Five years after the initial outbreak the U.S. government is calling the Plague a Metabolic mutation caused by the introduction of a viral agent called a Zaegella. The outbreak has touched down on every continent except Antarctica and many world powers have fallen to the onslaught. In northeastern Illinois a group of survivors bides its time in the remnants of the Andrew Jackson Airforce base. The perimeter has withstood five years of shamblers and as the exact five year aniversary arrives the surviving populace has to answer to the complete absence of infected. None had been spotted for fifteen days when the elected camp chief elected seven scouts to leave the installation and travel to a nearby textile factory where rumor tells a group has begun to send mayday signals intended to bring rescue. As a member of this band you will survey the devestation of the surface and return with information from the textile survivors.

Ryan's radio call

“Yes, sir, Mayor, this is Dep. Ryan. What’s your status?” The fuzz sizzled and stopped with a crack and a pop.

“I’m fine enough, Charles. Let’s get straight to business- I don’t know what the hell is going on and I can’t get anything out of Peoria or St. Louis. For all I know or care the whole damned world is going to hell.” A breif silence and the rough clearing of Mayor Montgomery’s voice brought Ryan to the edge of the comfortable seat that Sheriff Grubb normally perched upon.

“I want my kids brought here and I don’t care what it takes. I spoke to the scoutmaster earlier and he assured me that the youngin’s would be taken care of. I don’t care who comes with them, just make sure that you stay with the others at the station. And, of course, Ryan, I… Son of a bitch!” The sound of a distant thud over the speaker and glass breaking were the last things out of the box before the other line cut off.

“Mayor Montgomery?” Silence. “Hello? Mr. Montgomery? Oh, Christ.” Ryan’s hand always fell to the strap securing his gun when worried, his thumb instinctivly loosening leather fastener.

“Dammit, boy. I’m still here.” Another pause. “I just spilled my whiskey and water. Just give ‘em that ammo and send ‘em this way. I’ll send word when they make it in the morning.”

“Yes sir.”

A knock at the door pulled Ryan’s head from his hands. Oh, right. It wasn’t a bad dream.


First night after IT happened
sleepless under bloody covers

The station is quiet tonight. Those THINGS are out there… just lurking around the perimeters like they smell something edible inside. Everyone is on edge and the Sheriff won’t even look my way after I turned in my badge. None of these people have seen what I’ve seen. The only thing worse than the creatures outside is the gang of selfish humans inside. Anyone of these power hungry townies would push a bystander in the face of danger just to survive. It won’t be me. By God, it won’t be me.

h1. That whiskey I drank is going right through me. I thought it would deaden the memory of the sound. Slurping, ripping, screaming… but no. Nothing can erase the memory. The world is different now and nothing will change that. I guess I’ll lock myself in a cell until morning. God, that sound…

Six hours into infection

Without a real clue to the happenings, several people have made their way to the fortified Makedewa Police Department with the help of a few citizens. The atmosphere is tense and it is rare that quiet defeats the worried murmors of the adults, tired sobs of the children and the chaos in the streets. Dep. Charles Ryan and Dick Winters sit at the sheriff’s desk, passing a bottle of corn whiskey more freely than trust. The rest try to find a place to doze the night away, suspicions ebbing into a town that generally stuck together…


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.