Topic: Whatever it takes...

Marianne Delamonte

Date: 2013-12-23 08:18 EST
London.

It never changed, even if the world had practically ended for the British Isles.

The eternal smog of London, kept its eerily grey overcast even on a bright day when the sun attempted to shine through the man made darkness. The fifth story window of the apartment complex overlooking Elephant and Castle's main roundabout and the stairwell entrance into Elephant and Castle's Underground Station, had been long since shattered, allowing a cold breeze to whisk through the tight space of the three roomed apartment.

One bedroom. One bathroom. One kitchen. And one narrow hallway, connecting them together.

A very basic living space, which was thrown into chaos by upturned furniture, a broken toilet and bath, a ruined kitchen where the cupboards barely clung to the walls, and a non-existent kitchen sink that had long since collapsed through the floor, releasing a small but constant stream of tainted water from broken pipes, which had flooded the apartment below.

It was not luxurious to live in, but it was a secure roof over Marianne's head for the time being. The front door was barricaded " nailed shut with planks of wood crisscrossing the entrance, while stacked up in that narrow hallway was a single large cupboard, a couch and whatever else she could use to bar the entrance against the snarling beasts that feebly struck against the door on the opposite side with a constant, useless thud of their rotting limbs.

Her only means of entering and departing this death trap, was that hole in the kitchen floor.

She knew the mutated could not climb through the hole, but she knew full well more intelligent creatures such as humans, could easily make their entrance into her haven. That was probably why she scattered broken glass all across the kitchen floor, for no matter how light of foot you were, the glass would crunch and make enough noise to alert her of an intruder.

If not that' Then the series of tripwires strewn across the hallway leading to the bedroom, connecting to hanging empty tins of food above, would surely do the job. For the hallway was dark and visibility was quite low. Seeing the thin fishing wire in such a situation would had been nigh on impossible, if not lucky.

Inside that solitary bedroom of the apartment, Marianne stood before the broken window garbed in her raincoat, and protective gear she had salvaged from the corpses of the military, and from shops that once sold outdoor sporting equipment.

With the stock of her prized weapon " the PSG-1A1 Sniper Rifle, pressed firmly to her shoulder, she stared down the optical zoom lens of German ingenuity, at the obvious movement occurring across the other side of the roundabout.

In her cross-hairs, she could see plain as day, several survivors moving in loose formation, holding a series of differing weapons from baseball bats, to crowbars and hammers. The leading survivor of the group " a man in a tattered business suit, held what appeared to be a crossbow that was used in sports, rather than hunting.

However, a weapon was a weapon. It could do fatal damage if shot in the right place. This group could be dangerous. Fortunately, they were not coming in her direction.

With her finger gently resting upon the trigger, Marianne swung her sights in the general direction to which they were walking. They appeared to be heading towards New Kent Road, which meant only one thing. They were probably heading for the ruined supermarket ten minutes down the road, opposite the old fire station.

But that was suicide, and Marianne knew it. For New Kent Road, leading onto Old Kent Road where the supermarket stood, was swarming with the mutated. And worse still, the supermarket was already inhabited by another group. A savage group of survivors who were far better equipped than this sorry lot.

Marianne knew they were going to die.

If they had scouted the area properly, they would had realized their mistake. Or maybe, perhaps they already knew" Perhaps they were desperate enough for food to warrant a daring attack" Either way, it was stupid. The probability of their success, was low " even before they got to the supermarket.

Biting her lower lip, she lowered the weapon from the window, and turned away from it. As she made for the door, she moved to use the custom-made shoulder strap of the rifle, and hung it on her left shoulder.

Carefully, she stepped over the tripwires in the hallway " memorizing exactly where they were, and headed for the kitchen. Once there, her booted feet crunched over the glass as she approached the hole in the ground.

She ceased her movements, and stared down into the apartment below while contemplating her actions. What was she going to do" Let those people die" Or allow them to get to the supermarket, and attempt their foolish attack" Or was she going to help them?

Pulling the hood of her raincoat over her, chin length blonde head of hair, she silently made her decision, and dropped down into the apartment below.

Marianne Delamonte

Date: 2013-12-23 09:43 EST
Like almost all survivors in London, they were inhabitants of the city before the world went to hell. It was easy to get lost in the maze of alleyways, roads, and buildings if you did not know exactly where you were going. A lot of the people who came to London on that terrible day for a vacation, or perhaps a visit, did not last very long. But for those that lived in London for most of their lives, the maze that was the city was rather straightforward. For Marianne, this was the case, having lived there all her life.

She had the luxury of going on holidays to other countries every year with her parents, but beyond that' London was her home. She never visited another village, or city in Britain. Ironically, now her home city " her capital, was simply her prison.

Unlike the group to which she stalked, Marianne did not traverse the main road. Either the group was confident in their abilities to defend themselves from the horde, or they were just plain stupid. From the side line, Marianne observed them " cutting through buildings she knew that were clear, having long since cleaned them out of the mutated, and barricaded each and every safe house where she could.

By the time she saw the group again, she was already ahead of them. Settling down in an abandoned chapel once used by the majority of African-English inhabitants of Old Kent Road, she was between them and the supermarket, which was still a good five minutes or so down the road, to her left.

