replied Helmut.

Helmut ran and the Dunce followed, quickly catching up to him. They both ran side by side towards the beach, a large number of the infected following them.

"Around this building. Let's see if we can lose some of them," Helmut yelled. They circled a building and when they returned to the start it sounded like there were less of them chasing. Helmut filed that away 'under useful shit to know' as they continued towards the beach.

They felt the sand underfoot as they ran. "Helmut they don't stop. I run and run but they don't stop," The Dunce explained.

"I know man. We're going to have to stop and fight them soon. I have a gun, you have an axe so we should be okay."

"I don't want to kill no more people."

"They're not people man. They're monsters, it's okay to kill monsters."

"It's okay?" The Dunce queried.

"Yeah man, it's okay. So don't feel bad about killing them." It was hard for Helmut to tell in the dark but The Dunce did look relieved. "But let's run a little more. I'm sure this gun will be loud and I don't want to draw more of them here."

They continued to run along the beach when ahead they saw a torch waving towards them. Helmut and The Dunce ran faster towards the torch as the distance between them and the infected increased. As they got closer to the torch waver, Helmut heard a voice.

"This way over here," The Butcher called out. The Butcher was up the roof of a small shack, he pointed to the ladder on the side. "Climb up. They won't reach us up here."

Helmut and the Dunce climbed up the ladder and once they were on top of the shack, The Butcher pulled the ladder up, laying it flat behind them.

The infected ran to the shack and then ran around it. They slowed down and roamed around looking for the two missing men. On the roof their former prey watched them below, The Butcher holding his fingers to his lips to indicate they should keep quiet.

"They're not leaving," Helmut whispered.

The men watched and Helmut was right. The infected moved away for a moment but then came back to the shack, back to the last place they saw the men.

"It's like they know," The Butcher pondered.

"What are they?" Helmut asked.

"Bad news, that's what they are," The Butcher answered.

"Monsters," Rory offered.

"Yes that too," The Butcher replied, "you know how to use that?" indicating Helmut's shotgun, "you want me to take that? I'm a pretty good shot."

"I'd just as soon hold on to it for now if you know what I mean," Helmut answered.

"Of course. Just offering to help."

They went back to watching the infected. Sensing movement to his side, Helmut turned to see The Butcher licking his lips before he swung the sharp metal shard and jammed it into Helmut's neck. Helmut's hands dropped the gun as he futilely raised them to try to stop the torrent of blood that poured from the gash in his neck.

"You should have just given me the gun," The Butcher chastised, as he grabbed the shotgun and fished around Helmut's pockets for the shells.

Beside him Helmut watched the Dunce's confused face as the scene unfolded, too fast for his slow-witted brain to comprehend. Helmut tried to say kill him but it just came out as a bloody gurgle.

Loaded up, the Butcher pushed Helmut off the shack to the waiting infected below. They swarmed onto Helmut and began to tear at his body. While they were distracted, The Butcher lowered the ladder on to the other side and started to climb down.

"You better run dummy because it won't be long before they finish with him," he said as he climbed down the ladder.

The Dunce turned his head from the running Butcher to Helmut and back again. He does this too many times for it to be comical and Helmut could almost see the thought process running around the Dunce's head.

"Run!" Helmut gurgled out and mercifully, that was clear enough for the Dunce to understand. He climbed down the ladder and ran after The Butcher as Helmut's vision was filed with an infected standing over him. Its eyes were a murky white and the blood dripped off its chin onto Helmut's face. It opened its mouth to show blood-stained teeth before chomping down onto Helmut's cheek, tearing the flesh from his face.

# Chapter 8 – The Cycle of War

## Vuk looked around at the rag tag group huddled in the large cold empty shed. The MV Rocket's first officer Shutov - who Vuk always thought was a prick - had so far done a good job of keeping them alive. Only one of them was dead and it was that fool Vasily's fault for trying to run off when he should have stayed put.

When they had first grouped togeather at the beach it was chaotic, people screaming, no one wanted to believe what was happening. Shutov had tried to group them, create some sort of order but all everyone focused on were the two dead crew members and the infected feasting on their bodies.

The rising panic was understandable as others called for Shutov to shoot the infected. Vuk knew you needed to give panic a moment - let it say what it needed to say - and then move on. Vasily didn't, and instead he ran, afraid there would be more infected. So Shutov shot him in the back after giving him fair warning. Vuk had seen this play before in prison and in the war. It was an effective, if not very subtle, way of keeping order.

Shutov was setting himself up as the alpha male, king of the yard and that was just fine with everyone, including Vuk. He'd already been through this in the Serbian war previously, seen his wife and daughter raped and killed in front of him. He'd seen men play soccer with the decapitated heads of their enemies, so it was safe to say he'd seen some shit before. At fifty five years of age he no longer wanted to lead, he just wanted to get through this. Although right now it looked like the odds of just surviving were low, Shutov was slowly pushing them up into their favor.

There were now nine of them in the shed. Vuk knew the two men guarding both entrances with hatchets well - Harrison and Kai. They were strong, stupid bullies who stuck together like flies on shit. Huddled in one corner was The Butcher and The Dunce, a strange pair who were deep in conversation, although The Butcher was doing all the talking and The Dunce was just nodding and listening. Lying down and trying to get some rest were Alejandro, Luther and Sam.

Shutov was coordinating the group and although Vuk didn't know for sure, it certainly seemed like Shutov was using some form of military training in his decision making. Vuk watched as he tapped Kai on the shoulder and then pointed at Vuk to take over. Vuk nodded, rose and stretched out the kinks before taking the axe and guarding the door.

The sky outside was glowing red from all the road flares they'd laid down. The flares formed a pointed arrow to the shed in the hope of encouraging other survivors. So far it had worked, bringing in The Butcher and The Dunce. Unfortunately, it was also effective at attracting infected as the pile of dead at each entrance could attest. Nobody wanted to touch them for fear of catching whatever had created them, so they had been roughly kicked aside at each entrance forming a macabre barrier.

Vuk looked out onto the beach looking for Yuri, another one of the old men of the ship. Vuk and Yuri had spent many a night playing cards, swapping stories and generally bonding over Vodka or Rakia - depending on who was buying. They had both jumped into the ocean together but it seemed Yuri was not as strong a swimmer as Vuk. Vuk was swimming directly to the shore when he turned and saw Yuri was being pulled by a current. He called out to not fight it, let the current take him and once it had lost its potency to then swim to the shore. Yuri nodded and gave Vuk a thumbs up, before turning on his back and floating way. Vuk hoped that wouldn't be the last time he saw his old friend.

The flares' lights were fading, almost in sync with the increasing sunlight as the dawn sun was preparing to burst over the horizon. Shutov patted Vuk on the shoulder, it felt like a hollow gesture to Vuk, as he looked out the entrance to the lightening sky. "Dawn is coming... we can use the light to find equipment," said Shutov, as they both looked up at the lightening sky. "You have been in war before, this is correct Vuk?"

Vuk nodded, "it was a long time ago, but yes, I have fought in enough wars for any lifetime."

"I'm afraid my friend it looks like another battle is ahead of us. How is your aim?"

"It has been a while but I'm sure it will come back."

"Good, then I can count on you?" to Vuk that sounded less like a question and more like a demand.

"I have lived too long and seen too much to die at the hands of these things. So yes Sir, you can count on me." He threw that 'Sir' in and Shutov smiled when he heard it. Yes, the young were easy to read and Vuk would feed this man's ego if it kept him alive.

"Good, this is good," he gave Vuk another hearty slap on the back and walked off to the next survivor, ready to make the same pitch. The Big Dog was going to pee on every tree before another dog got the opportunity to.

Whilst Shutov kept recruiting his army, Vuk looked out in the distance and saw a lone survivor running towards the flares. He had a large number of infected chasing him.

"Sir we have a man incoming with a lot of them behind him," Vuk called out. The others all lept up and congregated at the entrances, calling out to the runner.

The runner saw them and smiled - salvation was so close that he didn't notice the rubble pile until it was too late for him to safely leap it. He tried to jump it anyway and his back foot caught on a protruding washing machine tripping him up. He fell, tumbling over himself and scraping his leg on the hard concrete. Momentarily dazed he looked up at the screaming men in the shed not less than 400 meters from him.

He rose up, getting ready to continue towards them, when he was blitzed and knocked back down by the first infected. The pain in his legs was instant and excruciating; he looked down at the sharp white point of a bone protruding out of his thigh. Then they swarmed. Mercifully, he blacked out to die in relative peace.

At the shed they all watched in silence, like gawkers at an accident site. Shutov broke the silence, "does anyone know who that was?"

"I do sir," The Butcher responded, "that was breakfast," and he laughed. Some nervous laughter followed, but not nearly as heartily as The Butcher's laughter at his own joke.

Vuk looked away from The Butcher and back at the poor man being torn to shreds. Yes, if he stayed close to people like Shutov and The Butcher, he may survive, but at what cost?

# Chapter 9 – The Last Man on Earth

## The thing about going insane is that it doesn't happen all at once. You don't wake up one morning and decide to do some crazy shit – it takes time. In Joe's case it was about three weeks and was so gradual that increasingly he was never really sure what was real and what he'd imagined. He started doing stuff that a week ago would seem strange – like talking aloud to himself. It was just such a long time since he'd heard another voice - the demon's groans didn't count \- that he wanted to hear one, even if it was his own. Then he started answering the questions he pondered aloud, only it was not his voice he answered with. This was soon followed by praying - lots of praying. He prayed for salvation, for a way out, for a purpose to his now meaningless life that was solely based on the daily struggle to survive.

Before the event, Joe was a farmer. His father was a farmer and his father's father was a farmer. The only choice Joe ever got about farming was whether to plant wheat or corn. Since farmers don't need to go to school he was taken out at ten and put to work on the land. His life was all mapped out, next year he was going to marry the Mozhayev girl and take over his parents' farm. She was a nice girl, pleasant to look at and had a kindness to her that Joe had learnt to adore. She would be a good mother and Joe felt at peace with his dictated world.

Then one night she was at his door – but it wasn't her. She had blood on her face and her eyes were crazed. Joe tried everything, he locked her in a room, tied her up, fed her real food. But she spat it all out and wouldn't stop trying to attack him any chance she could. In the end it broke his heart to put a bullet through her brain. Her corpse was the only one he burnt and although it wasn't in that exact moment that he snapped, it was definitely then that cracks began to form.

It was a week later while Joe was praying in the Mogilevka church that God had finally answered his prayers. Not with a sign but with actual words spoken from the icon of Madonna and the baby that sat behind the altar. His mission was now clear – this was the end of days as written in the Bible. As prophesied, the dead had risen and it was now his duty to eradicate them from the earth before he too could ascend to heaven.

He hadn't kept count of how many demons he had killed but the pile of corpses in Chernogorsk showed it was a lot. There were corpses all over the place except for the church – he would not have those demonic beings defiling this holy place. He opened the church door, climbed the tower and rang the bells – the noise would attract them from far and wide. Saying a quick prayer as he cleaned his gun he then genuflected before leaving the church, kissing the icon of the Madonna and baby on his way out.

Down the street Joe walked towards an old factory with a high smoke tower that had a platform at its tip. This was his preferred sniping position. From here he could see all around and the military at one point had set up a forward operations base here. Below him there were medical tents and some military tents that still held the weapons they'd discarded when they abandoned this area. Joe ignored the weapons there and instilled his faith in God and his trusty CZ550. It was easy to use, easy to clean and ammo was plentiful so for his holy mission, it was the best tool.

As he climbed the ladder up to the high tower, he was once again filled with an overwhelming revelation that he was getting closer to God. He knew that once he had completed his mission and exterminated all the demon spawn from the land, he would finally ascend into heaven as the last man on earth. He will have returned the earth to the plants and creatures as it was in the beginning and now take his rightful place at the right hand of God.

The thought filled him with comfort and he whispered "Amen," as blew the dust off the first magazine before loading it into the rifle. "Thy will be done," he uttered as he crossed himself before lining up the first demon in the sights and squeezing the trigger.

# Chapter 10 – A Bad Morning to be Hungover

## Robert woke up on the floor of his cabin – a blanket covered him as his face rested in a pile of vomit that he hoped was his. It was not unusual for him to wake up like this, but through the fog of his brain there seemed to be a part of him that was saying this time something was wrong.

He grabbed a clean part of the blanket and wiped his face but kept it over his head. Just one more minute of blissful dark, he pleaded to himself. He enjoyed that minute listening to the woodpecker pounding the inside of his skull. Another distant message tried getting through his brain and he smacked his forehead a couple of times to help it along. What is it? What's wrong?

And then it came to him. Silence. There was too much silence. Being the ship's mechanic, Robert was relegated to sleeping in a room near the engine room, one where he could hastily attend to any emergencies. But right now his engine, the one that he cared for and maintained as a gardener would their garden, was quiet. She was never quiet, even in port there was always a soft hum as the generator ran to maintain power to the ship. He threw the blanket off his face and light streamed in through the round sun roof, blinding him. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to push back the demon light, but he was unable to. In the end he adjusted to it just as he had adjusted to the throbbing behind his temple.

