Once upon a time... Sunderton certainly had the look to it. A sleepy little hamlet by all appearances, it could have served as the backdrop for any number of fairy tale beginnings or quaint period pieces. If not for the heavy overcast sky, the looming (but minimal) threat of rain, and the potential for trouble, it could have made for the perfect first visit for the Governor.

The stark contrast of excitement versus paranoia was obvious from first glimpse of the village, as boarded up windows, fortified fences, and the haphazard and untrained militia of the peasantry's preparations clashed with the turnout of smiling faces that were on hand to greet Fionna's arrival. The cheers were as warm as the rest of the welcome, riding roughshod over the remaining traces of fear and worry that had crawled through Sunderton since the first reports of zombie sightings smattered the backwater fringes of the realm.

The mayor himself, a portly man in his middles years and wider as he was tall, greeted Fionna was nervous laughter and a strong handshake before whisking her away from the assembled masses and towards the church; it also served as the town hall.

?I'm concerned, Mayor Ramsey, I won't lie to you," she murmured as they walked up the stone steps but before they were back within earshot of anyone. "You and your people really should come into town until we have this under control. You heard what happened in Kimberling. We could house you comfortably and you'd be much safer."

She glanced up at the looming gray overhead, marginally lighter than the weathered stone steps beneath the dark leather of her boots, trying to gauge how long before the rain, and whether she could possibly get back on the road before then.

For all of his bland looks and blunt features, Abel Ramsey watched his important visitor with all the weight of scrutiny of a man forced to swallow the seriousness of the situation. Having played the part of the titular gentleman, he'd offered the Governor his arm for their trip up the steps, nodding along to her words before offering only half a counterpoint.

"As you say, Governor, but we are an old community whose roots run deep in this land. It would take days for us to organize an evacuation as so many of our citizenry would wish to secure their homes against would-be loots seeking to gain advantage from the panic."

"Mayor Ramsey," she chose her words carefully. The man had pride, and she wished to be careful not to come off as chiding. "It is unlikely, don't you think, that looters would come all the way out here, given the current threat?"

The man was silent, letting the moments drag by as he opened the door and politely ushered his guest in and to the right. Along the far wall, a doorway opened in a small office area where a large oak desk sat, its top bare save for a single neat stack of papers. "Could I get you a beverage, my lady Governor?"

He didn?t wait for an answer. He replied to her question, chagrin rich in his voice. "I cannot deny the wisdom of your response, but I cannot guarantee many of the others would agree with you. These are their homes, their precious memories, and they will cite to you many examples of hard times bringing looters even out here ? roving bands of orcs or knolls, or the occasional space pirate avoiding Star's End. What would you have me do? Force them?"

?If it keeps them alive and safe?" she asked him, a brow lifting in a question turned back on him. She waved off the offer of a beverage wordlessly, following him into the seclusion of the office. She was surprised none of the elders of the bucolic little village were there, but mildly so. They were probably milking their cows.

"Loss or damage to property has always been a greater threat out here, on the fringes, than death." Without saying as much, the Mayor was leveling with Fionna, a small measure of respect offered in both tone and posture to indicate that her words had fallen entirely on deaf ears. "They are used to the craziness affecting the city-proper so much more often than us, with your would-be heroes and meltdown-of-the-week super-powered whatever-they-ares. While I've taken personal responsibility for trying to fortify and safeguard as much as I can, I can't begin to tell you what I could say that would empty Sunderton out in the protective custody you offer so graciously."

She digested this slowly, studying the man as he spoke, but she could see nothing in his tone or mannerism to indicate he was anything less than sincere in his disregard of the offer of shelter. However, that left a large and gaping question hanging between them. "I am puzzled, Mayor. Why did you insist on my coming out today, then?"

"Remember, my lady. I said they." The older man's smile was pained. "Not we." He lingered beside his desk, not so rude as to sit back in his chair and give the impression of stark dismissal of her importance or the situation, no matter how much he wanted to slouch down with the growing weight of the days of fatigue. "Truth be told, your offer and your opinion are something I agree with. But if the flock doesn't move, the shepherd must do one of two things: Get help in moving it... or... stay with the flock for its own protection. It's my hope that you can assist me with the former to avoid the latter."

"You want me to persuade them?" She hadn't considered that as a possibility. It surprised her more than the lack of officials in the little office. She drew out a chair and settled across from him, unoffered, crossing her legs and considering him with a long look. "What do you think I can bring to bear that you cannot? These people don't know me."

