Your hands would tighten on the grip of your [WEAPON] as you navigated through the cornfield with your fellow soldiers, the groans of the undead filling your ears and the surroundings.

The sound of gunpowder being poured into the barell of muskets all around you, as your batallion prepared for whatever was thrown at them next. Honestly, you wouldn't even be surprised if you, all of a sudden, saw a headless soldier on a horse.

..let's hope that doesn't happen.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sound of sabres stabbing into flesh and the sound of the muskets and pistols firing and reloading, you finally arrived at the long searched dock, with a boat at the end.

Hopping in, you would hear your fellow soldiers sigh in relief, finally able to sit down and rest after the constant walking, running and fighting.

The sound of a paddle hitting the water repeatedly filled your ears, as a stoic faced man rowed the boat to your next destination.

He kept quiet, his gaze glancing from the water, and to you and your batallion. He seemed to be careful and wary. I mean, who can blame him? You can never be too careful, especially with man eating vampires roaming both the streets, and practically everywhere else. He looks like he might just throw someone off the boat if they even Show one symptom of turning into the blight.

You'd notice the grip he has on the paddle, and the bandage wrapped around his head, over the forehead, some blood coating the cloth of it. He seemed fine, other than the bags under his eyes and looking like he's trying to hide his tiredness. Which, in this case, he's managing really damn well.

The night was mostly quiet, the chatter of your comrades, some laughter, and barells and sabres being cleaned filled the air as the boat moved on the water.