Wait! Why do I have a sunroof? At first he thought he'd ended up in someone else's cabin. He was drunk last night but surely not that drunk. He looked around and confirmed it was his cabin, noting some of his meager possessions on the floor beside him, next to the door. Why is there a door on the floor? And then it burst through the fog in his brain like a train coming out of a tunnel – the ship was on its side. That sunroof was his porthole and this door used to be on the opposite wall. Well technically it is still on the wall - it's just the wall that has moved. It was too early and he was too hungover to get technical with himself.

Robert opened the door and fell into the corridor. He meant to climb down but the whole coordination thing wasn't 100 percent yet, and the ship's weird angle wasn't helping. Fortunately, the ship was designed for rough seas so it had many handholds and railings that he could use to get up to the deck. Each head knock and shin bang was another notch closer to sobriety as he opened the final door and fell outside into the sunlight.

He landed hard with a thud and the immediate torrent of swearwords he yelled woke Doc from his fitful slumber. Doc had decided at some point during the night that moving the patient was too risky and he would instead leave him behind. The finality of that decision provided him with enough mental clarity to snatch some form of sleep that Robert's entrance had just disrupted.

"Doc what the fuck is going on?" Robert queried as he rubbed his tormented head.

"The ship appears to have hit a rock and listed. The crew abandoned ship thinking it would sink but it has instead run aground here," Doc replied.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Chernarus but all I can see are trees so I have no idea where."

"And what about Arnold? Is he okay?"

Arnold was the malaria patient and also Robert's bunkmate, in many ways a little brother to Robert – although he'd never admit that publicly. To Robert it seemed that the Captain assigned roommates based on how likely they were to clash with each other. Robert and Arnold were chalk and cheese but somehow still pretty close. Arnold was a hoarder; Robert didn't keep anything he didn't immediately need. Arnold took pride in his appearance; Robert wore the same jeans until other members of the crew demanded he wash them or be thrown overboard. Arnold liked to collect trinkets from the different ports they visited; while Robert stayed on the ship and used the respite from Arnold to read. It was on one of Arnold's touristy adventures in Turkey he found the evil eye necklace and caught a bad case of malaria. Yet despite all their differences, or perhaps because of them, Robert had a big brotherly concern for Arnold. Also he was worried that if Arnold died it would be up to him to sort through all the crap in their quarters.

"Robert you need to understand that Arnold is very sick. There is nothing I can do for him on-board and the move might kill him."

"What are you saying?" probed Robert.

"We have to get off this ship and I don't think it would be prudent to take Arnold with us."

"How can you say that? You're a Doctor."

"Yes, and a realist. I don't think you're fully informed about what's waiting for us out there."

Doc filled Robert in on all he knew about the infection and Chernarus. The information wasn't complete and to Robert it seemed like Doc was taking the piss - until he looked at the grave expression on his face. Like others on board, he saw Doc conversing intensely with the Captain in the galley. He had heard the rumors but put them down to bullshit or hearsay. But now hearing it from Doc, with that expression, Robert knew it was real – Chernarus was now hell on earth and they may well be walking right into it.

"I get all that Doc but we can't leave him here to die."

"Robert if we carry him then it will take us longer to cover ground. We'll get tired more often, need to carry more provisions."

"So it takes longer. We are not leaving Arnold behind."

"You're not being rational," Doc pleaded.

"I'm being very rational. We are stranded on a part of the Russian coast that is infected with the living dead. The military and citizens have failed to contain the infection and have instead chosen to abandon the land to them. We need to somehow get through that mess whilst carrying a very sick Arnold and find some sort of way out of here."

"Exactly. It's hopeless," sighed Doc.

"I didn't say it was hopeless. It's a tough situation but it's not fucking hopeless. We're on a boat. There's food and water here, we should be able to carry enough for a couple of days. There's the stretcher we used to carry Arnold onboard, which we'll now use to carry him off. We'll go slow, carry him for an hour at a time, rest for fifteen minutes and then carry him again.

"You're right – it will be slow, but it's possible - and we might find a working car out there that we can put him in. There have got to be other people here, other survivors from the boat or even people who lived here and couldn't get out. We meet up with them, we pool our resources and we all survive. It's as simple and as complicated as that."

Doc shook his head, "that's a fool hearted plan. You'll find it tough carrying him by yourself because I'll have no part of it. I want to live. Dragging Arnold across the country with the infected out there is not the best way for me to achieve that."

"Then let me introduce you to plan B. And you're right I will find it tough dragging Arnold along by myself but I'll have the soothing sounds of the ship's fog horn to keep me motivated."

"I don't get it," Doc asked confused.

"The fog horn. That really loud, really fucking loud, horn that the ship has - I'll place something heavy on the button so it continually sounds until the ships batteries are drained. Which, if I shut the power off from everything else, should be at least a couple of days."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because after I overpower you and tie you to one of those trees out there I'm hoping that the horn will attract whatever is out there right to you and away from me as I drag Arnold through the forest. You'll definitely live but probably not for as long as under plan A and death won't be as nice as starvation or dehydration." Robert let the words sink in before he asked, "so any thoughts on the two plans?"

Reluctantly Doc responded, "I think plan A is a winner."

"Glad you see it that way. Now let's go get that stretcher."

# Chapter 11 – The Lone Wolf

## Duke took stock of his surroundings as the pre-dawn light peeked over the horizon. Ahead of him he could see a small military encampment, barbed wire all around with makeshift sniper posts at each of the four corners. During the night he'd heard the sounds of survivors and infected clashing and saw one poor bastard go down near a road flare. Having been a party to all the rumors on the ship he had a pretty good idea what was going on and he wanted no part of it.

Duke was the only American on-board, even though the ship's crew list looked like the United Nations. This suited Duke just fine as he avoided most of the other crew mates and did his own thing in his down time. He took that same attitude when landing on the beach. Around him he saw other survivors group up and head towards the town while Duke purposely avoided them, ignoring their calls and going the other way.

Survival was Duke's guiding principle - for a long time he'd stopped living his life and just survived it. As an orphan with no subsequent family or children of his own, he travelled the world eking out an existence. He'd done good things and he'd done not so good things, but he felt that overall, he was a decent person. He had dealt with shit that would have broken a lesser man and he knew that if he wanted to survive this new world he would need some sort of a weapon. The camp in front of him looked like a very good chance of providing him with one.

Duke had nicknamed the infected 'Zeds', a trerm he'd read once and was short for the Z in Zombies. He wasn't sure if they were living or dead but he'd seen what they did to the living and that was zombie-like enough for him. The Zeds were all shuffling around inside the camp, trapped by the makeshift barbed wire fence. Outside there was no movement, just ruined cars and bodies that were long dead. Slowly he crawled on his belly towards a disused Humvee that was near the road. The shuffle of his elbows made a slight noise and he intently watched the Zeds for their reaction. Thankfully, there was none, and he safely made it to the Humvee. Looking inside he didn't find anything of use.

Damn it, I have to go in. He looked over the camp. It had been abandoned long ago and sealed up, the main walkway entrance closed off with wire. But to the side he could see a gap in the barbed wire where there were sandbags instead, this must have been where the people who closed it down got out from. Crawling over to the sandbags, he listened out for the tell-tale groan of Zeds nearby. They were mercifully silent. He inched over the sandbags and into the camp.

There was a tent directly in front of him and he crawled over to it. Looking through the window he could see that there was no one inside. He made his way inside but couldn't find anything of use. All he found were some old army cots, disused medical supplies and other junk. The place had been cleaned out, any weapons or useful equipment removed, and only items too large to carry or with no value had been left behind. After an hour of crawling around the other tents, Duke found it was the same story with each of them. They'd cleaned the place out and his plan was officially a bust.

He was about to make his way out when he remembered the sniper posts, maybe they would have something. He didn't like the idea of climbing up there and being exposed but he'd be stupid not to at least check them out. Checking that the area was clear, he crawled over to the first sniper post and began to climb up.

Inside he'd found the jackpot – if you were into recycling. Tin cans next to soda cans, although there was one still full can of Coke and some chemlights. He took both and began to walk down the ladder.

He froze at the bottom rung as there was one Zed right underneath the sniper post. Duke focused on the dried blood mixed with hair underneath the dead soldier's helmet as the Zed groaned and swayed, sensing he was there even though it had it's back to Duke. He stood like a statue on the ladder and then slowly stepped down to the next rung. "Urggghhh," the Zed responded and began to turn.

Run, he thought as the Zed saw him and lashed out, missing Duke by seconds, instead hitting the rung. The groan and Duke's footsteps drew in the other Zeds and they all began to run towards him. Duke knew the tents would be no help and instead ran to the next sniper post that was on the short side of the camp rectangle. He hoped to hell they couldn't climb ladders as he made his way up.

They had congregated down at the bottom of the sniper post and thankfully it seemed that ladders were too complicated for them. Instead they stood at the base of the ladder looking up, arms outstretched like evil versions of Oliver Twist wanting 'more'. It appeared to Duke their motor skills were too limited to climb, but now he was stuck.

He looked around this sniper post and at least found some more useful items. He took a hunting knife, a green smoke grenade and threw out one of the empty tin cans in frustration. Damn useless junk, he thought as he listened to it bounce along the concrete floor. One of the Zeds moved towards the can, lashing at it a couple of times and then returned back to the sniper post. They are attracted to sound, he thought as he threw the second tin can to test the theory. This time two Zeds went over to investigate where the can landed before returning to the sniper post.

Let's see what they think of this little show, he thought as he pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and tossed it far away from him. It hit the ground and spun, spewing out green smoke with a loud hiss. The Zeds went batshit crazy and ran straight to the smoke grenade kicking and grabbing at it like pigeons fighting over the last scrap of bread.

Duke used this moment of distraction to climb down and check for weapons in the other two sniper posts. In the third sniper post he found a Makarov PM without any ammunition, it was a decent enough gun but Duke wanted something with more firepower, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't trust any weapon that wasn't American made. One last sniper post - one last chance, he thought as he climbed up the ladder.

As his head cleared the final rung, the rising sun glinted off the steel of an assault rifle resting against the far wall. She was a thing of beauty, an American made M16A2. This gun he knew, having fired off plenty of rounds when he was a teenager back in Oregon, and it was a great all-rounder. He scooped it, up along with the two magazines of STANAG rounds, and examined the gun. Without having fieldstripped it, he could see it was in good shape, but probably needed a good clean out. He also grabbed the empty water canteen and placed that in his patrol pack. Duke loaded a magazine and slung it over his shoulder before climbing down the ladder and crawling towards the nearby exit.

Once outside the camp he immediately ran for the nearest tree line wanting to get away from the camp and Zeds before more were drawn towards it. He followed the trees up the rise of the hill in order to get a better look around, wishing he had some form of binoculars so he could see in the distance.

Down the hill he could see a large town with a large industrial area and docklands. Although hard to make out at this distance, he could see the slow movement of more Zeds. The town looked like a good next stop - there were lots of buildings for him to look through and it would be easy to avoid the Zeds.

He looked over the town, planning some sort of route through it, when he heard the first shot fired. It sounded like a sniper rifle and the boom echoed off the hills behind him. Then he heard another shot, and a third - all coming from the same direction. "Fuck that. Shit is going down over there," he exclaimed as he turned and ran up the hill away from the town.

# Chapter 12 - Cherno Goes Crazy

## Duke was right about shit going down in Chernogorsk that morning. Shutov had continually tried to quell the rising panic that rushed over his men but this became more difficult with each additional shot that rang out across the town. This wasn't helped by the ringing of the church bells. What had been - up until then - an orderly unit, was very quickly breaking apart, with the men speaking over the top of each other in increasingly panicked tones.

They were looting the general store when the first shots sounded. Prior to their arrival the store had been almost picked clean but there were still enough supplies to provide the men with some hope. The loot had been gathered and placed in a pile in the middle of the store. It consisted mostly of canned food and water but they'd also found a map and compass, which Shutov was studying, when the sound from the first shot had reverberated throughout the store.

Vuk was at the store entrance looking out to determine the direction from which the firing emanated. "I think it's coming from that way," he said as he indicated to the west.

Shutov tried to keep the men calm. "It could just be another survivor. There's no need to panic," but to him it seemed too orderly and too consistent to be another survivor just firing at infected.

"Vuk, take The Butcher with you and get eyes on the shooter. If he's from the ship then get him to stop before he draws in every infected around."

The Butcher nodded, popping open the double-barreled shotgun to check that it was loaded.

"Do we really need that?" asked Vuk.

"Hey, you want to go out there with only your dick in hand? Be my guest, axe boy. Me, I'm taking Vera with me." He smiled as he popped the shotgun closed and he walked out of the store.

Vuk and The Butcher moved methodically along the edge of the road, hugging buildings and fences where possible to keep a low profile. Most of the infected they passed weren't interested in them – instead they were drawn to the sounds of the shots or the ringing of the church bell. As they rounded a red brick building, Vuk saw a figure standing at the top of the smoke stack. His heart lept into his throat as the figure had a sniper rifle trained right in his direction. Assuming he was done for, Vuk closed his eyes and waited for the shot which rang out, almost immediately. Realizing he was not hit, he opened his eyes to see an infected lying fifteen meters in front of him, the fresh bullet hole gaping open in his forehead. Vuk scrambled back around the corner to The Butcher.

