Red Dawn-The Beginning

OOC: All those who have not had their characters approved, do not post. Your character profiles will be moved to 'completed' once they are submitted, and you can start posting here. This is the beginning thread. At this point, life seems normal except for your character noticing large amounts of people out sick, and the WHO declaring the virus an epidemic.

Intro:
On December 21, 2012, a deadly strain of H1N1 mutated into something no one had seen before. The first cases were documented on that day. Scientists were optimistic about recovery of what they thought was a simple virus, when all patients suddenly died. Scientists began researching the virus, but yet more and more people began to be infected, and fatalities rose. The federal government became involved, demanding a vaccine, but soon the virus was international and the WHO was looking into it. More and more became sick, and there were few recoveries. Fear began to run through the world, but people still were waiting for a vaccine that was hurriedly being worked on. So far, people had no idea that this was only a red dawn, the beginning of a bloody series of events that would spell doom for humanity.

The year of the supposed apocalypse had passed without fanfare. No giant earthquakes, no tsunamis, no plague of locusts. Probably the biggest thing that had happened in the past year was the new strain of swine flu. It had started out by attacking the populations of Europe…but even that would probably roll over soon. After all, they had a vaccine made within a first few months of the initial outbreak back in ’09.

Sure, people had died. But no one that the girl with “Mila” printed across her nametag knew. The only things that had really changed were that facial masks had suddenly made a comeback, and people didn’t go out as much. Sometimes she’d walk into classes that had once been difficult to find seats in, and find that three people hadn’t shown up, along with the three people from the previous week. Those that were sick were shunned, and people tended to crowd into doctor’s offices at the slightest sore throat or sniffle.

As for work, a once-busy department store was reduced to the hurried mother buying a select few groceries. As sales declined, many retailers made cutbacks. Luckily, Mila had worked at her job since the beginning of college, so she was spared for now. Most of the time, Mila was tasked with useless chores such as rearranging the bubblegum for the thousandth time.

Today was no different. She was daydreaming about a galaxy far, far away, when her manager walked up.

“Break time, Mila,” she said simply.

With a flick of the hand, Mila switched off her lane light and shoved her hands into her pockets, heading to the break room. The television was on as usual, but as usual, she ignored it. Grabbing her sandwich and water bottle from the employee fridge, she plopped down in one of the many uncomfortable red plastic chairs dotting the room. Half-way into a bite of turkey and mayonnaise, the urgency in the announcer’s voice made her glance at the screen. Standing in front of the British Parliament, a man with wispy blonde hair spoke quickly into a microphone.

Mid-sentence, a brief look of horror crossed the reporter’s face before the camera suddenly crashed to the ground. The sound of pounding footsteps could be heard getting fainter, as if the crew had inexplicably fled the area, though the view from the camera was only that of a tilted sidewalk.

Matthew Gibson woke at 8:00 sharp in the morning, and rolled out of bed onto the ground. He instantly began doing pushups, completing thirty, leaving him sweaty and panting. He switched to doing some crunches, completing forty, not wanting to tire himself out. He then jumped onto his treadmill, running five miles nonstop, averaging around 7 minutes and 40 seconds per lap. Winded and tired, he quickly showered. As he dried off, he checked his two-inch long scar above his left wrist, and then at the Ranger Tab emblem tattooed on his right arm. The scar was from a bullet wound from his tour of duty in the Middle East, where the 7.62 mm round had torn into his skin, severing tendons and muscle before skimming his shoulder after bouncing off his watch. Doctors had worried he would lose his hand, but were able to save it and Matthew made a full recovery.

He was back in the United States, living in an apartment near a National Guard barracks in Virginia. He was assigned to a Ranger unit there for three months before returning to the Middle East for another tour of duty, and he continued his morning ritual every day to make sure he didn't become lax.

Lately, he hadn't been doing much but relaxing, but he was required to check in with his unit commander, a Captain Coles, every morning at 9:30 and receive any necessary assignments. Matt changed into his BDUs and quickly ate a large breakfast of sausage, bacon, eggs, and biscuits he had bought the previous night from a nearby bakery. He then jumped in his new truck he had purchased with funds he had saved for years, and sped off towards the barracks.

Upon arrival, he was startled to see men in full combat gear loading up trucks and Humvees with medical supplies. He parked and quickly jumped out, seeing a clearly perturbed Captain Coles directing several men in loading up the Humvees. Matt saluted. "Sir, what's going on here?"

"Gibson. Glad to see you. We have orders to assist in emergency medical treatment. If you've heard of the virus, it's gotten worst. Spread more. Britain is being hit hard, and they've actually closed airspace. Other countries are following suit. It seems to be an epidemic. You'll be riding with First Squad, and we'll be heading to Richmond Community Hospital to bring supplies and ensure order. There seems to be a lot of panic. We'll be working with Riot Control units. Go suit up in the armory, and meet us out here in five," Coles said hurriedly, before going back to ordering his men.

