Mikena knew one thing, sitting in the morning-lit room: Zombies didn't 'off' easily.<br/>She'd taken her rifle to stay as silent as possible, plunged the butt into its ribcage, made it gurgle and hiss-- but it would barely falter.<br/><br/>Mikena wondered if any of the other girls knew or had killed many others, or those turning for that matter.<br/>There was a point in which the eyes went dull, seemingly honed into deep space, counting the constellations-- and letting the disease curl fatally around the brain and render the heart useless.<br/><br/>"What i'd do for a flamethrower..." Mikena mumbled to herself.  That way, the brains would be completely incinerated and the disease would be stopped in its tracks and reduced to flakes of ashes.  So many she had to pile into a grand bonfire, hiding behind the mounds of putrid rotting flesh, aiming for hours at the clearing next to where the smoke billowed into the air, polluting it with the most rancid stench known to man.<br/><br/>The thought of following Mira was first in her mind, but she tended to come off as one of the "do it herself" types.<br/><br/>Mikena climbed to her feet yet again, strapping the Browning across her back, and unsheathing a dagger, glancing furtively in Madeline's direction.<br/>"Maddy, you want my daggers for now?"<br/><br/>Mikena motioned for her to take the daggers that ran in her family for centuries.  They weren't in the best condition, but they had a lot of sentimental value.  All of the girls needed to be armed, and had to move out before the morning became a lazy afternoon.  Mikena sure knew she was guilty of taking plentiful bouts of rest and then gorging on rations later at night.<br/><br/>She couldn't make it on her own.  What was a kid to do on her own?  It was hard enough leaving the town.