"He's around this corner at the top of the smoke stack," he whispered to the Butcher.

"Can you tell who it is?" the Butcher asked.

"No. It's too far and he's in shadow."

"Then we'll cut across the road and keep making our way down this street."

"That's suicide. He just got a headshot off from that far away. Whatever he's shooting with, it's long range and he's very accurate. He'll shoot us before he hears our voices."

"So what then?"

"Fuck, give me a moment, I just had a rifle pointed at me."

They both leaned against the wall as Vuk looked around. Another shot rang out, causing them both to jump. Vuk looked back east, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"The sun. We use the sun. If we go back and two blocks over, we should be able to keep the sun on our backs as we make our way over."

"And that helps us how?"

"The sun is low and strong. It's almost blinding. If we keep it on our backs he won't be able to see us moving, which means we can get close while he's virtually blinded. You can't shoot what you can't see."

The Butcher nodded impressed, "okay, we'll do it that way."

Vuk indicated towards the shotgun, "don't fire that thing unless you need to. I don't want to scare him until we find out why he's shooting."

Using Vuk's plan and keeping the sun to their backs they made it over towards the entrance gates of the building the shooter was perched on top of. The Butcher was about to open the gates when Vuk grabbed his hand and inspected the gate. "It's old and rusted, so wait for a shot before you open it," he whispered. They didn't have to wait long; the shot's echo masked the squeak of the rusted gate as The Butcher opened it.

Before them was a helicopter landing pad with a red cross and some military tents. It appeared that at some point this had been a staging area for medical evacuations or treatment. There were bodies nearby still in body bags which made no impact on masking the smell. Vuk and The Butcher surveyed the area from the shadow of the wall, noting the ladder that led all the way up to the top of the smoke stack.

Vuk pointed to the furthest tent, "You get in there where you can see him but he can't see you. I think he's just shooting infected but if not, it's better that he only sees one of us."

"Works for me," and with that The Butcher started to creep over to the furthest tent. His shotgun was trained on the figure thirty meters up the smoke stack.

"Don't bother with the shotgun," Vuk whispered, "the pellets will never reach that far up if you do fire."

"Maybe he doesn't know that," The Butcher replied.

Once The Butcher was in place, Vuk stashed the axe inside a tent and moved out on to the helipad, his arms held high and palms out to demonstrate that he was unarmed. He called out, "you there shooting. Down here."

Joe wiped the sweat off his forehead as the rising sun beat down on him. His ears were ringing from the sounds of the shots and once again he cursed himself for not getting ear plugs, although he wasn't sure if he'd still be able to find any. He could hear some other sounds but with the ringing he couldn't be sure.

"You up there, I'm down here at the helipad."

It was a voice. The demons had gained the power of speech. Joe put it down to hallucinations and looked for another demon to wipe off the scarred earth.

"Can you hear me?" the voice was louder and more insistent. Joe moved around and looked down. The sun was bright on this side and Joe had to shield his eyes but he could see something down at the helipad. There was a black figure standing there, all in shadow. The figure was waving both arms at him. Joe smiled in elation. It was Jesus. He had come down to personally take Joe up to heaven – the mission was complete.

"Jesus! My Lord I am ready," Joe called back.

"I'm not Jesus, my name is Vuk. I'm from a boat that was shipwrecked last night. There are other survivors, and we mean you no harm."

"You're not Jesus?" Joe asked forlorn.

"No I'm a survivor. Like you."

Joe studied the figure that was in shadow. What trickery was this? There were no boats. There were no survivors. There was only Joe and the demons, he knew he was the last man on Earth because God had told him so. But if this was not a man and he was not one of the demons then... and then it came to Joe. A revelation. This was not Christ, it was the Anti-Christ. Satan himself had come to tempt Joe and take him away from his mission as he had tempted Christ in the desert. That's why the figure was in shadow. That's why he had no face. Joe watched Satan intently as he unloaded the last magazine and reached into the pile for a new magazine.

From his vantage point Vuk saw the man move, saw him load another magazine into the rifle. He started to back away towards the wall, arms still up. "Hey I'm not sure what you're thinking but it's true. We can help each other. It doesn't have to be like this."

From up high Joe responded, "I cast thee out Beelzebub. You and your demon spawn."

Vuk scanned around as he saw the rifle rise and train on him There was no cover but he ran and dived anyway hoping for a miracle which, ironically, was also what Joe was hoping for.

The first shot whizzed past Vuk's feet to the place he was standing seconds ago. Vuk rose up and ran towards the smoke stack, hoping the angle would help. It did as the second shot was too wide. Joe stood up and looked down the stack trying to find Vuk when his body was abruptly riddled by AKM bullets. He stumbled back with each hit before toppling over the rail and falling to certain death. Vuk heard the sickening sound of Joe's spine crack as he landed neck first, ten meters away from him.

Vuk turned to where the shots had come from and saw The Butcher walk towards him with an AKM in hand. Vuk was at first relieved that Joe didn't have someone else with him but that relief quickly dissipated as The Butcher kept the rifle trained on him. The AKM looked formidable in his hands, similar to the well-known AK-47 it was an upgraded version, holding larger caliber bullets and had a clearer iron sight. That clearer iron sight was pointed directly at Vuk.

Vuk had good cause to be worried as The Butcher was at this moment debating whether or not to pull the trigger and also kill Vuk. The Butcher knew it was an irrational thought. He felt his breath quickening and his blood pressure was up, he was learning that he liked to kill. He looked around, there was no one to see, no police force to lock him up, he could just pull the trigger and kill this man right here and now without any consequences. He took a deep breath in – that kind of power was heady. Finally the rational part of his brain got a word in. There is no benefit in killing him right now, so wait until there is. You have a better chance of surviving with him alive than not – when that changes, pull the trigger.

The Butcher called out, "Is he dead?" Vuk nodded, not taking his eyes off the gun trained right at him. The Butcher nodded in response and lowered the AKM, at which point Vuk let out a long held breath. Recognition passed between the two of them – they both knew how close Vuk just came to dying and it had nothing to do with Joe shooting at him. Vuk decided there and then the only way he was going to get through this was to make himself indispensible.

"I see you upgraded," said Vuk.

"Yeah, her name is Grace and she had no trouble reaching up there. You can have Vera if you want, I left that bitch back there," said The Butcher as he took the CZ550 off Joe's corpse, not thinking of offering it to Vuk. "This is for Shutov."

The Butcher slung the rifle over his shoulder as he rifled through Joe's corpse. Vuk was repulsed with the ease with which The Butcher killed and subsequently looted Joe, as he walked towards the tent to collect Vera.

# Chapter 13 – Ringing The Dinner Bell

## The distant sounds of gunfire reinforced Janik's decision that he'd made about leaving Cherno. Although he was dog-tired he couldn't sleep for long. Instead spent the rest of the night circumnavigating the town by staying along the coast. Janik felt that if he was going to survive this he would need to stay away from major towns, but he was too cowardly to make it alone. He'd need help but not back in that town \- that town Cherno was fucking dangerous.

He was following the coast eastwards when he came across a small group of farmhouses, which he was about to ignore when he saw it - a bicycle resting on the side of a house, it was light green, looked a little worse for wear, but usable. The problem was that there were four of those things walking around there. Under normal circumstances Janik was very much a 'no reward is worth the risk' type of guy, avoiding anything that had danger attached. But these were definitely not normal circumstances and he was actually contemplating going up there and taking that bicycle – even though it would put his life at risk.

It was the dull ache in his belly and the parched taste in his mouth that pushed him over the edge, to risk going for the bike. His patrol pack was empty and he had no idea how far it would be to the next town. Getting closer, he peeked around the farm shed he was learning against – between him and the bike was an ocean of concrete. "Dammit," he cursed, as he looked for another way around, but there wasn't one. He knew that if he ran across the concrete he'd draw all four infected straight to him.

Dejected, he went inside the shed to get out of sight and come up with a new plan when he saw it - just lying there on the ground – a tin of sardines and a can of Pepsi. Not even thinking about expiry dates or rationing, he cracked them both open, and greedily consumed them. He looked around for more food but apart from some wood and a jerry can, there was nothing else.

He crept out the back of the shed and decided to move towards the barn that was near it. Slowly, he dropped down and crawled across the concrete and through the barn's entrance. He rose - looking over a hay bale he froze. One of the infected was there. Its legs must have been broken as it crawled along the floor using only its arms to move forward. At the sight of Janik it gave an unholy groan and moved towards him.

Janik ran up one of the stairs to the hay loft of the barn as the crawling infected moved towards him. Outside, he could hear the pounding of footsteps on the concrete as the other infected responded to the groan and ran towards him. Panicked, he searched for a way out, but Janik was trapped and there were more coming inside. He climbed up the stairs to the higher hayloft and looked out of the circular window. "Help! Help!" he called out but only the infected groaned in response.

Janik was not alone up here, on the ground next to him was a dead body. The dirt-covered denim overalls showed that he had been a farmer - this was most likely his barn. His head was a dried mess of blood and brains, with the top left side spread out against the wall behind him. In his hands was the instrument of his doom – the Lee Enfield rifle he'd apparently used to shoot himself. Janik looked at the gore and shrieked, to which the infected downstairs responded with inhuman groans as they made their way towards him.

Janik tried to pry the rifle out of the dead farmer's hand but long term rigor mortis made that difficult. He pulled at the fingers of the left hand until he heard them all break and the top of the rifle was released. The infected were walking up the stairs as Janik began snapping fingers on the farmer's right hand. The index finger around the trigger proved especially difficult but Janik finally snapped it, and the rifle was his.

Janik's hands shook as he held the rifle with his breathing coming in quick, desperate pants. He lined up the first infected in the iron sites and pulled the trigger. The bullet went wide, missing it and striking the wall behind. Janik wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt and took a deep breath, holding it in, as he lined up the next shot. He aimed for the center mass of the infected and when he was sure, he gently pulled the trigger, finding a surreal calm in the moment.

The infected dropped to the floor and Janik's world went silent as his ears shutdown from the noise of the rifle. He smacked at his ear with his palm, creating a popping sound, but otherwise the world was still silent and more were coming up the stairs. He lined up the next one and pulled the trigger. It joined its buddy on the floor. Sounds slowly returned to Janik's world as he shot the third and fourth infected, killing both instantly.

He slid down the wall to a sitting position - keeping the rifle ever trained at the door in case more entered. His breathing slowly returned to normal but his eyes and the rifle didn't move from pointing at the entrance. Janik was in shock, he'd never done anything like that before. His body had moved of its own accord and now his brain was catching up and trying to come to terms with it.

Eventually Janik looked away from the entrance as reason and logic returned to his world. He'd just killed four of those things - did that make him a murderer? He didn't know what they were but he didn't think they were human so he guessed he was okay. They were people, they could have been this poor bastard's family, he mused as he looked over the dead farmer. It's you or them, so make it them, his brain responded, and Janik felt the guilt dissipate. He rifled through the pockets of the dead farmer, finding a map with Russian notations he couldn't understand, and a compass. Taking both of them, he studied the map, using the compass and the coastline to determine where he was.

He could see that there was another large town nearby, Elektrozavodsk, which he would avoid. Avoid people, avoid big towns and get inland - that was his new plan. With the Lee Enfield and the deaths of four infected, Janik felt a new found bravery, maybe he could make it on his own. The map showed there were plenty of other small towns inland that he could hole up in. Remembering the bicycle outside, Janik smiled as he bounded down the steps, forgetting all about the one infected with broken legs that was still crawling around down there.

The sudden groan reminded him, but all too late as it struck out and hit Janik, causing him to trip and fall off the last couple of steps. He landed hard and the wrong way on his ankle as debilitating pain shot up from his twisted ankle. He shuffled away from the infected trying to get a shot as it crawled towards him. Arriving at the end of the barn he had nowhere to go, and realized it was now or never. He fired and fortunately hit it right in the head. There was no blood splatter but a black fluid oozed out of the hole as the infected's head hit the ground, hard.

Janik tried to stand but the pain in his ankle was intense and he couldn't get more than a step before needing to lie back down. Cursing himself for being so stupid he began to hop towards the bicycle. He might not be able to walk on that leg but he hoped he was still able to ride. Using the wall to steady himself, he swung the injured leg over the bicycle. Pushing down on the pedal made his ankle hurt but it was manageable which fortunately meant he could ride. He rode down the hill but it was slow going and painful. Janik found he was able to stay on the bicycle by using his good leg to pedal and support him when he stopped.

Janik rode towards Elektro, his plan of staying away from people and large coastal towns now forsaken. He needed to find another survivor to help him if he was going to last out here. He just hoped Elektro was safe because Cherno sure as hell wasn't.

# Chapter 14 – Euthanasia

## Robert was comforted by the sound of the ship's foghorn blaring in the distance. Although initially it was just an idea he threw out there to scare Doc, on reflection, it seemed like a good way to draw the infected towards the boat and away from them. He had written on the side of the boat the date and direction they had departed in case any other survivors came across it. Their packs were loaded with food and water canteens, the weight of which, coupled with carrying Arnold on a stretcher, made travel hard going. Doc was definitely out of shape, constantly asking for breaks more often than Robert would have wanted, but he obliged. He needed to keep Doc onside after his threat at the ship, and right now compliance was easier than conflict.