Matt, a thousand thoughts whirling around his head, dashed into the armory. He quickly donned a Molle vest, a Kevlar helmet, and grabbed an M4A1 carbine and several magazines of ammunition. He also clipped on a utility belt and an M9 pistol in a holster onto his waist, and also stuffed several tasers and peppers spray cans into a few empty pockets. He saw two Rangers next to him hurriedly loading M32 MGL grenade launchers with tear gas canisters, and felt a pang of slight fear. It must have been some crazy hysteria. He quickly wiped fear out of his mind, went into his combat mindset, and grabbed an M32 for himself, putting a few tear gas canisters into his pockets after loading it.

He then dashed outside with the two other Rangers, and climbed into the passenger's seat of his assigned Humvee. The four men inside acknowledged him with grunts of "Lieutenant" and "Hey sir," and another man climbed into the top turret which had an Mk19 automatic grenade launcher attached to it with more tear gas canisters loaded. The tension was building. Matt checked in with the Captain as they called roll before getting into a tense convoy formation and turning onto the highway. The convoy drove alongside a few civilians in a noticeably vacant highway.

Daniel stared at the blinking cursor in front of him blankly. Waiting for text to be inserted it seemed to stare back at him impatiently. He sighed and pushed aside the folder he was keying the order from and stood from his desk stretching. Looking down his row of cubicles he was again shocked at just how many people were absent. Normally this would be cause for alarm as less people meant more work for himself but apparently the need for internet circuits had dropped dramatically as well as more and more individuals and businesses were effected by this virus either personnel wise or economically. Daniel had dismissed the H1N1 virus at first, not much more than a normal flu, but it had quickly proved him wrong. Thankfully he himself and nobody from his family seemed to be sick. That didn't seem to apply to the general public though as more and more people came into work hacking and coughing, their eyes red and with large bags under their eyes and then eventually they just never came back to work. The few still plugging away at their jobs were scared and didn't talk much or come into close proximity anymore. The man on the other side of the tall cubicle wall that was obviously obsessive compulsive and a germaphobe had taken to wearing full face masks and constantly bathing his hands in strong smelling hand sanitizers that often left the workplace smelling like a chemical plant.

The office place seemed much quieter than normal today and to shrug off the eerie and uncomfortable silence he sat back down in his chair and plugged in his ear buds of his music player. Closing his work items he absorbed himself in the latest video game and Star Wars news across the web. Unfortunate because if he had just left his ear buds out a little longer and paid closer attention he might have heard the disturbing noises from downstairs. Instead the hacking and coughing of the person on the other side of the wall of his cubicle made him turn his music up even louder. Perhaps if he had watched the news this morning he would have stayed home. Daniel hated the news, nothing but horrible times seemed ahead, so he had always avoided it and instead got his goings on from word of mouth.

Nevertheless none of those things had happened and Daniel would soon discover staying at home would have been a better idea. Bored he flipped up his im messenger and typed out a offline message to his good online friend.

Mila you haven't been on in a while. Everything OK? It's slow up here and I'm bored. If you get on let me know. Maybe we can RP or something.

He watched the message send like it would somehow summon her to save him from his mundane day. Scrolling through the rest of the names on his list of friends he saw that just like the last week nobody was on. This would be a long day.

Showering felt good. Sure, the shower itself was in a grubby little motel in what felt like nowhere town but at least he was clean. At least cleaner; it'd take a few weeks to wash the stink of New York out of his skin. Sam was not a fan of the city of liberty. Liberty gave people ample opportunity to do stupid things.

Stepping out of the shower Sam flicked on the TV, just out of interest to see what horrifically biased news he might be able to pick up on this time.

“Today, the English prime minister has declared that all flights are to be grounded until the spread of the virus can be contained. The rate of infection has spread so rapidly here since its outbreak in December, that hospitals have nearly been overrun with people desperate for medical attention. It is a scene of unsurpassed mass hysteria. Despite the fervor with which the public has rallied to the cause of finding a cure, the streets are virtually empty. Abandoned cars line the street and forgotten pieces of luggage lie uselessly overturned in airline terminals. Even here, the Houses are eerily silent, and even the wildlife seems to have gone into hiding. It is a---"

"Oh fuck."

There was a clatter as Sam's things went everywhere as he dived for his mobile phone. Three times he rang his home number, three times it went straight to the answerphone. Similar results were produced when he attempted to contact his Dad's and sister's mobile phones. Starting to panic Sam glanced at his watch and relaxed; with the time difference the two would be either at work or in a lecture. He was just getting himself worked up.

Sighing slightly he picked up his things and began to dump them into a small backpack. This Gaming Life by Jim Rossignol, A hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy by Douglas Adams, Night Watch by Terry Pratchett and The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks sat snugly in the backpack alongside a half eaten sandwich, a small netbook, a passport and a bag of weed.

Shit, I thought I had got rid of that. Sam half thought about chucking it away now but decided it'd be better to keep it with him than let housekeeping find it in his bin. At least he had a better chance of hiding it this way. With a sort of strange detachedness he picked up the smaller bag and left his motel room, heading for the reception.

