Dave looked back at the sound of gun fire. He really wanted to get on his bike and dash over and get a closer look. But he was deeply worried that whoever was shooting might not realise that Dave meant no threat and that Dave would find himself being killed unnecessarily. Dave could hear a lot of gunfire. Whoever that was, they were really not holding back.
Dave decided that it was best to stay safe, and wait until the shooting stopped before trying to investigate. Dave held his impatience in check. Even more walkers had come out onto the roads and were walking west. This was a time for being cautious. Dave looked about the streets below him and could see dozens of walkers shambling towards the gunfire.
* * *
There was still some time before the day would transition to twilight so, in theory, it would have been safe being on the streets. Instead, Dave was on a roof where he could safely stare off down the now empty road towards where he had heard gun fire. The gun fire had gone on for about thirty minutes before tapering off. Dave thought that, towards the end, he could hear the sounds of truck engines mixed in with random shots. Then the sounds of the trucks seemed to move off to Dave's left, going in a southerly direction from wherever they were. The sound of shooting followed the trucks for a little before fading out.
Without any clear vision of what happened Dave could only take futile guesses.
Dave took the chance to walk about the top of the roof of the store where he was currently resting up. He looked over the roads and side alleys and he couldn't see any movement. The way that the gun fire had brought the walkers out onto the street had surprised him. There were only two occasions where Dave had seen a lot of walkers on the street during daylight hours. The general daylight invisibility of the dead didn't remove the vague sense of oppression that hung over everything.
And the pattern was clearly being established. At night the plain grey walkers would appear in numbers, while during the day the greys with the yellow patches would appear only if summoned by noise. Besides the difference in skin tone there was a difference in speed. Even when highly motivated (whatever that meant to the walkers) the greys with yellow patches only ever walked. It was the pure grey ones that seemed to be able to run a bit, or at least run in bursts.
Dave pondered modifying his taxonomy. Walkers would be the day variants - that is the grey ones with yellow patches. Dashers would be the night variants - the ones with pure grey skin. The talkers remained as the mystery versions that talked. Dave was scratching his head at how unsatisfactory this classification appeared. It barely described the cosmetic differences and seemed to lack any helpful insight. But the sight of a familiar form walking into the road intersection surprised Dave.
Waving, Dave whispered, "hey! Hey!"
He was careful to not be too loud, but the figure stopped and looked up at Dave.
Dave pointed towards the ladder. "Come around to the side. I'll lower the ladder."
The figure stood looking at Dave for a moment before walking around to the ladder. It was nearly impossible to lower the ladder without making noise, but Dave was getting familiar enough with how it worked in order to keep the sound to what he felt was a safe level. When the ladder reached the ground, the new arrival climbed up the ladder while Dave kept a look out.
This figure was pretty much exactly how Dave remembered him. Full face helmet, camo clothes, plate-carrier vest, various military add-ons, and some weapons.
"Fancy running into you again," said Dave.
"Again?"
"Yeah, you're the DOA guy."
"You know about DOA?"
Dave frowned. "Sorry. You looked like the guy that I saw before. He was dressed exactly like you. I'm not a particular expert on military gear, so all I can say that you look exactly like him."
"Where did you see him?"
Dave pointed east, back towards the city hub. "It was basically on the edge of the city area. I was looking for a camping store and he helped me find one."
"I'm surprised that he revealed the name of our organisation."
"DOA? Bit of weird name. Dead on arrival. You could have picked a more optimistic name."
The DOA man laughed. "He only told you the initials?"
"Yeah. I had to guess at the words from what I knew."
"Well, it was a fair enough guess, but DOA actually means 'Defenders Of Australia'."
"I've never heard of them."
"That was the goal. The members are people who were scouted and recruited based on skill and politics."
"Politics? Are you some sort of revolutionary group?"
"No, the opposite. When I say 'politics', what I really mean is a complete lack of politics. Our role is to be defenders. If some crisis comes to Australia then we are to appear and do what we can to help. We help everyone regardless of their politics."
"It certainly is a crisis. But I'm guessing this is a little bit out of any scenario that you planned for."
"It's so unplanned for that, to be honest, it's hard to figure out what to do."
Dave looked out over the now empty streets. "I'm not a firearms expert but I'm guessing that you don't have enough firepower to clear out the streets."
"It's hard to admit, but it's true. I spend most of my time just running about trying to figure out what's going on."
"I'm like that too," said Dave pulling a notepad out of his backpack.
He flipped through a few pages and opened up on some notes.
"Previously I had though that there were two types of infected."
"Infected?"
"Well, the condition seems to