Having left at first light they followed the coast north and had made it to an inlet that went inland. Along the way they had seen nothing but trees. There were no signs of civilization along this part of the coast, and Robert was beginning to doubt if this was the right direction to take. Arnold had become increasingly worse, beads of perspiration reappeared on his forehead no matter how often Robert wiped them away. He'd also taken to muttering in his sleep. Doc constantly reinforced that if they didn't get medication soon, Arnold would die. Robert wasn't sure if this was a diagnosis based on medical training or Doc's own survival instinct, but he took heed anyway as they followed the inlet inland.

With the sun directly overhead they moved into the cool shade of a pine tree to stop for lunch. The lukewarm water in the canteen was still surprisingly refreshing and Robert drew a large sip. Doc slurped down the water, splashing some on his chin, which irritated Robert as he snatched the canteen away from him.

"Go easy on that. We only have two more and no idea how far it is to any other water source," he said as he tipped a small amount of water into Arnold's mouth before handing the canteen back to Doc.

"You rest here for half an hour. I'm going to scout ahead and see if there's a mountain range or some high ground where I can get the lay of the land," he moved away before stopping and turning back to Doc.

"Give me your pack."

Doc handed it over asking, "why?"

"Insurance," Robert replied, taking out some tinned food and water and giving it back to Doc, "what's left won't last you very long so my best advice is to stay here rather than run off." Doc nodded as Robert slung his pack over his front and walked off. He took a rebellious long swig of water as he watched Robert disappear into the distance.

Arnold's muttering was beginning to really get on Doc's nerves as he pondered a way out of this shitty situation. Right now he needed Robert but it was frustrating that Robert couldn't see that Arnold was just dead weight. Arnold was going to die, of that Doc was certain. The medication he needed was highly specialized, and they were not likely to find it on some piss poor part of the Russian coast. And even if it was there, by the time they got to it, Arnold would most likely have perished. He'd tried explaining this to Robert as they walked, but the man's stubbornness knew no bounds.

As a doctor he was used to making tough decisions and this was one of those. No matter what Robert said, they both knew that carrying Arnold through the woods was jeopardizing their own survival. Robert just refused to acknowledge it out of some stubborn loyalty to his roommate. Deep down Doc felt that Robert would have done the same for any one of the crew, Robert was just that kind of guy.

If only Arnold died right now, that would save them a lot of trouble. It would almost be a mercy. The man was very weak. He probably wouldn't struggle that much if his airways were blocked. Sure, an autopsy would show the true cause of death but that was unlikely to occur out here. Robert would suspect, of course, but suspicion is not the same as knowledge, and he could suspect all he liked.

The thought burrowed deep into Doc's brain. If he was going to do this then he needed to do it now, while Robert was away. He was unlikely to get another chance and it was a much more peaceful way to die than what was otherwise ahead for the poor man. Doc wiped the perspiration off his hands and ruffled his hair a few times, trying to come to grips with what he was about to do.

And then he heard it. It was faint but distinct, the sound of an outboard motor. All thoughts of murder were replaced with hope. There was a boat, he would be found and saved. He left Arnold alive under the tree and rushed to the shore, waving down the boat. In the distance a black shadow came towards him, the motor's droning bringing sweet music to his ears.

Robert waved back from the PBX, grinning from ear to ear. The PBX was a very lucky find, just sitting there at the inlet's edge. For a fleeting moment he thought maybe it was someone else's boat and they might be back soon. Taking it was theft but Robert justified that he needed it to save Arnold's life - so he took it. Perhaps later on he could return it once Arnold was better, but for now it was their best chance of moving Arnold.

He pulled it up at the shore next to Doc with a proud look on his face. Doc was amazed, "Where did you find this?"

"It was just parked on the coast a bit further up. Let's get Arnold on and get out of here, it's only got half a tank and I have no idea if we'll find more fuel." They tenderly loaded Arnold and the stretcher onto the boat, part of the stretcher hanging out the front. Doc squeezed on board, his legs crammed underneath the stretcher and although uncomfortable he was in, so they pulled away.

They travelled back along the inlet towards the ocean, wind in their hair and the fine mist of sea spray cooling them underneath the harsh midday sun. For a moment they both felt good, at peace with their situation. Doc reflected on the variety of large yachts and boats he'd been on in his life and how pale those experiences were compared to this one. It was amazing how quickly the little things began to matter and Doc couldn't help but smile. Then he remembered how close he'd come to murdering Arnold and although outwards his smile didn't change, to Doc it suddenly felt really forced. Things weren't better yet - this was a small drop of okay in an ocean of fucked-up that they still needed to swim through.

# Chapter 15 – Sanctuary

## Janik wasn't sure why they had picked this place to hole up in. Sure the church was in good shape but it had only one entrance, which would be a problem if they were ever overrun by the infected. Janik didn't feel it was his place to complain though, he was just glad to have found the Survivors as his situation was looking bleak until then. Although he missed his bike he didn't really feel like he could say no when they asked to use it.

He rubbed his ankle, it was bandaged up and he didn't feel any pain. That was due to the miracle of morphine that one of the Survivors had injected him with. He could now walk on the leg and didn't feel a thing, although he had no idea how long that morphine would last - he hoped forever.

They were all from the ship, and almost all of them were armed. Some with pistols, some with axes and the lucky few with shotguns or rifles. Nobody walked around without a weapon by their side. It was an NRA wet dream - no one debated the right to bear arms, they all just did.

Alfie had recounted to Janik how they'd all washed up at the Elektro docks, caught in the same current. Not everyone made it that night as the Survivors came to grips with their predicament. Fortunately they had found some axes and very quickly turned the tide on the infected. While Janik was cowering in a shed in Cherno, these men had worked together to get everyone armed. They'd traded up from axes to pistol, pistol to rifles and scavenged what supplies they could in the town. Sure they'd lost some good men along the way, but Janik was enthralled to hear how they'd worked together to survive so far.

Janik examined them as the story was told, the men finding catharsis by recounting the tale. Some of them had the same hollowed-out look that Janik saw in his own reflection, the look of a survivor who had secretly wished he hadn't survived. And this was only after a day – what would they be like in a week, and how many of them would make it that long?

Everyone was amicable, sharing what they found and ensuring there was enough food and water to go around. They were coming and going with no real leader and no order to it. He saw this as weakness and noticed that some of the others were already hoarding food and ammunition. Yeah this little hippy commune wouldn't last very long, Janik thought as he made the decision to grab what he could and get out as soon as his bike had been returned.

Janik had swapped his Lee Enfield rifle for Alfie's crossbow. Alfie had acted as though he'd won the lottery but Janik valued silence over firepower, and was happy with the trade. He speculated about how long trading would last before people decided it was just easier to take, rather than to trade. What would happen when ammo got scarce? He didn't have a lot of faith in himself and therefore not a lot of faith in humanity. He wanted to be well on his way before things really became desperate.

Mitch and Pablo had just returned with a large boar over their shoulders. The others all cheered, Janik silently cursing them at their stupidity for making all that unnecessary noise. These fools ready did need a leader, he thought, as he watched them break up a church pew for firewood to roast the boar. He had to admit it did look tasty but creating a fire indoors didn't seem to be the brightest idea. Maybe you should put your hand up to lead them, but Janik berated himself for the thought. He would have liked to do it but he really didn't have that leadership quality. People just didn't believe him when he spoke because he didn't believe in himself. This was life or death for these people and Janik knew he wasn't the one to lead them.

Instead, he planned to skulk away in the night and find his own little hole to hide in and ride out the shit-storm. By himself - that's how he'd survived so far and that's how he would continue. His mind tactfully ignored the whole broken-ankle-and-the-need-for-morphine-provided-by-someone-else-thing. Janik would provide what help he could, so long as it didn't get in the way of his survival. So he'd decided to stay with them for as long as he benefited - when that changed, he was off.

The smoke was starting to get thick in the church. "We need to get this smoke out," he told no one in particular and, in return, no one paid him any attention. Janik looked up at the roof and took note of the high stained glass windows. They were too high for an infected to get in but high enough to let the smoke out. "These windows up here, we should break them to let the smoke out."

Some of the others looked around but they didn't react so Janik grabbed some rocks and began to throw them at the windows. He felt a slight twang of guilt as he threw the rock but soon he wouldn't care less about stuff like that as things became more desperate.

Others joined in and soon there was a blessed rush of fresh air as the smoke went out. Some Survivors patted Janik and slapped his shoulder, impressed by his thinking. Janik allowed himself to feel joy in the moment – it felt good to be useful and it seemed a long time since he had been that. The boar crackled along on the spit and Yuri, who always ignored him on the ship, sat down next to Janik to plan a raid tomorrow.

As he sat on the floor eating boar around the campfire, the talk of tactics and the infected died down and everyone just ate while watching the fire. It felt normal, and for now, that feeling, was a scarce and highly valuable commodity.

# Chapter 16 – Xavier

## When Xavier had first washed up on the shore he was alone, with only the sounds of the ocean to comfort him. He did see further away a red flare and watched helplessly as The Boy was attacked and killed by infected. Afraid it would happen to him, Xavier stayed motionless on the beach, watching for any signs of help. After hours there wasn't anyone else, and he figured he had been separated from the rest. The only shape he was able to make out was the Air Traffic Control tower in the distance. Slowly he made his way there, crawling past some of the infected, and spent the remainder of the night and early dawn hiding out inside.

As light appeared, Xavier used the binoculars he'd found to search the surrounds. The airfield had the remnants of a large battle - dead soldiers and burnt-out cars littered the runway. There were the remains of barricades that had been set up and in the distance Xavier could see a forward-operating base with four sniper posts. It was here that he first caught sight of Duke, and while watching him, Xavier become increasingly impressed with his behavior. He watched Duke from afar as he'd used the smoke grenade to distract the infected; he watched as Duke, who was armed with the M16, still turned away from Chernogorsk at the sounds of shooting.

Duke seemed to want to avoid any other human contact which right now suited Xavier, who had no weapon. Instead he stalked him, following him from the airfield as Duke went off into the forest. Duke stayed in the cover of trees, avoided open fields and often stopped to listen to the sounds around him.

Xavier had no idea what was going on but he knew the infected were trouble and Duke seemed to know how to handle them. It wasn't much of a plan but for now he figured that stalking Duke would be better than sitting in an ATC tower for a rescue that was never likely to come. All he'd found in the ATC tower were some binoculars and a map. He wasn't quite sure how to read it, but it looked like Duke was heading north out of Balota following the dirt road at his right, but being careful to stay off it. The large mountain at the left could be Windy Mountain which meant if Duke continued along this road he would come to two towns.

Xavier watched Duke as he approached a cluster of what looked like farm buildings. When he was close Duke sat under a pine tree for a while and surveyed the infected as they roamed around the buildings. Watching him through the binoculars Xavier assumed Duke was debating whether to go down or avoid it. Duke opened his pack, took a swig of water and then went back to watching the buildings. Finally, Duke seemed to have come to a decision and packed up his gear before circumnavigating the barns. From Xavier's vantage point, it seemed like that was the smart call as there were ten infected at his count. Maybe if he had a partner Duke might have risked going in, but being alone he played it smart and avoided it.

Xavier felt that Duke was well suited to this situation, as though he'd been born for it. He handled his gun well, seemed to have a basic understanding of survival and orienteering, and played it safe. Xavier on the other hand was the opposite, having hailed from Marseilles and lived all his life in the city, he was now well out of his element traipsing through the forest. Xavier had decided he'd watch and learn, following Duke from a distance until an opportune moment struck. He didn't exactly have a plan for what to do in that moment but the key was to get a weapon and right now that was proving to be extremely difficult.

Duke approached the next large town, which if Xavier was reading the map right was Zelenogorsk, since Duke had stayed along the trees and avoided Drozhino. Once again, Duke stopped at the top of the hill and watched the infected roaming around the town. It was spread out but at the southern entrance there was a general store. From high up Duke could see through the glass that it hadn't been picked clean, there was still stuff inside. The store's car park was littered with burnt out and abandoned cars, bordered by a concrete wall on two sides. From his vantage point up in the hill, Xavier could see that the store still had items littered on the ground and assumed that's what Duke was hesitating about. Go in and raid the store or go around and avoid it?

Duke watched the roaming infected before cutting back along the road and around the field to his left. There were houses with infected between Duke and the store and it seemed that he was going to take the long way around to avoid them. Xavier saw a barn nearby and decided to take a position inside. From inside the barn he could see out the doors across the field to the store. He watched as Duke circumnavigated the field and avoided the houses as he moved towards the concrete wall.

Duke walked along the field he kept looking around, not at the infected but far off into the tree lines. The day and craziness of this situation had made him very paranoid and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. At the wall Duke kept low and walked slowly along it, trying, where possible, to stay in its shadow. Of course there were infected everywhere but they didn't seem to watch, they were more like animals than people. His instincts told him that someone else was watching him and he knew to trust those instincts.