"Honestly?" With the seat taken, the man finally took dropped heavily into a chair, the weight of stress sagging his shoulders finally before his fingers were combing through the thin mop of hair atop his head. "This is me grasping the proverbial straw and taking a shot in the dark. Should this fail, I will be sending my family to the city and staying here to look after Sunderton, as I swore when I took office."

Fionna uncrossed her legs, leaning forward as she prepared to speak. Just as she was about to ask another question that projected itself in the troubled lines of her brow, someone screamed outside.

For a few startled seconds, words failed Abel Ramsey, his tired brown eyes widening and shifting towards the door beyond Fionna's shoulder. "Maker be merciful," he muttered before pushing to his feet and rushing for the door.

She was on his heels. More noise erupted from the sleepy little village in those few seconds than she would have thought possible. Gunfire erupted from several directions at once. More screams and a small rush of women and a handful of thin children being herded toward the church door by a trio of men as they reached it.

It took only a few moments at the door for the mayor to see what was occurring beyond the gunfire and screams, and scarcely that much time for the reality of their situation to take a crushing hold on his heart. But whatever impression he'd given the Governor, the man did take his job seriously.

"Connor," he yelled to one of the younger man ushered the women and children towards the church. "Get them inside quickly, and then through the back door with you to my truck. Spread the word as best you can and try to bring as many as you're able back to the church. Hurry, boy! Hurry!"

Ducking his head obediently, a wild and frightened look in his eyes, the man did as he was told and was soon disappearing back into the building.

Fionna pushed out the door past him to begin pulling women bodily in through the door, shoving them toward the mayor. "Hurry! Hurry! I know," she answered one tearful woman shrieking about her husband on patrol. "Come inside. It won't do him any good for you to get yourself hurt. In!"

"Do any of you have weapons?" She asked the group pouring in, casting a wide look around the street for the watchmen and any of her security crew.

Each body was intercepted in kind and turned towards the safety of the church's interior. Even as they went, Ramsey was barking orders to the other Sunderton men as they fled in, directing them to one supply building or another for what little weapons they possessed. Where he failed, he was looking to the Governor's security detail for direction, so concerned was he with the defenseless as they filed in.

"Get some men on the roof with rifles!" the head of her detail shouted back at the Governor and the Mayor. Beyond them, coming down the street in waves, were a throng of zombies the size of which defied explanation. The empty village of Kimberling, and probably several others, moving as a herd, relentless and hungry.

"Alan. Brian. Do as he says!" Stolidly, Abel Ramsey lingered by the door, pale as a sheet in the face of the approaching danger but still taking in those fleeing. "Can you call someone? Can you have us evacuated?" These were all questions posed to Fionna and her security both.

"If I can get a signal," was her grim answer. ?I tried my phone on the way in, and a few miles out had no range.? She fished it from a pocket now and tried, with no luck. "They were supposed to bring a field radio," she muttered, looking up to try and find Jenkins or one of the others.

As they last few stray bodies began trickling through the door, the mayor cut a look each way before grasping Fionna lightly by the shoulder. "My Lady Governor, we should close the doors after your men close the heavy gates in front of the church. Connor can bring the survivors in through the back before we have to close those gates, too. Hurry, please!"

"But the radio --"

The vehicles they'd arrived in were nowhere to be seen.

"Can one of your men retrieve it?" The older man cast a doubtful look towards her entourage, before his gaze panned past them. He lingered near the single open door, appearing beyond pensive under the looming possibility of death. Beyond them, the shambling hordes continued on, in growing numbers and flavor of sizes from human to troll to things more grotesque. It was enough to put anyone but a madman on edge.

The herd was already on the empty vehicles, up the road. They'd have to go through them to get to the truck and the radio, if it was even there. She shook her head. Dammit all. Her men were already swinging the gates shut with the help of some of the villagers, who had chains and locks for just this eventuality.

Iron met iron with a final and grim clank.

"What will we do?" he asked her, finally, through the breath of a whisper as the last of the would-be defenders fled from the locked gate to seek the solace of the church. "No one knows..." As the church doors were closed and locked, creating their second and last line of defense, Ramsey turned a look over those already cowering in the pews before seeking the answer from Fionna.

Behind and beyond them, a villager here and there was coming through the back doors, hurrying inside.

There was a long and weighty silence as she processed the predicament. When she turned, the Mayor and all the villagers in the sanctuary were staring, hoping. She drew in a deep breath and tried to force a positive tone to her voice.

"We were supposed to be back in town by noon. If we don't show up, they'll send someone. In the meantime, if those gates will hold, tell your men to save their ammunition."

(Adapted from live play with the always wonderful player of Steve Armstrong)