A light film of late snow drifted across the city of Sobana, settling on buildings and statues, blanketing the roads with white dust that could cause unwary groundcars to lose control and pedestrians to slip on the surface. No vehicles were moving, however; no engines had been heard in the city for just over a day now, when the last of the Imperial Guard evacuation teams were ordered to pull out to just outside the city and leave any stragglers to their fate.

The soldiers surrounded the city in a wary picket, making sure nothing could leave or enter without their say so. However, this was not a siege; it was a quarantine.
The Zombie plague had settled on Augustine IV in the wake of attacks by the forces of Chaos on other parts of the planet, diverting much needed military resources in an effort to contain the outbreak.
Within a few of days of the infection arriving, most of the population had been transformed into shambling, rotting monsters or evacuated. Most of those not infected but who were left behind had been devoured.

Save for a few.

In the abandoned industrial sector, the factories were silent. There was a lone shuttle on one of the pads for cargo and maintenance, long since left behind by its fellows due to engine trouble. Inside the hold, a small man sat up against the wall with a determined set in his eyes, gazing out through the bay door in open defiance that any zombies would come to claim him. They had already claimed his crew and the autopistol in his hand told all this would be difficult.
A figure shambled towards the shuttle, curious as to why it was still there but wary of anything lurking inside. Though the figure was twisted this was through hardship and not plague or mutation and they remained fully human. By sheer brute strength they had kept the zombies away, but all humans got steadily weaker without supplies.
Two short roads led to the pad from opposite directions and on the first a woman walked, scared and huddling against herself from the cold but holding a laspistol defiantly as though gaining some slight courage from it.
On the second was a well-muscled man dressed in the garb of an offworld priest and carrying a very large sword. There was a fire in his eyes, blood on his blade, stubble on his chin, and a rumble in his belly.

Though they were all different and would never have met before the outbreak, these for people had been left for dead by the evacuation forces and would need each other to survive.

Fabrizio paused by the edge of the landing pad, peering at the shuttle around the edge of a large metal crate. A single body lay half-out of a doorway off to the right, surrounded by trampled, crimson snow. Fabrizio ignored that; he'd seen much worse. What interested him now was the shuttle.

It was dark and silent, seemingly empty. . . but the blood and corpses on the ramp leading up to the cargo bay said that there had been people here recently.

Dead. Whoever it was has gotta be dead. But. . . maybe there's. . . some food or something in there. . . I won't last long with just what I have.

The former slave shut his eyes and listened intently. He could hear faint, thick moans, but that was normal. The infected were everywhere. He'd killed five since escaping the factory, you couldn't avoid them however hard you tried. All you could do was run when they started to close in, and hope you were fast enough to get away. So far, he had been.

I don't think there are any close by. Best chance I'll get.

Fabrizio lurched across the landing pad, two-foot wrench clutched tightly in his hands. The reverberating thump-thump-thump of his feet on the metal ramp made him wince, and he ducked to the interior wall as soon as he was out of sight of the door, heart pounding n his throat. Nothing. No reaction from outside.

The inside of the shuttle was much cleaner than the pad had been. A single corpse lay sprawled just inside the hatch, half a dozen bullet holes in its head and chest. The blood and rags of flesh in its mouth made it clear that this had been one of the infected. The air stank of cordite. Bullet casings littered the floor. But Fabrizio didn't really care about that; all he cared about was the fact that there was no food. Whoever the gunman had been, he must have taken it with him when he left.

Mmmrrrrgh

Fabrizio dropped spasmodically into a fetal crouch, shivering with fear, as the groan echoed across the landing pad. More followed, along with the hissing of several feet shuffling through the snow. Clenching and unclenching his hands on the haft of his blood-smeared wrench, Fabrizio waited in deathly silence as the shuffling feet approached. . .

. . . and passed by. The moans began to diminish as the infected shuffled off to the right, probably into the long, low buildings Fabrizio had seen there.

'Alea Iacta Est' his father had always told him. The saying shambled around his mind. 'The Die Is Cast' Is what it meant. Luck was chance, but it could be altered. With faith, with skill, with sheer brute determination one could influence the roll of the dice. I shook my head, the poor benighted buggers who inhabited this world had very bad luck it would seem. Today, He shared in this luck, having missed the last of the evac train due to seeing to the dead.