Leaning against the wall he looked around wondering where they could be? There were trees everywhere and any one of them could be hiding someone. He took a sip of water, shook his head, hoping that would somehow also shake off the feeling of being watched. It didn't. Instead, he continued along the wall towards the general store. He needed gear to survive and right now the store was the only option for miles.

The wall ended and from there he could see the back of the store. He could also see there were three infected roaming around the back entrance. To Duke it looked like they continued to roam around where had once lived or been infected. Here in the town, the infected were wearing worker clothes and Russian civilian gear, whereas the first ones he encountered at the camp were all wearing military uniforms. They must also be able to see, as they avoided the piles of debris on the ground. They also ignored each other and walked around vacantly, staring off into the distance. That probably meant he should avoid high population centers as higher populations meant more infected – but right now he needed those supplies.

Crawling along the concrete towards the back entrance of the store, he kept an ever-watchful eye on the infected as they roamed nearby. He felt a shudder run down his spine as the reality of the situation overwhelmed him for a moment and he stopped. Fuck. This shit is real, this is actually happening. He allowed the moment to pass as he looked into the scratched whites of the nearby infected's eyes. He couldn't put his finger on what it was that was getting to him about the eyes, until he realized that they never blinked. The infected was close enough for Duke to notice its eyeballs were dried up and scratched by millions of particles of dust. Looking out from them must be like looking out from behind the worst cataracts in history.

The infected was looking right in his direction. Duke slowly moved his hand back and forth. It groaned but ignored him as though it didn't quite see the movement. He then waved his hand quickly, and the infected's demeanor instantly changed. It roared aggressively and started making its way towards Duke. He grabbed a nearby tin can and tossed it away from him. The infected followed the movement of the can in the air and ran towards the place where it landed. Duke nodded, storing this new found information as he continued to crawl into the store.

Xavier watched from the barn, also taking note of what Duke had just learned. Fast movement and sounds attract them. Being close isn't a problem so long as you're slow and quiet. Duke crawled his way to the back of the store which was concealed from Xavier's angle, so he dropped the binoculars – to come face to face with a crawling infected not three meters away from him. Xavier had been standing still for so long watching Duke that the infected hadn't noticed him. It looked like it used to be a teenage boy but its lower half had been torn off and it was now dragging a train of entrails as it crawled toward Xavier.

Unable to stem his rising panic, Xavier backed away slowly before turning to run. Another infected was walking around the back entrance so that exit was out of the question. Instead Xavier went up to the hay loft, hoping that the infected wouldn't be able to crawl up the stairs. He scurried around but found nothing to defend himself with, so if the infected could come up the stairs then Xavier was a goner.

At the same time the infected was crawling into the barn, Duke slowly walked into the back of the store. With one hand he pushed open the door, wincing at the quiet squeak it made as it opened. It was comparatively dark in the back of the store but still light enough for Duke to ascertain there was no one in this storage room. A fine layer of dust was kicked up as he walked down the back of the store towards the front entrance. The dust danced around in the high beams of sunlight that pierced through the high ventilation shutters. Duke walked through to the front of the store where the light streamed through the large display windows.

Outside the windows, Duke could see the infected roaming but they appeared to be ignoring him. He began to gather up any pertinent supplies, placing them in a larger Alice pack that he found at the back of the store. Although he still hadn't found a map, he now had a compass and matches, so survival in the woods was looking more feasible. He could hunt game but without anything to gut and skin it with, that would be redundant, so he gathered as much food and soda cans as he could carry. Satisfied with his haul, he looked out the glass windows as he slung the Alice pack on his back.

Across the field there was a commotion and movement. It seemed a person was running from the infected and heading straight towards town. Every infected he passed was drawn to the sound and motion and his followers increased. Shit! If that fool does that in town he'll have the whole lot on him in no time, Duke cursed as he trained his M16A2 at the door. He watched the figure running straight towards the store. Duke realized he was heading straight towards him and recognized the man as being Xavier, the Frenchy from the ship. That's already a dead man running, so if he comes in here I'm putting him down myself. He flicked off the safety and trained the gun right at the door.

Xavier had fucked up, plain and simple. He learnt the hard way that possessing the knowledge that you should stay quiet and low means jackshit when you panic. Back at the barn the crawling infected was unable to climb up the stairs but its rustling and moans had attracted the other walkers. Xavier panicked when the walker came into the barn. He didn't want to be trapped in the hay loft with the walker, even though it hadn't seen him. In that moment it seemed logical to run - so he did - right out of the barn. The flash of movement caused both infected to become aggressive and give chase. As they were between him and the trees, Xavier ran instead down the field – that was mistake number two.

His running visage across the field drew the attention of all the infected roaming around nearby houses, so they also gave chase. Xavier looked behind him to see three more angry bloodstained monsters behind him and his mind became a white ball of panic. Reason checked out on a two week holiday and fear moved in and made itself at home. He ran faster, harder, his lungs burning and a pain forming at his side. He wiped away at the tears blurring his vision and focused on the general store. It was sanctuary, he would be safe there.

As he got closer he could make out Duke inside the store, his gun primed and focused on the entrance. Xavier felt a moment of relief until he heard Duke's voice. "You bring those things in here you French fuck and you're dead! Get the fuck away from me!"

"Help!" was his meek response.

"Your problem. You deal with it!"

Xavier's world fell apart and he contemplated just stopping and letting the infected finish him off there and then. He would become a macabre sacrifice that would hopefully riddle Duke with guilt. But the will to live prevailed so he ran past the store, past boarded up houses, down the road looking for somewhere to hide. Nothing else was open, there was nowhere to hide. Then he saw the dome of the church.

The church wouldn't be locked that was some kind of rule or something, Xavier thought as he ran towards it. Of course when he got there it was locked, and he reminded himself that the rules don't apply anymore. Xavier couldn't see anywhere else to go so he turned around and doubled back to the store, trying to use the houses between the store and church to break the chasing infected's line of sight.

Duke watched from the window as Xavier ran past with the infected following. Silently he was relieved that Xavier had listened because he wasn't sure whether he would have shot him if he had come in. Relief was quickly replaced by the guilt - crushing and immediate. He'd essentially condemned the man to death. Sure he hadn't pulled the trigger but he hadn't helped him either. He had a rifle, they could have fortified the store. Together they he could have taken out the infected. Instead he threatened Xavier with death and then ensured it would be very soon. What did that make him? A survivor, his mind responded, but his mind wasn't very convincing. Duke thought it was too late to do anything - but he was about to get a reprieve.

Xavier burst into the back of the store slamming against the far wall. He shut the door behind him and pulled down an empty wire shelf, creating a small barricade at the door. At his feet he found a revolver and two speed loaders. Xavier had never fired a gun before but he'd watched plenty of movies so he scooped up the gun and bullets and loaded it. From the main part of the store he heard Duke call out, "Frenchy is that you?"

"Who the fuck is back there!" Duke called out more insistent this time. Then the pounding on the door started as the Zeds tried to get in.

"You fuck – you left me to die," Xavier yelled back.

"I'm sorry," was all Duke could say.

Xavier tried to process that, but the pounding interrupted any thoughts. The shelf was getting pushed back as the Zeds were about to break through the barricade. Xavier turned his shaking hand to the door and backed away from it. An infected knocked through the door, shoving aside the barricade as Xavier fired. He didn't see where the bullet went but it didn't hit him.

"Was that you firing?" Duke called out.

"Yeah! They're coming through the back," Xavier responded.

"Then get in here! We can cover both entrances from here." Xavier turned and ran into the main part of the store, holding his revolver in front of him. As he walked through the entrance into the main store, he saw Duke with the M16A2 pointed right at him. Xavier froze, this was the first time he'd ever had a gun pointed at him. "Move!" Duke called out, breaking Xavier's reverie as he moved out of the entrance and next to Duke.

Xavier copied Duke and pointed the revolver at the entrance. Duke noted the shaking hand, "don't shoot that unless you need to. I have 30 rounds in this mag which should be enough to deal with them." He pressed the butt of the gun against his shoulder and exhaled as he waited for the first infected to pop out from the back of the store.

Xavier lowered the revolver. He wouldn't do it right now but he resolved to save at least one bullet for the back of Duke's head. Not now though, as Duke was his best chance for survival. Later, when things were safe - when Duke trusted Xavier - that's when he would get his revenge for being left for dead.e already had two cahsing him and as he passed others there were more

# Chapter 17 – Kill or be Killed

## Shutov felt like they'd had a good day in Cherno but observing his men, he noted their demeanor told a different story. Many of them weren't used to hearing the gun shots that had been ringing out all day. Emanating firstly from that religious nutter shooting from the tower. Then, later on, different rifle shots rang from out-of-town before, finally, their own shots in Cherno. The men had already learnt not to shoot infected that were located in town, but sometimes it was unavoidable, and every time a shot was fired, the men panicked. Every shot led to a barrage of questions and analysis.

"Who's firing in Cherno?"

"Where did the shots come from?"

"What gun was that?"

"Who do we know who had one like that?"

Despite the rising panic, they'd had a good day - no one had died, and it seemed everyone was well kitted up. They had food, water, basic survival gear, and some of them had even found camouflage clothing. Sure, there were a few sheep among the wolves, but overall, he was pleased with the men he had and didn't want to lose them.

They were now bunkered down in a small apartment building across the road from a hospital. Vuk had picked the location - it was easily defensible with men able to observe from the roof and only one entrance to guard. Shutov was becoming increasingly impressed with Vuk – he had good instincts coupled with military training and he understood the need for rank and control. Vuk had also found the military documents that Shutov would look over tonight. He hoped they would contain information about what was happening in Chernarus.

Shutov had put The Butcher and Sam on the roof to take first watch. The Butcher was a concern to Shutov - he coveted his AKM which he refused to relinquish when others needed a gun. The man was intent on survival and Shutov was sure he was using them until he didn't need them anymore. He didn't really trust The Butcher so he made sure that The Butcher always had another man nearby. The Butcher was a killer, cold blooded and without remorse, so right now Shutov would rather have him nearby that out in the unknown.

He walked up the stairs, nodding to the men as he passed them. Some nodded back but many kept their eyes down, focused on themselves. Shutov felt that if he didn't do something soon he was going to lose some of them. They already looked defeated and it had only been two days. If they continued to be beaten down by this situation then by the end of the week they'd all be dead.

Vuk was seated near the ladder that led to the roof, eating some baked beans from a can. Shutov sat down next to him, resting the CZ550 on his lap. The fool from the tower had carved the word Salvation in the wooden grip and Shutov had taken to unconsciously tracing the letters with his trigger finger.

Vuk noticed this and indicated towards the word, "salvation is what these men need sir. We're in an unprecedented situation here and all this shooting, it's..." Vuk trailed off looking for the right word.

"I know Vuk, but what am I supposed to do? Sometimes killing is necessary. You yourself were nearly killed," replied Shutov.

"I understand that Sir, but that man was delusional, he thought I was Jesus."

"These are crazy times filled with crazy people. Would you have preferred The Butcher didn't kill him?"

"Of course not. I still want to live, I'm just concerned about the cost. We could have tried to talk him down, tried to communicate with him. The Butcher didn't do any of that - he just fired - and now a man is dead."

Their conversation drew in the other men who sat at the stairs and listened to them. "It was killed or be killed," Shutov responded, "the man was well armed and shooting at you. Who knows how many others he may have killed if he wasn't killed?" Some murmurs of assent came from the men on the stairs.

"The Butcher did the right thing," said Luther, "the man was dangerous up there."

Vuk looked over to Luther. The man was a worm, he was one of the weak that attached himself to Shutov like a newborn on the teat.

"We could have talked him down," said Vuk. Luther shook his head and went back to rifling through his pack. Vuk turned to Shutov.

"We lost a very good opportunity to gain intelligence about this situation. Those papers I gave you are weeks old, his knowledge was up-to-date. Who knows what information was lost when he died?"

"I don't think you would have had a chance to ask a lot of questions with bullets flying at your face, do you?"

"In this case I think you're right. But what will we do when we see the next survivor?" Vuk queried.

Shutov thought over a response until finally he exhaled, shaking his head, "I don't know. The only people I trust right now are the men in this building. I would die for them and they would die for me. What if we bring someone else in and they steal from us?"

"What if one of us steals from another?"

"Then he will be executed," replied Shutov and some of the men cheered, fists pounding the stairs.

"Death? For something as simple," he held up his meal, "as a can of beans?"

"Vuk look at our food situation. We have enough for two or three days maximum. A can of beans may mean the difference between life and death."

"So then we should ration the food out, no man should eat well while another man goes hungry," Vuk offered up his beans to the men around him but they refused and waved it away.

"Are you setting up rules now?"

"In a way we all should. You've just said stealing equals death and I think we should also ensure no man hoards the food whilst another man starves."

The men nodded and Shutov followed with his own nod.

"Agreed. Let it be known we share everything, food, water, ammunition – everything. But only with the men before me."

"What will we do if we see another man not of this group?" asked Vuk.

"Like you Vuk, I want to live. How can I trust someone I don't know? And even if I could trust them, every extra man is another mouth to feed, another person to arm up. Can we really afford to further spread thin our supplies?"

"No!" some of the men responded.