The reception itself was eerily quiet, one living zombie waiting behind the desk. She gave Sam a sullen look and simply nodded when he asked if he could extend his stay. Did he know how long for? "Well, not really." Will you be bringing friends back here? "No, no, of course not." Was he going to cause trouble? "I'll try not to." Well, thank you and have a nice day.

Containing his rising irritableness Sam headed away from the Motel, aiming to find something more fresh to eat. Of course fresh was a rather objective word when the only thing that anyone seemed to serve was a heart attack in a bun. Heading towards another nameless, generic department store Sam began to look round for something to eat. In short order he found himself clutching a popular brand of sandwich, a variety of American "chips" and a packet of lemon and ginger tea bags. Heading towards the checkout, mind numbed by the never ending music of the store he found himself making a reach for a small bottle of whiskey. He hesitated.

In this country he was underage to drink. If the shopkeeper kicked up a fuss the police might get involved and discover the weed in his bag. He knew he was insane to carry weed in a country so strict on it's drugs; he wasn't in bloody Amsterdam anymore. Plus with the British embassy well and truly useless about now he'd probably quickly find himself in a court case he could not possibly win. Yet.....yet he kind of needed the weed. Just in case. To help keep him calm. Sure his sister would be angry with him and sure he had been smoking more of it the past year since his mum had died; but that wasn't the point!

What was the point again Sam?

Grumbling he grabbed the whiskey and plonked his items down at a cashier. Brilliantly there was no one at this cashier; in fact Sam couldn't see anyone around. There was a door just beyond, a TV on in the background. Perhaps there was somewhere in there?

"Erm. Excuse me?"

Mila watched with a renewed curiosity for news programming as no one bothered to right the camera until finally the feed just cut off. They flashed back to the main station in the States, where an anchor tried to hide a disturbed expression a little too late as she turned back to the studio camera. Predictably, she gave the cookie-cutter response about technical difficulties and went on to blabber about something far less interesting than whatever might have happened to their correspondent in the field.

Setting her sandwich back onto its wrapper, Mila walked to the television and clicked through the channels, trying to find another station that might provide some more insight as to what was going on in England. A few mentioned the grounded flights, but otherwise there was little to nothing being said; either they were hiding what they knew, or the people of Britain were.

Dissatisfied with the results of her search, Mila found herself wishing she had sprung for a phone with at least internet in the service package. The most hers did was send texts…and she had had it for the past three years. On any other day, there would have been around three other people in the break room, and the likelihood that one of them would have an iPhone (or whatever Apple called it nowadays, Mila could never keep track) would have been fairly high. Instead, it was just her. She’d have to wait until she could get to her computer to look for anything else.

With a half-frown, she returned to her sandwich, but realized that her fifteen-minute break was over.

Just as she placed her unfinished meal into the fridge, a voice called out from the door labeled “Employees Only.” It sounded young, male, and…from out of town. Mila didn’t recognize the voice, but she rounded the corner to see what its owner needed nonetheless.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked the kid poking his head through the doorway, noticing how programmed she sounded.

"Ah. Um. Can I just buy these please?" Sam glanced around the empty store and gave a involuntary shudder; the place didn't feel right. "Er, shouldn't places like this be packed with people? You know, jocks and all that shit?"

Sam began to fiddle with his backpack and withdrew his passport slowly. If she asked for ID he could hand it over and hoped she didn't actually pay attention to the birthdate. If she did he could just feign ignorance. Some states had lower drinking age laws right?

Not since 1988, but she doesn't need to know that you know that.

Realising that he needed something to do with his time he turned back to the attendant, "Sorry to be a pain, but do you have a wireless network around here? I kind of really need to get access to the internet."

Not paying attention to the things he was holding, Mila ushered him over to a register. "Am I the only one who does any work around here? Sorry. There was supposed to be someone else on a register while I was on break, or at the very least the front lanes manager, but now I have no idea where either of them went..."

As she began distractedly ringing up his items, she glanced at the photo lab and guest service counter. Both were empty, as were the Starbucks and express food area. "Yeah we have wi-fi... Did you see anyone else walking around since you came in?" she asked, wishing that cashiers were issued walkie-talkies like the rest of the team members.

"Not really," he replied feeling himself relax as the whiskey was happily moved on. "But I wasn't paying much attention; got other things on the mind, you know?"

The weed was weighing heavily on Sam's back, a spliff about now would really really help calm him down. What if things at home were worse than he feared? What if-Don't think about it. Distract yourself.

"So....what do people do for fun around here? I mean this whole town just feels....dead." He smiled absent-mindedly and shrugged, "I've got no real computer to game on and no friends to go see and I'm stuck in a country I don't really understand! I feel so bloody foreign."

Jesus Christ Sam, just push your whole life story on her why don't you?

Mila smiled at him, understanding the "dead" feeling completely. "Eh, there's not much to do in this part of town to be honest, unless you head towards the theme parks or go to the movies for the hundredth time. Honestly, I'm probably the wrong person to ask about social life, seeing how quiet mine is. Especially lately..."