"God-emperor, in all your mercy please see fit to guide me along such a path as to see me to the end of this horrible nightmare that I may once again continue to be about thy holy work in thyn name, Amen" I bring the silver Aquila hanging about my neck up to my lips and gently kiss it.

Up ahead in the near distance I can see the shape of a cargo shuttle appear through the snow. I clutch my sword tighter and move towards it with a faster pace.

Alyessa shivered and clutched her tattered gray cloak tighter around herself, trying to shield her body from another icy blast of wind. The too-large-for-her winter camo pattern pants and jacket she'd taken from her husbands closet helped to keep off the cold, but the gray cloak he'd given her years ago was special - and it seemed to keep her warmer than any heavy winter coat ever could. But suddenly the wind howled fiercely and the hood of her cloak suddenly fluttered around her head and fell, exposing her delecate face and long, curly blond hair to the bitter cold air and fluttering snow. For a moment she paused, watching her hair whip frantically about her face - a strange wistfulness resting in her long-lashed, indigo eyes.
It reminded her of a happier time....a snowstorm she'd spent wrapped in the arms of the man she loved.....
She winced, her eyes closing and her head drooping in mental anguish as her heart ached for his touch. With a heavy sigh she gripped the laspistol she held in her hand tighter - her greatest reminder of him, save the memories they shared. Then she quickly tucked her blond hair back under the hood of her cloak and lifted her head - a single tear slipping down her cheek. I have to stay focused, she thought, another sigh escaping her lips. The sound was lost in the wind and snow, but as she glanced carefully around another, quite terrifying sound was carried to her ears by the wind.

"Uuuuuuggghhhhhh....."

Instantly she froze, her legs tensed to run as her eyes quickly scanned the area around her. A silent moment passed, then a distant scream of terror froze the blood in her veins in a way the bitter cold never could.
Knowing that only nothingness lay behind her and she must keep pushing forward, she lifted the laspistol to the ready and slowly began walking forward down the middle of the street - sweeping the pistol and her vision back and forth in front of her. Her indigo eyes were fearful but set with determination - her ears were keyed for the slighest sound, but only the soft crunch of snow beneath her boots and the whispering of the wind answered her.

After a few long minutes, she realized from her surroundings that she was coming upon a landing pad of some sort. She paused, her eyes straining to see as far as she could through the snow. Landing pads mean transports.... she shought, her eyes narrowing as she shivered despite herself. And transports could mean supplies, or maybe even...... She stopped - unwilling to give herself that kind of false hope. Besides.... she thought, a sadness overtaking her sparkling eyes as she glanced at the Laspistol still clutched tightly in her hands, ....he barely had time to teach me to fire a gun, let alone fly a transport vehicle.

Refocusing, she slowly crept forward - the snow giving way to the shape of a lone shuttle in the distance. Upon seeing it she paused, scanning for any sign of movement around it. Seeing none, she continued cautiously toward it. At least it will provide some temporary shelter, she thought as she slipped closer, her eyes darting fearfully back and forth.

Derkov had landed finally onto what was a haven for any buisnessman, many factories scattering the view, he clambered out of the shuttle due to his lack of fuel, his officer followed, Derkov heard a groad in the distance, he turned around, the officer was gone, trails of blood only to replace him, he followed the blood...

Another groan, 'what to do?' derkov thought, but the thought had been replaced by a high pitched scream from the direction of the blood, he continued into a door, this obviously was a pre-M39 factory as it did not possess the new speed-open doors of M39, he still followed the blood, until he reached a gate, made of metal just after the front door, he looked in, a secret lay ahead...

Without a warning, the officer fell from the ceiling, blood all over his head and his leg nearly ripped off by whatever had killed him's force, he heard another scream, right in front of him, a citizen, he was ripped apart and eaten from in front, he tried to scare the zombies away by rattling the gate, he knew he had not enough ammunition in his gun to kill every zombie attacking the zombie, he heard another groan, he turned around and there appeared to be something heading towards him, maybe a horde...