"We can't," Vuk also replied, "so if we see someone else, then we let them pass."

"Why the sudden concern about others?"

"Because tomorrow we move to Elektro. And just as we have found sanctuary here there may be others there. I've been on the other side in Serbia, scared, running alone, afraid of groups of men with guns. I want it to be clear - we leave others alone - we don't assist them but we don't harm them either."

"We could let them pass, form a truce of sorts," Vuk nodded but Shutov continued on, "but then what? Perhaps the one man we let pass returns with ten others. Or perhaps he's alone and follows us from afar, waiting until we are asleep to kill and rob us."

"You can't be certain of that."

"No. All I'm certain of is that these are desperate times and in desperate times, men are unpredictable and dangerous. If we are to be safe then we must be suspicious of all others, I'd rather be paranoid and wrong, than trusting and dead."

"So what should we do then?" Vuk asked.

From the ladder upstairs came The Butcher's cold response, "we kill on sight."

Some of the men nodded and Vuk shook his head, "it can't be like this. Not again."

Shutov rested his hand on Vuk's knee, "Vuk I agree it's not pleasant-"

"Not pleasant! You speak of killing men for petty crimes they may or may not commit."

"And you speak of laws in a lawless land. There are no rules out there, no police force to rely on, no judge to sentence a man. I speak of survival - that's all. But you are right that we should all be committed to this. We will vote on this. After all, we're not savages."

"You could have fooled me," Vuk retorted.

"You misunderstand. What we're proposing is savage. To kill men so as not to be killed by them. But we don't do this out of animal instinct, or a homicidal desire," not all of us Shutov thought, glancing up at The Butcher, "we do this solely to survive. Any person we kill may have valuable loot that may help one of our men survive another day. He may have food, water, weapons or ammunition - therefore we kill him so that one of us may live. But only if we all agree to this. So a show of hands for those who agree. Will it be kill or be killed?" Immediately two hands appeared down the hatch to the roof.

Some of the other men raised their hands quickly and the few sheep were slower but eventually the eyes of the others forced them up. Only Vuk kept his hands down as he buried his face in them, trying to erase the moment. He pulled his hands away and looked around at the others, some encouraging him to raise his hand.

"What you speak of is banditry. Murdering others for the gun on their back and the beans in their pockets," said Vuk.

"I speak of survival," Shutov replied.

"We could survive without killing others, but, as you say, it would be more dangerous. So let us be clear that we are agreeing to banditry. If anyone takes issue with that then lower your hand now," Vuk hoped one would lower his hand because alone he had no chance.

Vuk and Shutov looked around but all hands stayed raised. Vuk pondered on this. If he left them he'd most likely be killed by Shutov. If Shutov was prepared to kill men for the food in their packs, what would he do to Vuk if he betrayed him and left? As distasteful as it was to him if he didn't agree, then he'd probably have an 'accident' and die anyway.

"Then I will be a bandit with you my brothers, not because I want to but because I need to, and together we will survive," and with that Vuk reluctantly raised his hand. A small cheer erupted from the men and they congratulated each other as a small amount of camaraderie returned.

"Very good my brothers. Rest well tonight because tomorrow we move to Elektro," a hurrah resounded as the men dispersed to find somewhere to sleep.

"God help any Survivors we see tomorrow," Vuk whispered but it was still loud enough for Shutov to hear. Shutov ran his trigger finger across the carved word Salvation on his rifle, this time consciously.

"I think we can both agree God forsook this place a long time ago," he slung the rifle on his shoulder and walked down the stairs, not waiting for a response.

Vuk looked up the ladder at The Butcher's smiling face staring down at him. The Butcher nodded before moving away from the hatch and returning to the darkness. Using his finger Vuk scooped the last of the beans out of the tin and tossed it aside. He's right - the Devil rules here, Vuk thought as he pulled his shirt up over his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

# Chapter 18 – Arnold is saved

## They disembarked from the PBX boat at the docks of the first town they saw. Arnold had gotten worse. His skin had taken on an orange tinge and his side was distended, causing him to groan in pain any time Doc examined it. This town was swollen, with infected so Robert left Doc and Arnold in a warehouse near the docks as he went solo, to look for a hospital.

The town was split between an industrial area to the north near the water, and a residential area further south and inland. As he looked through the northern part of the town, he spent most of the time on his belly, crawling past groaning infected whilst hunting for supplies. He'd found food, water, clothes and lots of dead bodies clutching guns, but no hospital. By the state of decomposition, these people had been dead for a long time, but for some reason they weren't infected. Robert took lots of mental notes, the occasional drink, and a map and compass as he continued on his search for medication.

Running along a field he saw a sign posted on the road that indicated the town's name was Berezino. Looking at the map and tracing back his route he could see the inlet where he'd found the PBX, the peninsula where the ship had been beached and the docks where they had left the PBX. He took out a pen and marked some of the locations that he'd return to - especially the military area that had been set up near a football field - as he planned a route south.

In his morning of scouting the northern part of Berezino, Robert had learnt to dodge the infected and understand that their sense of hearing was far better than their sense of sight. So long as you were low and quiet you could crawl almost right beside one and they wouldn't notice you. It also seemed their olfactory senses were not working – or else overpowered by their own stench - as they didn't seem to smell Robert either. He didn't know about their sense of touch, and he hoped to never discover whether they still possessed their sense of taste.

He was carrying a Remington 870 shotgun which he'd chosen over some pretty impressive looking rifles at the military tents. Robert figured that any contact with the infected would be up close and he liked the stopping power that a shotgun provided over the range of a sniper rifle. He had 24 slugs and fortunately, so far, hadn't needed to fire one.

Crossing the field he passed a crudely constructed observation post that had three infected roaming around it. Robert decided to avoid any risk, circumnavigated it and continued across the field to the large buildings in the distance, hoping one of them was a hospital. He came upon a general store that had a burnt-out Humvee and a pile of body bags at its rear entrance. Avoiding the infected, he made his way inside the store looking for something to eat.

There he found cans of beans, cans of pasta and a larger Alice pack which he took, ditching his ship-issued patrol pack. He filled the backpack with as much food and drink as he could carry and found another map, which he also took along with a hunting knife and matches. The pack was heavy with food and loot as he walked out the front of the store and crawled across the road. He moved low and kept to the building's shadows as he turned the corner to see the big red cross painted on the side of a tall building. This was a makeshift hospital with camouflage netting and tents set up outside the main building. Bingo, he thought as he made his way around the back, avoiding the front and the infected wandering around there.

He looked through the tents but they had been picked clean of weapons, although he found a medical supply box on the ground outside one. Inside the box were epi-pens, morphine auto-injectors, bandages and blood bags. They weren't on the list of medications Doc told him to look out for but he decided to take one of each just in case. With the back of the hospital a dead end, he slowly made his way to the front.

The front was a wall of glass but inside he could see similar medical boxes on the floor. He made his way to the front door and found that the double doors had been chained shut. He violently rattled the doors, but since he hadn't suddenly developed super-human powers, it was futile as the doors remained locked tight. He tapped on the glass window with the tip of his Remington, two or three shots and the glass would break. He looked around at all the walkers that roamed nearby and further away and decided he wasn't going to do that alone. He needed help, he'd need Doc. If he was still there, he couldn't stop the thought from forming as he sensed Doc would abandon them at the first opportunity he could.

He started to make his way back to Doc when the flame decal caught his eye. Leaned up against a pile of wreckage was a Kawasaki motorbike, bright red with a flame decal on the fuel tank. He assumed the owner was the dead youngish looking man nearby. A quick rummage of his pockets recovered the motorbike keys and confirmed his assumption. The bike's fuel was low but it started first go and seemed to be in good shape. Robert revved the engine and the infected came from everywhere, the sound attracting them like ants to a sugar pot. He pushed back the kickstand, put the bike in gear and took off down the road, a train of infected chasing him.

The speed of the motorbike made short work of outrunning the chasing infected, they lost sight and interest once the noise of the bike faded away. Robert arrived back at the docks and was relieved to find Doc still sitting with Arnold, drip feeding him water. Doc was just as relieved to discover it was Robert making that noise and even managed a smile as he rode the motorbike into the warehouse.

Robert parked the bike and closed the warehouse door. He lifted the heavy Alice pack off his shoulder and handed Doc some food and soda, "I found a hospital in town with a medical box outside. This was all that was inside it." He indicated the medical haul he laid at Doc's feet. "Is that any help for Arnold?"

Doc looked it over picking up a blood bag and reading the label, "O negative."

"That useful?" Robert asked.

"It's the universal donor so it can be used for anyone. But it's not refrigerated and we don't know how old it is so it may cause more harm than good. The rest of this stuff looks like combat hospital provisions. It'll get someone patched up and moving again, but it's no help for the treatment of malaria."

"So we have to go back. There were more boxes inside but the place was locked. I think there's a way in but I'll need help."

"We have to be quick about it. Arnold's getting worse by the minute."

"Then we'll take the bike but we need to make a quick fuel stop and get you a gun."

Doc was shocked, "a gun!"

"You said so yourself Doc, this is a war zone. And you don't go into a war zone unarmed."

After a quick side trip back to the military tents, Robert returned to the front of the hospital, this time with Doc. They left Arnold as comfortable as possible in the shed and at the military tents, Robert found Doc a silenced M9 pistol. Doc got a crash course in gun safety as Robert set up some tin cans as a crude firing range. Doc's first shot was wide but the silenced nature of the gun didn't attract any infected. The next two still missed and Robert decided they should conserve ammo and avoid wasting any more shots.

"Just point it at the chest and keep pulling the trigger until they fall down," was the final instruction Doc was given as they stood outside the hospital.

They'd left the bike at the back of the general store and had moved quietly across to the hospital, Doc learning about avoiding the infected from Robert.

Later on, the intellectual side of Doc's brain would try to comprehend the physiological reasons for the sense of hearing becoming more dominant than that of sight. For now, survival was all he thought about. Being so close to the infected unnerved him, and it was not something he could get used to.

Outside the hospital he pointed a shaky pistol at nearby infected, willing them to walk away as Robert pumped the shotgun and fired at the glass window. The boom shattered the peaceful silence of the countryside, and was immediately followed by a second shot. Doc looked around at the infected all running towards the noise. Panicked, he called out, "they're coming, get that fucking window open."

A third shot broke the glass and it shattered at the base of the window. "Inside, now!" Robert yelled at Doc as he took stock of the infected running towards them. "Get to the back and look through those boxes. I'll take care of them."

Robert went behind a check-in counter and trained the Remington at the broken glass entrance waiting. He breathed hard desperately trying to catch his breath with rapid pants that did nothing as the first infected entered. The sound of Doc rummaging through boxes behind him disappeared and his mind went blank as he focused on the infected. Looking down the iron sights he waited until one was close and squeezed the trigger. He didn't hear the shot fire but suddenly the infected's face was gone, replaced by a blackened cavity oozing out dark brown bile.

He sensed Doc was saying something behind him but his mind shut it out as he focused on the entrance waiting for the next infected to rush in. It was just as quickly disposed of as four more came through the glass. Robert fired off three more shots before the shotgun fired dry – out of ammo.

Suddenly the sounds and groans of the infected returned as he kicked the last one away trying to reload the Remington. The infected struck at his side and Doc noticed blood seeping out of the wound as Robert reloaded the gun and put a round into its chest. The infected dropped and Robert made short work of the final four that came through the glass.

The hospital was suddenly quiet - but for the sounds of their breathing - and Robert turned to face Doc, "did you find the medicine?"

"No, nothing. I have some antibiotics that might keep him alive for a bit longer but they won't cure him."

"So all of this has been for nothing," Robert looked over the bodies at the entrance.

"You're bleeding, so let's get that sorted first before we worry about Arnold." Robert looked down the wound at his side as Doc patched it up with a bandage.

"Oh shit. Does that mean I'm going to turn into one of them?"

"I don't know. I've taken some more useful supplies but let's get out of here before more of them arrive. We'll give Arnold these antibiotics, at least it will buy him some more time," replied Doc.

They returned to the motorbike at the general store. The shock was wearing off as Robert's mind returned to almost normal function. "We'll come back at dusk. As the glass is now open we won't need to make any noise which should give you enough time to find the right medication," Doc nodded as he hopped on the bike and they returned to the shed.

But they didn't return that night, instead they spent the night burying Arnold out in a field. When they'd returned from the failed hospital run, Arnold was dead. Silently, Doc was relieved as realistically this now increased their chance of survival. Robert said nothing, instead he beat his hands against the tin walls in fury until they were bloody. He looked around for a shovel and cried for the entire duration it took him to dig Arnold's grave. Doc watched from under a tree as Robert insisted on doing it himself.

As Robert shoveled down the last of the dirt over Arnold's body, the cloud-cover cleared and a bright full moon lit up the field. Doc asked, "should we leave a marker of some sorts?"

"No," Robert replied, as he patted the dirt one last time with his hands. He tossed the shovel aside and walked back to the shed. In essence, Arnold was now saved – he was spared from ever knowing a world that had been eclipsed by the infection.