She went to ring up another item but was stopped when it didn't beep like it was supposed to. After looking at the screen, she realized why. "Hey uh, you got ID for the alcohol?"

She didn't want to offend him if he really was old enough, because sometimes people looked several years younger than they actually were. Still, he seemed to be around her brother's age, and that wasn't quite there. Regardless, the machine literally would not allow her to continue ringing without the electronic slide of a valid ID or a passport number. Her store had long ago instituted a program which required a manager code anytime a birthdate was entered manually.

Oh balls.

Sam handed over his passport, trying to think a way out of this one. "Hey, age limit is 18, right?"

Stupid. Stupid idiot.

He tried to change the topic desperately, "Not sure about going to the movies or whatever, too many people all getting sick. Kind of feel stupid for not having one of those masks on. But it's probably not that bad; they're only making a fuss at home cause it's putting a strain on a already expensive healthcare system."

Mila looked at the passport and frowned slightly. "Sorry, it's 21 here. I totally forgot about the different drinking laws in other countries. I'm sure it's not the first time but I'll have to put it back though," she explained apologetically, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt that he really didn't know the law.

"You're probably right about the movies. Then again, I figure if I was going to get sick, I'd be sick already. I talk to so many people every day here...well...used to anyway. So uh...when's the last time you were home? The news today didn't make things look very promising, but that's nothing new."

She went quiet after that, waiting for his response. She didn't want to ramble his ear off, but customers hardly ever stopped to talk to her for any length of time. Hell, most days she was lucky to have her existence acknowledged at all, what with everyone on their cell phones like they were glued to their earlobes. And of course lately she barely had a customer around to ignore her. She almost missed the annoying women on bluetooth headsets yelling at their whining kids and writing checks in slow-motion. At least that was a sign of life.

"Um, don't worry about the drink. I can cope a bit longer without." Stupid bloody laws.

Sam took his passport back and slipped it into his bag whilst thinking about her question. How long had it been? "I think, but don't quote me on this, about four months? Yeah, that sounds about right. I've travelled a lot really. I've spent more of the last year away from home than in it. But I still talk to my sister and dad regularly. Or I did; I think this whole thing is messing with their phone networks. But the only times I've gone home has been for a few weeks, it's kind of like taking leave from the army I guess. Except I'm not shooting at anyone."

Sam itched the back of his head feeling awkward. He didn't really know how to approach a conversation like this; then again he never knew how to approach a good conversation. "So, you live around here? Born and bred?"

Michael Burkes was a reporter, and a good one at that. He hadn't believed the superstitious freaks about 2012; he thought it was just one of those coincidences or something that could easily be explained. What he did find fascinating, though, was the H1N1 swine flu, as the rest of the media had taken to calling it. Who would have thought the flu could end the world? Of course he didn't, but that didn't mean the public didn't as well. A few scare tactics here, a few paid professionals there, and suddenly he had a hit documentary out by the end of 2012 documenting how this could be the end of the world. Of course it was all facts blown out of proportion, but in the end he actually began to believe his own words. To the point that he even washed his hands every time he used the restroom. A lot of the medical community didn't like his little documentary but in the kindest way possible he told them to shove it; his documentary was a hit...even after other reporters tried to outdo him by pointing out the flaws of his plan.

Then things changed. Suddenly the doctors that pointed fingers at him so viciously began to whisper to him in hushed tones that he might have been right. That actually worried Mikey, but that was good. It would give his new documentary true raw emotion that even he felt. It never occurred to him that this was something real and something that could actually affect him. No; to him this H1N1 and whatever its new strains were were something that happened over there like AIDS epidemics in Africa or weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. No, this was just a story, a story to make him rich but a story none the less. So it was that his story brought him to a beat up Motel in Virginia, about to interview a doctor at a nearby hospital who had been his most unapologetic critics.

Mikey woke up like any other morning, with a hangover and the woman he went to bed with gone. He groaned and touched his head trying to eleviate a pounding sound from his head. It took him a minute to figure out it was his alarm clock. He said a curse word to himself and slammed a palm down on the machine. Looking up at it, he drowsily stared at the blinking numbers of 8:58. He'd have to be down at the hospital by 11:00 or so. Or was that too late? The blinding headache that still tormented him did not give him the answer. Getting up, he went over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. Refusing to look in the mirror, his hands went straight to the faucet. He let the water blast on cold for a bit before splashing the chilled water on his face. Now effectively woken up, he faced the mirror. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed and reached for a bottle of aspirin that he had instinctively placed the night before in the bathroom. Popping three into his mouth he went back to the bed and turned on the TV to some random station while getting dressed.

What he heard made him stop.

