[x] arm up and head outside. Grab your tomahawk, your gun, and keep an eye out while you do it.
Changing my vote- this guy could be in our monkeysphere.
[X] stay with Sammy. He's in and out of consciousness, and if the state of his room is any indication, he's not always entirely in control of himself when he's awake.
Again, seem more like what an actual person would do.
[X] secure your house. All the doors locked, all the windows closed. Stay out of sight; who knows what the hell is happening.
Considering that the screaming seems to be getting closer and more intense, including coming from the house behind ours, the one across the street, the one next door, and some from down the street, making sure whatever is causing the screaming can't get in would usually be a common sense decision.
Well, most diseases have incubation times - time between infection and presentation of symptoms - measured in days. It could be contact or fluid contact, too, especially depending on where he works or who he's been close with.
As for where he works...well, military bases have a LOT of traffic out into their surrounding community.
Well, most diseases have incubation times - time between infection and presentation of symptoms - measured in days. It could be contact or fluid contact, too, especially depending on where he works or who he's been close with.
As for where he works...well, military bases have a LOT of traffic out into their surrounding community.
Thing is though, for something like this, it's out of the blue, IE, sudden. It's not like he said a few days ago, "Man, this nutter at work bit me while I was busy working the fast food counter".
Thing is though, for something like this, it's out of the blue, IE, sudden. It's not like he said a few days ago, "Man, this nutter at work bit me while I was busy working the fast food counter".
[X] arm up and head outside. Grab your tomahawk, your gun, and keep an eye out while you do it.
Yeah, calling 911 first makes us smart. But we don't know this is the zombie apocalypse or whatever and I don't want to be the guy who exemplifies the bystander effect.
[X] arm up and head outside. Grab your tomahawk, your gun, and keep an eye out while you do it. Make sure to lock every entrance but one in your domicile, exit out of somewhere preferably easy to access but unconventional, and leave a "tell" of some sort at our entrance to check when we come back so we know if somebody has entered or left through that entrance besides us; something like a pebble on the latch or something. I'd rather not walk into an ambush after some version of the cat scare causes us to lower our guard to our maybe-a-zombie friend suddenly becoming our most-certainly-a-zombie friend.
[] secure your house. All the doors locked, all the windows closed. Stay out of sight; who knwos what the hell is happening.
You move through the house like a ghost, closing all the windows and locking all the doors. The blinds get drawn on the windows, and you bolt both the front and back doors.
It's a tough choice whether or not you should grab your weapons - you're a civilian now, you keep telling yourself - but it couldn't hurt. No police officer is going to blame you for having a gun at your side when the screaming hasn't stopped, and your tomahawk is legal for home defense anyway.
When you get back to Sammy, he's looking at you with those hungry eyes. You make him more soup, puzzled as to how he's eating it all when he's sick. He eats the second bowl with another satisfied sigh, and drifts off again. You replace the now-warm cloth on his forehead with another, cooler one, and settle in to wait.
The noise continues. It changes sources a few times, but it's nonstop. Then, a distinct moaning enters the fray, and you squeeze your eyes closed.
When you open them, you realize you're tilted over onto Sammy's floor, arms sprawled out in front of you.
"Wise?" You hear him rasp. "Wise..."
You hear him get up, slow and unsteady. Each blink lasts longer than the next, but you can see the approach of his shadow, and then his bare feet in front of you.
"Hungry, Wise..." He whispers.
You're hot, so hot. Sweat drips down your ear onto your neck, trickles down and soaks into your shirt. You struggle to sit up, but your muscles don't respond.
"Hungry..." Sammy lifts you up, and you lose consciousness again.
[*]
Mom. She's lying in bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Wormwood, curled into her side, purring loud enough to hear across the room. The walls of her room stained black with cigar smoke, the last memory either of you has of Dad. She sighs, closes her eyes.
Then she's standing, gripping one of the posters of her bed to keep herself upright. She sways, skeletal-thin in the last days of her sickness. Her eyes are bright, so bright, blue blue blue when you know they're brown.
"You've always been... a disappointment... Jordan."
It's the day of the funeral. They're lowering her into the ground, but she's standing across from you, holding onto one of her bed posters to stay standing. So thin, wasted away from the sick and the sad and you knew at the end she'd given up.
"I wish I never had you."
Her blue (brown) eyes drill into you.
[*]
[] She never loved you.
[] You wonder if you ever loved her.
[] When Dad died, it broke you both. [x] You're stronger than she ever thought you could be. Fuck her, and fuck this. Wake up.
WELP. Looks like the virus is airborne or touchborne or something, and we probably shouldn't have been staying inside a tiny room with an infected for so long. :/ Hope this isn't the end for our character, so soon.
[X] You're stronger than she ever thought you could be. Fuck her, and fuck this. Wake up.
I didn't see the invisitext option! Fall, you sneaky sneak.
[ ] Your most-certainly-some-strain-of-zombie friend is about to eat you; Wake up.
If that doesn't work
[ ] She never loved you.
Edit: I thought this was a write-in; serves me right for not checking for invisi-text.
[X] You're stronger than she ever thought you could be. Fuck her, and fuck this. Wake up.