Inside of the chapel, the stench of rot was overwhelming. It almost caused Marianne to gag, and heave up whatever minimal rations she had for breakfast that morning. The corpses strewn across the benches of the small chapel were evidently attacked by the mutated " bite marks and missing limbs being a clear indication of this. However, she had little fear of them returning from the dead, for they had long since been shot in the head, or had their heads removed.

Marianne had nothing to do with it, but she assumed that other survivors had the mercy of putting them out of their misery. Marianne, never saw the need for that. It was a waste of ammunition, time, and a pointless risk of her life. A lot of survivors had certain moral issues leaving the mutated lead their un-life in peace. It was as if they felt better about themselves if they simply let the mutated, rest as they truly should be? Dead.

Standing before the heavy doors, with her rifle firmly to her shoulder, and her finger on the trigger, she quietly opened the door just enough so she could take a peak outside.

The main road was sparsely populated by the mutated, but it was nothing she could not handle, or the group she was stalking.

Marianne had still yet figured out just what it was she was going to do. But if she wanted to stop them, it would had to be here. Any further than this chapel, was where the mutated begun to intensify in numbers. And beyond that horde" Was a darker threat. The survivors in the supermarket.

Then, as she contemplated her next move, the group came into view.

She had to admit, they moved with a certain efficiency. It was clear to her that the group had been together for quite some time. They covered each other's backs, and moved as one. But their inexperience in some other areas, was easily shown. Out of the six-no-seven people she counted, almost all of them made too much noise, and openly walked in the middle of the road.

They spoke out loud to each other, and conversed as if taking a normal walk through the city streets, between the usual executions of the approaching mutated. In her experience, such survivors who were comfortable around the walking dead, often were the first to die. To treat them without such fear, often led to moments of mistake. And mistakes these days, are almost always fatal.

When the group suddenly stopped, Marianne drew up her weapon, and aimed through the sights, poking the muzzle of her rifle just through the crack in the door. She lowered her breathing, so that she could have complete silence.

"Oh shit-"

"That's way too many, bro " there's no way we're getting through there."

"We have to try! If we don't try we'll never survive. The next supermarket I know of, not cleaned out is at least a mile from here."

"L-Lis"n, Mark, I thin" we sh'd head back. I mean. "m hungry, but, nah hungry enough t' wanna be zombie-chow."

"We have to-well" Fuck. What do we do, hmm" We came all this way for nothing" We have to try and get to the market! There other survivors there " I've seen them moving in and out of this road in a truck. They will help us. They will-."

Marianne drew her crosshairs to the man in the business suit, continuing his lecture to his fellow comrades, seemingly uncaring of his surroundings, and the loudness of his voice. If he was not careful, his group was going to be exactly what one of them worried about.

Food, for the mutated.

Or worse. Hunted by humans.

While the group was focused on him, Marianne knew better to focus elsewhere. Then, with a simple glimmer in the upstairs window on the opposite side of the road from her, Marianne drew her sights up from the group, and narrowed her crosshairs towards it, investigating what could be, a potential threat.

There was a head peaking between the curtains, and Marianne cursed in a whisper as she spotted the unknown figure beyond the window lift something close to his shrouded face. It might had been a radio.

Dropping to a knee, Marianne lowered her rifle and moved her hand away from the grip of the barrel, to her hip. There, holstered in a belt, was her own radio. Turning it on, and with the faint static hiss of white noise, she begun to tune the radio until she got what it was she was looking for.

?" Just seven" Are they armed?" Came the static voice of an older man.

Marianne felt a shiver in her spine. There was something wrong with this conversation, and she was glad to listen in on it.

"Just one guy with a crossbow. Easy pickings. Want me to shoot "em""

Marianne closed her eyes, and then titled her head up to the ceiling of the chapel, and whispered, "Oh god, please no..."

"Sure. Are there any women""

"Just two."

"Don't hurt the women, Justin, just rough them up a little, bring them back, here, and we can all have fun tonight.?

The chuckle that came across the radio, and the sickening pit rising in Marianne's stomach caused her to turn the radio off. With her face displaying her disgust, Marianne stood to her full height, and hurriedly aimed her rifle for the window, just in time to see the figure lift up the shape of a pistol-like weapon. But, noticing how the magazine was elongated, she figured out exactly what kind of weapon it was, before he even shot a single bullet.

It was a fully automatic pistol. He could mow them all down in a single clip, if he wanted to.

The world around her, seemed to slow. Her mind raced with the moral implications of not getting involved, and the consequence of taking the man out. If she killed him, she could save the group, and guide them out of there. However, by getting involved, she is going against the only rule she ever lived by.

Trust no one, but yourself.

By the time she had made a decision, the crash of the window, the panicked screams of the group, and automatic fire filled her ears, and changed everything.

With regret, she inclined the rifle away, and watched in pity, and sorrow as the man in the business suit was gunned down into a bloodied heap, cutting off his lecture.

The other men were next to fall, as they fled to find cover. But standing in the middle of the road just like they were; and just like Marianne predicted, there was nowhere else to hide. They worried about more about the mutated, and ignored the factor of human attack. This was inevitable.

As the men fell dead, or dying, the screams of the two surviving women, only got louder, as they both approached the chapel doors. Marianne froze, as she realized what was happening. If they revealed her position, she too could get captured.

With tears of regret, she pushed the heavy door closed, and with all her strength, pushed against it. Keeping it closed. Even as the banging of fists pounded the door, and terrible pleas of mercy penetrated Marianne's broken heart, it only served to frighten her, and to push harder still against the door.