Check on the others

I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and tripped the silent alarm. A panel in the wall opened and I looked at the camera, waiting for the faint "click" of the security door to open to the stairs. The harsh, overhead lighting in the stairwell showed some of the old bloodstains from when we first took this farmhouse last year.

The doorman was Kyle Douglas, expert mechanic and engineer. He rigged up the safety features around the house, manned the cameras, and fixed pretty much everything. Kyle is around 45 years old. He's ruggedly handsome and decently muscled. He and his wife were separated during the initial outbreak. Her current whereabouts are unknown.

The good doctor sat at the work table reviewing data. I blushed when I saw him. He said he was getting closer and closer to finding the cure in my blood samples, but so far it had eluded him. He had a decent set up that we raided a hospital to get, but he was clearly frustrated being stuck in the farmhouse. He was in his late 50's, nearly 300lbs, and gave me the creeps whenever I'm on the table being examined.

Melody Lennox sat on the couch listening to the headset. Her frown told me that she was hearing some bad news. She was a lovely woman in her late 30's with deep, rich brown hair and a well maintained, athletic body. Her story was a rough one.

I walked over to the barred window and stared out into the night. Looking through the telescope, I could see that the zombies at the fence were without hope. Intestines and throats torn out, missing limbs. If there wounds were non-lethal, I would go to them.

And cure them.

"Beth, can I talk to you for a minute?" I turn to see who was talking.