“Today, the English prime minister has declared that all flights are to be grounded until the spread of the virus can be contained. The rate of infection has spread so rapidly here since its outbreak in December, that hospitals have nearly been overrun with people desperate for medical attention. It is a scene of unsurpassed mass hysteria. Despite the fervor with which the public has rallied to the cause of finding a cure, the streets are virtually emp--"

Mikey tossed the control back on the bed and muttered to himself, "Bloody Brit thinks he can try and take my story, eh?" Putting pants on he went on to think, well if the flights are closed I don't need to worry about him coming to America. He smiled to himself, the other reporter couldn't get out but if Mikey wanted to he could call in a few favors and get a boat over to Britain. He'd have to remember to do so but shrugged, what was the point? Mass hysteria? Please, it's been like this for months with people flooding into hospitals begging for a cure for a runny nose or sore throat. The Prime Minister is just doing it for publicity or he's actually given into this phobia of H1N1. Bunch of horse crap in Mikey's opinion. With a quick check on his appearance, the reporter was out the door.

It didn't take long to get onto the road which was surprising for Mikey who was used to the big cities. It wasn't only that but the roads had been steadily getting quieter with each passing week, he wasn't in a small neighborhood and right now the roads looked deserted. That was at least until he got within a mile of the hospital.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch." he said stunned at the chaos before him. Or as the British reporter had put it, mass hysteria.

"Ah yeah. Been in the "Sunshine" State for almost 24 years now. Can't wait to leave, but can't afford to travel," Mila replied, curling her fingers into quotation marks for emphasis as she said the word Sunshine. Even now, the sky outside was turning an ugly shade of gray. Soon there would be a lake where the parking lot used to be.

Running one hand through her dark brown hair, she hit a button with the other and read off his total.

Matt's convoy was traveling along just fine on the deserted highway until they turned off onto a side road about half a mile away. Cars were left abandoned in the streets while messes of sick, healthy carrying sick, and even a few drunk or high people were pressed together in a long line leading to the hospital doors, which were slammed shut with a small line of policeman trying to push the crowd back. A SWAT van was tearing along outside the road's fence, having simply blazed through a section. The back doors opened and a SWAT team began pushing through the mess of people, protecting themselves with riot shields.

Matt noticed his Humvee had stopped moving. "Step on it, soldier! We gotta help those SWAT guys out," Matt barked at the Private staring open-mouthed out the window. "Uh, yes sir. Uh...how do I get there?" "Go through the damn fence!" Matt yelled, and the Private nervously stepped on the gas, leading the backed up convoy through the hole in the fence.

The Humvees tore through the rocky field, the vehicle bouncing violently as a few soldiers hit the roof a few times. The Humvees stopped next to the SWAT van, and the Ranger piled out. The noise was deafening as the mass of people shouted and screamed. Several men seemed shell-shocked. "Specialist Murphy, stay on that Mark-19!" Matt started yelling, first at the soldier manning the grenade launcher on the Humvee. "Everyone else, with me! Private Harrison, get on the command net and get some reinforcements! Go go go, follow my lead!"

The soldiers followed Matt as he pushed into the mass of people. He didn't have a riot shield, and soon dozens of bodies were smashing into him, punching and clawing, some of them sick. Matt felt pain stabbing at him and he pointed his M4 into the air and pulled the trigger. The mass of people surged back and he pulled out his M32, grateful he had it. He started popping tear gas into the crowd, and as the mass of people dashed away from it, he led his men behind the SWAT line. More of his men popped more gas, and soon the front of the crowd was running helter-skelter as the next row of people dashed forward. The SWAT men also threw tear gas grenades and drew their weapons grimly.

"Sir, we don't have any support! Everyone's committed!" Harrison yelled, after listening to his radio. "Shit," a soldier muttered. "We're fucked." "No we're not soldier, we are Rangers. We can hold this mass of civvies. Form a firing line, now!" Gibson yelled, and his men got on their knees, watching the crowd warily with their weapons. Captain Coles ran up with the rest of the team, and they also had gas masks which were quickly distributed. The SWAT team leader a Police Lieutenant walked over to the Captain and Matt as their men carefully popped more tear gas, unafraid to use it with their masks on.

"The hospital can treat thirty patients every hour, and more doctors are coming in to help out. They have a lot of room. If we can get the crowd under control, we can move people inside in groups," the police lieutenant said, red as a beet under his cap. "My men and I aren't equipped for this. We only have lethal rounds," the SWAT commander said, a middle-aged man with sweat covering his whole face. Coles wiped his face. "Alright, here's the plan. We'll have to hold them until those doctors arrive, and when we do, my men will escort them in with our Humvees. Sound good?" The other commanders nodded, and grimly returned to helping their men.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out and there was an increased amount of screaming. Four men in gas masks charged through the crowd, shooting people who got in the way. Matt stared, but one of his men raised his M4 and started shooting. The bullets tore into one of the men, but wounded a woman in the way, throwing her to the ground in a pool of blood. "Hold your damn fire!" Matthew screamed, knocking the man's gun to the left. He brought his own carbine up just as the remaining two men charged forward, one of them shooting with a shotgun and another blazing away with two pistols. His men returned fire, and the two men crumpled under the mass of bullets hitting them. However, too many stray rounds hit the civilians, and the tear gas was dissipating enough in the wind that the crowd surged forward again, past the bloody bodies of dead and wounded.