# Chapter 19 – The Clash

## It was a peaceful and serene start to a day that would ultimately result in the violent end to some of the survivors of the MV Rocket. Inside the church the fire had died down during the night, its embers retained a final glow that competed against the brilliant rising sun to light the room. The Survivors rubbed the last vestiges of sleep out of their eyes, which Janik noted with disdain also included the two sentries who were supposed to have kept watch.

Fortunately, the night had been incident free and Janik was relieved to note that his bike had been returned and was now resting along the wall. He gathered up his meager possessions and loaded them onto his backpack as he prepared to leave.

"Janik, you shouldn't go out alone," Yuri berated him.

"The bike only holds one and I want to scout out the area. See how far it is to the next town," Janik replied. He hadn't told anyone that he had a map so he needed somewhere private to look it over and plan his departure. Yuri wasn't convinced but Janik held up the crossbow, "I'll be fine. A couple of hours max and I'll be back before midday. It'll give me a chance to look for some good places for us to raid in the afternoon." Placated, Yuri relented as Janik hopped on the bike and went on his way.

A different kind of protest was echoed at the Bandit camp as they prepared to move out. Alejandro had just returned from the nighttime scouting mission in Elektro, reporting back that it seemed like all of the Survivors were holed up in the church. As they looked over the map, Vuk proposed that they leave them be in the church and instead raid the area east of them near the water. The map showed many buildings and they were sure to find something of benefit around there.

The Butcher had a different idea and proposed that it would be better to blitz them whilst they were unaware and take them all down in the church. "It is one thing to kill on sight. It's another to hunt and murder a man for sport," Vuk retorted.

"This is not sport, this is survival," The Butcher replied.

"No, it's murder. They pose no threat to us."

Shutov interjected, "you are both wrong." He turned to Vuk, "if they are not with us then they are a threat," and to The Butcher, "but Vuk is also right. There is no reason to hunt them. We'll leave them be if they stay west. More importantly, Alejandro noted there was a bus in Elektro that looked operable."

"Why do we need a bus?" Harrison asked.

Shutov showed them the military papers he'd been reviewing all night, "because this tells me there is a better prize up north and the bus will provide the best way for us all to get there."

Vuk was happy with this plan, so long as it avoided conflict he could live with it. He turned to Alejandro, "what do we need to get the bus operating?"

"There's some work required \- I saw a tire was flat. I'm not sure about the engine but its cover was up so I suspect it had given the previous owner trouble. We'll most likely need fuel."

Shutov called forward Sam, a small man who has surprisingly large arms. "Sam you worked under Robert on the boat."

"Yes, I made that drunk look good," Sam responded.

"Do you think you can fix the bus?"

"I've done years of MOS repairs in the Air Force, I think I can fix your little bus. But I'll need tools, and by the sound of it, some spare parts."

Shutov turned to the others, "then men, we have a goal for today. We get Sam what he needs to get that bus working by nightfall," they begin to disperse, gathering their things when Shutov continued, "but make no mistake. If we see one of the Survivors we kill them on sight. Forget about your previous life on the boat, they are not who they used to be and neither are we. I don't want anyone knowing our plans." The men nodded and continued preparing to move out. Shutov looked over at Vuk.

"I'll kill but I won't hunt," Vuk responded to his look.

Shutov nodded in agreement, "that's all the commitment I need from you to keep us safe."

Lucas was seated up in the firehouse of Elektro looking out over the fields, enjoying the serenity, that is if you ignored the infected roaming around. He was watching them through the aimpoint sight of an M14 rifle he'd found in the firehouse. Although he was disappointed it didn't have a zoom sight, it was still a nice weapon to have and Lucas was practicing killing infected with it.

Lucas had hunted with his father from a very young age and it was these outings that cemented their relationship. His father was sparse with words but loved Lucas, and teaching him to hunt was the best way he knew how to express that love. Lucas understood that his father was shell-shocked, having been discharged from the Army for failing in his sniper duties. At family gatherings when his Uncles got too drunk, they would mock his father for not being able to take the shot, but Lucas thought he understood why. His father enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the tracking, observing of prey, testing wind conditions, lining up the shot, waiting for that moment. He was fine with hunting animals and shooting paper targets but the first time his father needed to pull the trigger to kill a man he couldn't, and for that he was discharged from the Swedish Army.

For Lucas, this meant he received military training in effective sniping whenever he hunted with his father. The first time he took down a prize buck, his father was so proud he relayed the story to the entire village. Lucas was only ten at the time. That night his father hardly touched the venison but looked at Lucas with pride, constantly smiling. From then on Lucas was hooked, much to the disdain of his girlfriend who believed hunting was barbaric and cruel.

He was now applying that training to the infected, who were in many ways like animals. They didn't hide behind cover, they didn't notice anything that wasn't in their immediate vicinity and they were singled-minded about their prey. With ammo too precious to waste, he lined them up, watched their paths, followed the movement, and when ready, he took the shot. Lucas kept the safety on so the rifle wouldn't fire, but he longed to flick it off and shoot for real. He turned away from the field to face the Survivors he was supposed to be providing overwatch for, as they looted the store.

Lucas was like Janik in his assessment that many of the Survivors were undisciplined and that this would be their undoing. Unlike Janik, Lucas wanted to help them, to teach them what he knew. So when the general store raid was planned, he volunteered to go overwatch and keep the raiders safe. He received a lot of blank looks but took the time to explain the benefits of having an overwatch.

Lucas felt decisions were being made without any real forethought - like planning to loot the store without any effective cover. Without someone watching over them, the men in the store wouldn't know they were in danger until it was too late. As Lucas watched them inside the store, he wished he'd had another overwatch at the second firehouse near to the power plant. That would provide cover from the south. But for now, it was just him.

Janik rode far away from the raiding parties and had taken to the shade underneath a pine tree to study the map. He was on the top of a hill and could see in the distance the silhouette of Lucas on the top of the firehouse. He returned to studying the map and was so focused on it that he didn't notice the Bandits until they were near the fuel station. There were four of them, all of whom Janik recognized from the ship: Kai; Alejandro; Rory; and Harrison. Janik was surprised that Rory was amongst them. Both Harrison and Kai had mocked him on the ship, having knighted him with the unfortunate nickname of The Dunce. I guess desperate times make for strange bedfellows, Janik mused, as he stepped further back into the tree's shadow to ensure he was hidden.

He watched the men scout around the fuel station. They were carrying jerry cans and attempting to fill them at the pumps which, judging by the fact that Harrison threw his on the ground, wasn't very successful. Janik noted that they were all armed, although Rory was only carrying an axe. It was the way Rory carried the axe that triggered the memory for Janik – this was the man he saw kill four infected the first night. Good for you, Janik smiled, and was about to call out to them when his reverie was broken by the snapping of a branch behind him.

Frozen with fear, he strained to listen as the snapping was followed by footsteps, again reminding him of the first night when he heard Rory on the concrete. Although he was in the forest, the bearer of the footsteps made no effort to conceal his movement as he marched through the trees. Janik carefully turned his head and peered through the branches of the pine tree. Further up the hill, another six Bandits from the ship walked along, and to Janik they looked prepared for war.

They were all armed, some had assault rifles, AK-74s and some had shotguns. The men were spread out in two by two formation with men covering the front and rear. Janik figured that these were the men that were shooting yesterday in Cherno and whatever their plans were in Elektro, it didn't look like they were friendly.

Vuk had stopped at the tree line 50 meters from where he'd unknowingly just passed Janik. He took out binoculars and scanned the buildings down below them. Shutov and Alejandro also looked through binoculars, with Alejandro pointing out key buildings he had discovered the night before. Vuk paid little attention to their discussion, instead focusing on the movement down in the town. From his vantage point he could see infected moving around, which he had expected. Thankfully, he didn't see any Survivors, and back down the road he could see the second team of Bandits following the road. They'd left the fuel station behind them and were passing a farming shed, about to arrive at the outskirts of Elektro.

Although Shutov hadn't said anything about the plan to Vuk, it looked to him that the four men were the decoy - or bait – depending on your perspective. They were all expendable, and walking along the road would definitely draw the attention of anyone watching. This second team had been tasked with fuel gathering and infected elimination, but having lived through fuel scarcity before, Vuk knew the first places to dry up would be fuel stations. He recalled back in Serbia people would hoard fuel so their best bet for gas would be out of other vehicles or from storage tanks beside buildings and factories.

Having just come up empty at the fuel station, the four men turned to task number two and began shooting infected on sight. Definitely bait, Vuk mused, as the sounds of their shots rang out across the town.

Shutov's plan was working as their shots did draw all the infected nearby from the buildings towards the second team. Vuk was right in his assessment that the second team were all expendable, this was why Shutov had chosen them. His plan worked in drawing infected away from the buildings the first team were heading towards. They moved from the tree line and crossed the field and heading into Elektro. Vuk hoped that the shooting only attracted the infected and that the Survivors had already moved on.

From the top of the firehouse Lucas couldn't hear the shots but he saw the movement across the field. The men were too far to make out, but by their movement and the fact they were carrying guns, Lucas was sure they weren't infected. Since he had no idea what the other Survivors were doing, he just assumed he was watching some of them move to raid a different location. Again he cursed the fact that they didn't have radios to communicate with, as he went back to lining up infected for practice kills.

Mitch wished he was back at his house right now and not for the obvious reason of safety. Back at his house, if you made dinner, you didn't have to wash up. To Mitch it seemed unfair - since he'd killed the boar, he shouldn't also have to make a meal out of it. Without refrigeration the meat wouldn't last very long and with nothing else to do that morning he'd followed Yuri's suggestion to use the remainder for cold cuts. And now he was delivering them - his last stop was Lucas at the firehouse. As he walked over he grumbled to himself that since he made the lunches, he shouldn't also have to deliver them.

He climbed up the ladder panting, sweat dripping off his face onto the rungs. He had never been worried about being slightly overweight before, but after spending the morning roaming Elektro, his lack of fitness was catching up with him. At least Lucas showed the right amount of gratitude as he thankfully took the food from Mitch. Mitch took the moment up high to rest, his largish belly contracting with each breath.

"Busy morning?" Lucas sputtered the words out of a full mouth.

"Just playing delivery boy and you're my last stop," replied Mitch.

"Did the guys over at the factories take theirs with them?" Lucas indicated behind him to where he saw the men crossing the field.

"There's no one out that way. We've got the guys at the store and the rest are at the church consolidating supplies."

Lucas swallowed his bite and spun Mitch around standing him up. He pointed and Mitch followed his line of sight, just able to visualize men at the edge of the field as they arrived at the town.

"Then who the hell are those guys?"

"They're not us," Mitch said.

The Butcher caught the movement on top of the firehouse in his peripheral vision. From this distance he couldn't make out details but there were definitely two men standing at the top of the firehouse, their silhouettes stark against the blue sky background.

"Sir, I have two contacts in the distance," he told Shutov, pointing. Shutov took out his binoculars and looked to where The Butcher pointed.

He saw the men standing up and they were definitely looking his way. The fat one turned and climbed down the ladder. "So much for stealth," he said aloud as he turned to Vuk, "send the second team out to cover us from that direction. Everyone else stay on task, we need these vehicle parts if we're going to get out of here."

Mitch cursed his bad luck at having been downgraded from delivery boy to messenger. He walked towards the men they had just seen, the hot sun not helping his sweating. The field between the firehouse and the others was too dangerous - he could see it was crawling with infected and there was no cover. So he had to take the long way around, following the houses and crawling from cover to cover, which turned a 10 minute walk into a 40 minute crawl.

As he followed the side of a dirt road, Mitch saw that there was a person in the distance, seated on the steps of a boarded-up house. The person hadn't seen Mitch as he crawled closer, passing an infected. Once he was well clear of the walker, Mitch felt safe enough to rise to a kneeling position and waved to get the other man's attention. Rory rose up, leaving the axe that he was holding, and waved back, beckoning Mitch towards them.

From his sniping position Lucas saw only Mitch waving. Whoever he was waving at was obscured by the boarded-up house and the tree beside it. He looked down the M14 sight - although it didn't magnify his view it did help him focus. Subconsciously, he flicked off the weapon's safety.

Rory called out to Kai and Harrison who were hidden out of view at the side of the house, "it's Mitch from the ship."

"Good work Dunce," Kai responded, "Keep calling him over here."

"It's Mitch, not one of the monsters. You don't need the guns."

Kai and Harrison ignored him and kept their guns trained at the road that Mitch would eventually walk along. In a low hush Kai barked back to Rory, "don't worry about us, you just get that fool over here."

Mitch thought he could see Rory talking but he couldn't see to whom and didn't pay it any mind. He was more concerned that there may be other infected around and Rory was from the ship, so Mitch felt safe.

Lucas kept looking down the sight, cursing the damn tree. He thought he saw movement but the leaves obscured it. Regardless, Mitch was definitely walking towards someone.

As Mitch rounded the house he came face to face with Kai and Harrison - both pointing double-barreled shotguns at him. "Hey, hey calm down. What's with the guns?" Mitch asked as he backed away, "I'm friendly," he pleaded.

"Then why are you strapped?" Kai asked, as the barrel of his shotgun pointed to the pistol in Mitch's hand.

"Infected management. But if you want, I'll put it down," Mitch answered.