Mila:

A man in his thirties wobbles through the front door, carrying a large duffel bag. In the store's parking lot is a large RV hooked up to a pickup truck. The man starts grabbing large amounts of food and water and stuffing them into his duffel bag, and when he fills it, he pulls out another, smaller bag and fills it with more supplies. He leaves the store and throws it into his truck's cargo area, and comes back in, using one of the store's carts to start grabbing whole boxes of things right off the shelf. He fills the cart with food and then starts filling it with a few knives, flashlights, and rope.

President Jonathon Roth was not having a good day. He sat in his office, rubbing his face as the news blasted about the British closing their airspace. He had been awake since 4:00 in the morning, working on the situation that the virus had created. He had known about if for months and not worried too much about it, what with the politics about the wars in the Mid East. And of course the virus had come back to bite him in the ass.

He was busy looking over a speech his aide had written up for a press conference that was occurring in minutes. Shortly before, he had ordered all National Guard forces be activated and deployed, along with any other emergency services. So far, the country was in panic and there were reports of violence. He was optimistic though that security forces would bring the troubled areas under control professionally. Also, much-needed relief forces from Canada were arriving, and large amounts of vaccine from the 2009 outbreak of H1N1 were being manufactured.

His phone beeped. "Mr. President, they're ready for you." Jonathon pressed the talk button on his phone. "Alright. I'll be over there in a minute."

Jonathon stuffed the speech into a file folder and marched out of his office, where four Secret Service agents escorted him to the press room. He was announced, and he walked forward with his trademark smile plastered on his feet, feeling like he was walking towards the electric chair. The reporters silenced, though flashes from cameras illuminated him occasionally.


Jonathon began to speak. "I will be blunt: this crisis is real. Very real. The subvirus of H1N1 is real and has spread more quickly than we anticipated. Our hospitals and other medical centers have been overrun by those seeking care. We were caught off guard.

"However, this will stop here. All National Guard units have been activated and will be assisting to maintain the peace and distribute medical attention. All proper agencies and personnel have been alerted, and our friends overseas will be assisting us. There have been uprisings of brutal violence, but as I said before, this ends here and now. I am determined that this virus will be stopped in its tracks, and a vaccine is being manufactured and distributed for free at a mass scale.

"As a precaution, American airspace and borders will be closed except for military and government personnel. This is to prevent the virus from leaving our soil or from coming in internationally. This is to contain it. I urge all Americans to remain calm and collected, and to trust us to take care of this problem. One thing about the American spirit is that it never dies and it never withers even in the face of the most devastating perils. So I ask, now, that we remember who we are, and keep that spirit alive. Let us be a shining light to our international brothers and sisters who are dealing with this virus as well. Thank you."

Jonathon strode off the podium as reporters shouted questions, but his press secretary dashed up to hush them. Jonathon heaved a sigh of relief as Secret Service guards escorted him back to the Oval Office. One task off the checklist. Now he went to meet with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Parking the car to the side of the road, Michael got out just in time to see the National Guard join SWAT at the front of the hospital after smashing through a chain link fence. Reaching back into the car, he got his digital camera, a tape recorder, and his phone. Finally he put on a dark brown leather coat to try and cover himself from the morning breeze. He cursed not having an actual camera crew with him but with this H1N1 scare there was nearly no camera men or staff crew to cover everything. He was on his own and pictures would have been better than nothing.

Standing on the hood of his car, Mike was able to get a vantage point of the massive crowd to take pictures, mainly of the national guard rolling up in battle ready uniforms, assault rifles, and grenade launchers no doubt filled with tear gas. Zooming in one one man, who looked to be an officer, he snapped two pictures as he lifted his gun into the air and fired to disperse the crowd. The action was followed by tear canisters disappearing into the ground with a trail of white smoke. Mike made sure to snap a few pictures of that, nothing like a little abuse of the public by military personnel to up the ratings. Of course he'd have to leave out the pictures of the mob trying to maul the poor officer to make it work, then again he could reapply it to be an example of the hysteria people felt.

Getting back down from the hood, he was immediately pushed to the side by someone. "Hey watch it pal!" he shouted at the disappearing man in the gas mask. Looking back he saw more of his entourage and though it was hard to see, Mike could never confuse the stock of a shotgun with anything else. This time he quickly dodged out of the way. His mind went to cursing as he knew what was about to happen. "Gun!" He shouted as they approached the front of the mass, but his voice was lost over the shouting and screams just as one of the men opened fire. Instinctively Mike ducked down at the sound of gunshots, but he cursed himself for not getting pictures. Instead he went to a ducked run past his car and away from the mass of people. Looking around, he spotted the opening in the fence. He had to get into the hospital, there was no telling what was going on in there. Ducking through the opening, he put his arm up to shield his face from the tear gas that had been carried over by the wind. It didn't do much to help but was better than just walking through the stuff unguarded. Sprinting through a cloud of the stuff, he emerged on the other side, his face watering and he couldn't stop coughing. He had managed to make it by the SWAT van and the humvee gunner was busy dealing with crowd and not with watching for intruders from behind. Silencing his cough finally he went around the side of the hospital looking for an entrance. Trying a side door he cursed when he found it locked from the inside. Stepping back, he did notice the open window above it. It was small, more of a opening for sunlight to come in, but it was big enough for a man to crawl through. Looking around, He moved over a tall garbage can and stood on top of it. Jumping up the final foot, he grabbed the edge of the window and pulled himself up.

He fell onto his back on the way down, but only the wind was knocked out of him. "Crap," he groaned as he got back up and dusted himself off. Checking his camera for damage, he thanked God to find it was unhurt. He might have gotten hurt but God-forbid his camera get damaged. Looking around, he found himself in an empty hallway near a series of laundry units working tirelessly cleaning sterile white sheets and gowns. Up ahead, he could hear the shouts and commotion of doctors, nurses, and an assortment of medical staff working to help patients. With his breath returned, he walked down the hall towards the commotion, not sure what he would find but somehow he had a good idea it wasn't going to be much different from outside. Minus the tear gas and guns of course...

The crowd surged forward again, but were held back by more tear gas and a steady line of SWAT officers, creating a phalanx of riot shields as they pushed back the crowd with brute force. Matt left loading his M32 and firing, and was well aware he was almost out. His vision was being obscured by a stream of blood on his forehead caused by someone's nails when he had been attacked.

"Conserve your rounds! Fire your tear gas only into large groups!" Matt called out, and his men relayed the order so everyone could know. Then, pandemonium. Several cars had blazed through the hole in the fence and were charging forward. One of them reached the Humvees and twenty people jumped out, five of them carrying people on stretchers. The other ten were armed with various weapons, and their faces were covered with masks. A Ranger helping the Mark-19 gunner turned, going for his pistol, but one of the rogues smashed him across the face with his rifle butt. The Mark-19 gunner drew his pistol and shot one man, but was hit multiple times by another rogue with a pistol. Just as Matt's men turned, one of the rogues grabbed the stunned Ranger that had been hit and pointed his gun in his face, wrestling him into a headlock. "No one shoot, or we kill him! Let us into the hospital!"

Matt grimaced, and wave three Rangers next to him to follow him. Two more vans stopped near the first car, and more people exited, some carrying sick and others armed. "We'll let you in first. If you shoot, you're all dead," Matt said simply, and the head rogue nodded. Captain Coles dashed up, hearing the last bit, and shot Matt a sharp look. The Ranger that was in the headlock was pale, and his young face pleaded for help. "Let's go," Coles said quietly, and opened the doors where the rogues dashed inside. Matt grabbed ten other Rangers and dashed inside to watch them, while the battle waged outside. Matt heard Coles telling a Ranger to move one of the Humvees to block the hole in the fence.

Inside, the hospital was busy with activity, as doctors struggled to treat patients in hospital rooms and on gurneys in the halls with what supplies they had. Only some stopped to look at the strange site of at least thirty people standing around with weapons, as they were so busy. Matt pulled aside the doctor who seemed in charge, and quietly informed him of the situation. The man noticeably paled, but his determined expression didn't change. "Alright. Tell them to bring them over to the entrance desk and lay their stretchers there. I'll send some nurses over."

The rogues obeyed, and shortly five nurses came over with IV bags and began treating the sick, glancing up occasionally at both armed factions. The hostage Ranger was sitting in a chair now, with one of the rogues' pistols underneath his chin.

Private Harrison dashed in through the front door, startling everyone and causing some of the rogues to raise their weapons. Harrison shot them a glance, but then turned to Matt. "Sir, two Blackhawks are inbound with supplies and reinforcements! They're setting up an LZ nearby! Coles wants you to find out who should be extracted. And he wants you and your men to wear this." Harrison handed Matt eleven radio headsets patched into the command net. With a salute, he dashed outside again. Matt put on the headset and handed out the rest to his men.

"This is Lieutenant Gibson, checking into the Command Net," he said. "Gibson, this is Coles. Our current callsign is Badger 5-1. A team of SWAT snipers is situated across the street, and are taking targets on the rogues. They're going to take them out. Do you understand?" Matt's eyes roamed across the buildings outside, and saw several men on top of a skyscraper. "Copy that, Captain." "Alright, wait for my mark."

His men gave him a glance, and Matt noticed several discreetly readied their weapons. Matt fingered the trigger of his M4, and flipped the safety off.

Sam shrugged slightly as he handed over his money, "What inspired your ancestors to build on what feels like one giant swampland I don't know...."

There was the noise of rustling and Sam turned to see a strange man loading his bag with supplies before he chucked it into his truck. The man came back with a trolley and began to raid the shelves once more without a seeming care in the world for the shop's owners.