Lucas watched as Mitch lowered his pistol, leaving it on the road and stepping away from it. Mitch was speaking to someone, obscured from Lucas by the house, and gesturing back towards the firehouse. Lucas watched Mitch step back, frantically holding his palms out, when suddenly, his chest burst open into a spray of blood. Mitch fell back and landed hard on the road, as Lucas tried to comprehend what had just happened.

"Friendly that, bitch!" Kai mocked, as the smoke wafted out of the tip of his gun.

"Why you gone and done that for?" Rory asked, running over to Mitch to try and help him. He put his hands on the wound, tried to stop it bleeding, as Mitch opened his eyes and looked at Rory.

"Why?" Mitch asked.

"I didn't know they would. I'm sorry," Rory replied, the last thing Mitch heard before he died.

"Come on Dunce, let's get back to the others," Harrison commanded.

At a factory building, Shutov and the others all stopped, having heard thee gun shot that echoed across the town. Similarly in the store, the Survivors had stopped and listened, waiting for another shot.

Lucas watched through the rifle sight as Rory kneeled next to Mitch. He could take the shot but something felt off, so he hesitated. It didn't look like Rory was hurting Mitch and he didn't have a weapon. Rory gestured back to someone else behind the house. Take the shot you coward, Lucas berated himself, he may not have pulled the trigger but he was complicit in Mitch's murder.

"I'm not going back," Rory answered, "you're bad men."

"Bad to the bone baby," Kai joked.

"Give me my axe," Rory asked.

"So, you're not with us anymore?" queried Harrison.

"No. Give me my axe and I'll go."

"This is our axe now."

"But you have guns. I need a weapon. I can't go off without a weapon."

"Oh we wouldn't think of letting you go off... without a weapon," replied Kai.

Rory looked down at the pistol near Mitch's dead body.

"Don't even think about it Dunce. You'd probably point it the wrong way and shoot yourself," Kai mocked as Rory looked up at him and then back at the pistol, "get up and step back from the gun."

Lucas watched Rory rise and step back, his palms held out - just like Mitch's were moments ago. Rory stepped back, trying desperately to shuffle away from an unseen assailant. From down low behind him Lucas heard Yuri's voice. "Lucas what's happened? Who's firing?"

"Mitch is dead," Lucas replied.

"What?"

"Someone just shot him. I have eyes on one guy but I think he has friends. Get the others and get back to the church."

"What are you going to do?" Yuri asked.

Lucas watched as Kai walked out from behind the house and stalked Rory with the shotgun. He lined Kai up in his sights, "what my father couldn't," and with that, he pulled the trigger.

Harrison watched as Kai was flung to the side by the impact of the bullet. Rory turned and ran as Harrison watched the blood spurt from a second bullet that hit Kai on his side. He backed away from Kai, certain he was dead, and searched in the direction from where the shots came.

Vuk and Shutov both watched the puffs of smoke as the shots were fired from the top of the firehouse. From their angle on the second story of the TEC building they couldn't see where the shots landed, but through the binoculars they confirmed that whoever was on the top of the tower was now firing.

Shutov lowered his binoculars and turned to Vuk, "can you tell what gun it is?"

Vuk shook his head, "it's definitely a rifle, high powered and shooting at where the second team were set up."

"You still think they could be friendly?"

Vuk lowered his binoculars, "Those aren't friendly actions. From now on we are weapons hot."

Shutov heartily slapped him on the back as he called down to the rest of the men, looting the factory below them.

"You heard him men. They are firing at us. It's kill or be killed, now go get them."

Lucas continued to scan the buildings from where Kai appeared. The adrenaline flowed freely though his veins as he swung the sight around, scanning for any movement. He saw Harrison running across the main road and attempted to line up a shot. Harrison was running too fast and was back behind cover before Lucas could get an angle.

Lucas watched the wall that Harrison had ducked behind, waiting for him to appear on the other side where it ended at the train tracks. If he crosses those tracks he's a dead man, Lucas mused, as he scanned the area for Harrison.

Suddenly, movement from further away caught Lucas' eye. From the TEC building in the distance he observed a large group of men fan out and head towards him. They were too far away for Lucas to have an effective shot, and they kept cover between them and the firehouse. Lucas' sight jumped from one man to another but there were too many and he couldn't get a bead on one.

Instead, Lucas rose and turned to the church calling out, "Yuri! Yuri!"

Yuri ran out, "what's going on? Who did you shoot at?"

"The guy who killed Mitch. But he has friends, I can see more of them coming towards you. You've got to get the fuck out of there right now!"

"What! Why? We can try to talk with them," pleaded Yuri.

"That's what Mitch was trying to do before they murdered him. These guys are armed and they're not here to talk. Get everyone together and get the fuck out. Head into the trees and go North, I'll catch up with you later."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to buy you some time so don't waste it talking to me," replied Lucas as he turned away from Yuri and back to the men.

They spread out and weaved in between buildings and shipping containers at the docks. Lucas lined one up and fired. As he expected, the man was too far away for the bullet to be effective as it fell short. Fortunately, the sound travelled further and caused the man to stop and look around. Lucas took the other DMR magazine out of his pack placed it on the ground in front of him. If he was conservative with his fire he should be able to slow them down as they tried to hide from him. He might even get lucky and hit a couple of them.

Shutov tried to circle around to the firehouse but every shot made him pause as he tried to ascertain where it landed. Some of them were uncomfortably close as he kept moving along the docks. The men were panicked, they fired indiscriminately at infected rather than avoiding them. In the crowded city, every shot that killed one infected attracted another three with its noise. If they made it out of here alive he would have to lay down some ground rules about ammo conservation, because at that moment, the infected weren't the threat - the sniper on the tower was.

Vuk broke off the other way from Shutov and sprinted across the train tracks. He had watched the sniper from behind cover and timed his run across the tracks at the moment the sniper faced away. They could still get him if they continued to spread out, they had the advantage of numbers, since the sniper couldn't look all ways at once. Vuk continued down the road and noticed that there were two dead bodies up ahead. He slowed down as he got closer, looked around for infected and tried to ensure there was always cover between him and the firehouse.

As he got closer to the bodies he heard sobbing. He looked past them to see Rory cowering against the wall of house opposite. "Rory what's wrong."

"My axe. I need my axe," he pointed to the axe on the steps near Vuk.

"What happened here Rory?"

"He killed him. He just shot him," Vuk looked down at the bodies of Mitch and Kai.

"Why? Why did Mitch kill Kai?"

"It wasn't Mitch. Mitch had no gun," Rory pointed at the pistol lying on the road in between Mitch and Kai's bodies. "Mitch put the gun down like Kai said. And then Kai shot him."

"Why? Why would he do that if Mitch was unarmed?"

"Kai said Mitch was a bad man. But Kai was the bad man. He tried to shoot me and then he fell down, dead."

"Why would he shoot you?"

"Because I don't want to be around bad men. I told him that, but he wouldn't give me my axe. Please just give me my axe. I'll go. I won't tell anyone."

Vuk assessed the situation. He looked past the house and across the field to the firehouse. To him, it looked like a clear shot to Kai's body from there, and slowly he pieced together what he thought had happened.

Vuk picked up the axe and tossed it to Rory. It landed near Rory's feet and he scooped it up. "Wait there. When I tell you, Rory, run. Run into the trees and stay away from other people. Don't trust anyone. We're all bad men here Rory. Do you understand?" Rory nodded, holding the axe close.

Vuk watched Lucas and when he saw Lucas turn away towards he church he told Rory to run. Rory didn't hesitate and bolted straight across the open field towards the trees. Vuk alternated between watching Rory run towards the trees and Lucas facing the church – silently willing Lucas to keep his back turned away from Rory. He heard Lucas fire one shot followed almost immediately by another.

Lucas watched as the last of the Survivors, Kiam, ran down the road into the woods. Kiam was being chased by two infected with another five further back. Lucas lined up the closest infected and was about to shoot it, when another infected ran out from the side of the building and knocked Kiam down.

"Fuck!" Lucas called out as he watched the infected begin to feast on him. He shot one infected and it went down, landing on top of Kiam. The other infected pushed his brethren off Kiam and continued to feast on him as the five stragglers got closer.

Lucas assessed the situation - there was nothing he could do for Kiam. He couldn't even put him out of his misery as the infected blocked any shot.

"Sorry Kiam," Lucas whispered as he turned and focused back on the Bandits heading towards him. He had lost sight of many of them and looked at their last known positions for any movement.

Shutov lay prone behind a bush from where he could see the top of the firehouse. He watched Lucas look around, scanning the area with his rifle. He lay his CZ550 on the ground and looked down the scope, but Lucas kept moving so he was unable to get a shot. Infected walked nearby, ignoring Shutov for now, but he knew once he fired they'd all converge straight on him. This meant he got one shot - so he had to make it count.

Lucas kept scanning, looking for a target. He looked back at where he first killed Kai and thought he saw movement. He steadied the rifle against his shoulder and looked down the scope, holding his breath to keep still.

Shutov smiled as Lucas stopped moving and he was able to line him up down the sight. He also held his breath as he squeezed the trigger.

A sudden movement to his left caused Lucas to swing the rifle around, following it with his head. It was just a rabbit and he almost laughed when he felt, rather than heard, the bullet whiz past his head. Lucas dropped to the ground and lay as flat as he could.

Shutov stood up, "fuck!" he cursed, unsure if he had hit Lucas. The infected rushed over to him as he observed the firehouse tower - there was no movement but he couldn't be sure. He ran back towards the factories to lose the infected that chased after him.

Vuk was also watching the firehouse tower but all he could see from this angle was the rifle poked out over the edge. He recognized the sound of the CZ550, having had it fire so close to him previously, so he assumed Shutov took a shot. The rifle was still, maybe Shutov got him.

Lucas patted himself all over. He didn't feel hurt but he'd heard that shock can deaden the senses. His hand came back clean – he wasn't bleeding. He crawled away from the edge and towards the ladder, taking the rifle with him, it's time to get the fuck outta here.

Vuk saw the rifle retract behind the tower, glad that Shutov had missed whoever was up there. He watched the tower but there was no movement. From this angle he could see the ladder up to the tower, and since he hadn't observed anyone climbing down, he knew someone was still up there.

Lucas took the magazine out of the M14 and counted the remaining bullets - there were only three. He slammed the magazine back into the rifle and patted it. "Sorry baby, I gotta leave you behind," he said as he laid it on the ground. Lucas pushed it back out so that part of the rifle was exposed over the edge again.

Vuk watched as the rifle poked back out of the edge of the tower. It turned towards the shore and then fired. Strange, Vuk mused, since the rifle is lying flat the bullet will be just shooting far off into the air. He saw the rifle pointed far over his head and it fired another round, again high and into the air followed by a third high shot to his right. Then the rifle was still and Vuk looked behind him, attempting to locate a possible target. In the distance there were just trees, nothing worth shooting at. When he turned back to the tower he saw Lucas climb down the ladder. Vuk nodded, impressed, clever boy.

Shutov also watched the rifle, having cursed himself for missing. From his angle he couldn't see Lucas climb down the ladder but did see the rifle poked over the edge, and so like everyone else, he assumed Lucas was still up there.

Vuk watched as Lucas jumped off the ladder and ran away, disappearing over the hill. Vuk scanned the surrounding area but there was no one else around, so Lucas' escape stayed his secret.

It took another 20 minutes of no further shots before Vuk 'bravely' volunteered to climb the ladder and see what had happened. By this time they had all angles of the firehouse covered and no one had seen the rifle move for a long time.

As Shutov watched Vuk climb up the ladder, he secretly hoped his shot was successful and it had just taken the prick a while to die.

At the top of the tower Vuk grabbed the M14 and held it up high as he called down, "he's not here. Just the gun."

"Fuck!" Shutov cursed.

From up high Vuk, saw Alejandro and Sam converged on the bus which had broken down on the road near the church. Vuk recalled that this was the same church Alejandro said the Survivors were holed up in. Then he realized that Shutov also knew this, knew the bus was near the church, knew that it was always going to end in blood. Vuk shook his head, the bastard played me like a fool. Although there wasn't any ammo, Vuk still took the M14 and stashed it in his pack.

Down on the ground the Butcher skulked over to Shutov. "It looks like they all got away, they must have headed North into the woods. Should we chase them?"

"Why would we do that? For the beans in their packs?" Shutov chastised The Butcher.

"But they have guns, they killed Kai."

Shutov walked away from The Butcher towards the bus, "let them have their pathetic guns and their little victory. We have the bus," he turned to Sam, "get working on that bus right now. Alejandro I want you to set up a perimeter. I want people in every direction covering Sam until he gets this bus up and running." Alejandro nodded and started to assign the others roles.

"What's so special about this bus?" The Butcher asked.

"Nothing. It's just a bus. Where it can take us, now that's special."

"Why? Where are we going?"

Shutov held up a map.

"The Northwest airfield, that's where our salvation lies. Believe me when I say this war has just begun and if we cross path with the Survivors again, none of them will leave alive."

END OF ACT 1

That was a 32,000 word sample of Survivors and Bandits a DayZ Novel giving you the entire first act to read.

The completed book is 95,000 words and if you like what you've read so far and want to see how it ends you can pick up a copy at

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