"Christ, there's so many nutters round here." Sam muttered to Mila before stupidly taking a step towards the man. "Hey, um, excuse me sir? Mate? I..I think you should pay for that stuff. You know?"

Logic caught up with Sam and he realised where he was; approaching a man who seemed to be quite happy with daylight robbery in a country that was well known for it's easy loving attitude of guns. In short he was probably about to get shot.

"Um, never mind eh? I'm just going to go over here," Sam said with typical bravery as he took a step back towards Mila again.

Mila was about to reply that, technically, her family had only lived in Florida for about 30 years or so. Had she gotten that far, she would have continued by explaining that her lineage was actually traceable back to both English settlers and Native Americans on both sides of her family, but all she managed to do was open her mouth.

Tires screeched to a stop by the front door and a man ran inside, only to begin frantically loading whatever he could find into a bright red shopping cart. She wasn't sure if she should run, or call for help, or...what. Her manager was still nowhere to be found, and the same was true for just about everyone else. Normally this would be something for the Assets Protection guy to take care of, but he wasn't scheduled to come in for another hour. Not only did Mila not have a walkie-talkie, but she had no phone with which to even call the cops if she so wanted to.

So instead, she simply watched detachedly as the young man who was previously engaged in conversation with her suddenly strode up to the intruder and insisted that he pay for his items.

"He's going to get himself shot," she thought to herself. "Oh crap. What if the guy goes postal and shoots me too? Just for standing here and watching? Weirder shit has happened in the past. Damn it, I'm really not in the mood to be gunned down today..."

Daniel tapped his foot still browsing websites as the hacking and coughing across the cubicle wall got louder and more insistent until it turned into a weird gurgle sort of sound. More than a little annoyed Daniel slapped down his earphones and went over to the next aisle before slowing after seeing the man's head nearly to his desk doing....something. Uneasy Daniel continued down the aisle and noticed the man's hand was pushed to his mouth eating something. Suddenly upon hearing Daniel coming towards him the man lunged outward into the aisle tear streaming down his face a gun in his left hand.

His eyes were reddened and baggy showing that he was sick with the virus. His horrible aversion to germs had probably made him more exposed to the virus. Ironic Daniel supposed but he wasn't in the mood for irony...not with a gun waving in his general direction. The man's phobias had clearly taken hold of him and he was scared of Daniel coming any closer. Then looking down he noticed something about the deranged man he hadn't before. His hand was covered in globs of hand sanitizer and it was running from the edges of his mouth along with a thick oozing foam that was probably the side effect of the man's insides being liquefied.

"Easy buddy....put the gun down." Daniel said. He had seen plenty of guns in video games and on movies and tv but never one this close and never pointed in his direction. Especially not by an absolutely deranged individual.

Daniel took an easy step forward looking to grab the gun but before he could move any further the man put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He would have liked to say that he dove for him or was heroic but instead Daniel yelped a strangled cry of shock. Bits of brain matter and pieces of skull adorned the bland gray cubicle wall behind the man and blood oozed in a puddle underneath him.

A few people had poked their heads around the aisle but wouldn't come any closer than that. They were all too worried about getting sick even with what had transpired. Daniel shakily picked up his cell and dialed 911. He got a operators busy signal and a message to call back later that the switch was full.

"How the hell could they be too busy?" Daniel said aloud even as he dialed the number with the same result several more times.

The man stared at Sam warily, but ignored him and pushed the cart outside, emptying its contents into the truck. He ran back inside with the cart, and his coat opened slightly as he moved so quickly so that both Sam and Mila could see the pistol sticking out of his waistband. He started filling the cart again.

"Listen, you know it's coming. It's the apocalypse. You two better get prepared like I am. Get out while you can. It's already going to hell. It's the end of humanity, man. Better get out." He filled the cart again and emptied its contents in his truck, repeating the process over and over.

Daniel:

A police officer wearing a gas mask dashes inside the office, his pistol out and ready. He looked scared but determined, and stared at the dead man with his brains blown out. "What happened here?" he asked nervously, keeping his gun trained on every one of the employees. "This is Unit 1-5, I have a dead man at my location. Need an ambulance and possible backup, over. I see some infected in here with me," he says into his walkie-talkie. "Copy that Unit 1-5, ETA 15 minutes."

He continues to wait for an answer, surveying the crowd nervously as if each of them might attack him.

By now Mila had given up on her manager (or for that matter anyone else she worked with) returning, and found the courage to speak to the obviously armed and probably crazy man. "Um, can I just ask what you mean? Does this have something to do with what's going on in England?"

She ventured from behind the register, but didn't move closer to the man other than what was necessary to be within earshot. If only she wasn't the only employee around; the store used to be so much busier, especially being right down the road from a University.

The man stopped and stared at Mila. Then he burst into laughter. "England?! England?! The President just freaking announced it to the world that America is in trouble too! Haha! The virus is everywhere! It's unstoppable! We're all dead, girl!"

He went back to filling his cart. "Remember. Get out while you can!" He emptied the cart and got into his truck, preparing to leave.