Victor kept in the middle of the road, his rifle at the ready as he walked down the street. He stopped in a crossroads, taking out a small monocular from his breast pocket and scanning each of the three roads. If he headed straight he would find a pile-up of cars, but both the right and left roads where open. He looked back the way he had come, wondering if he would be able to get back before the sun set. It was dangerous to be out, or anywhere, for that matter, when the sun set. He placed the monocular back on his pocket and decided to take the road left, since that was closer to the shelter.
Half an hour later, Victor stopped again. He had decided to return to the shelter after finding some canned foods and packing as much as he could on his backpack. This time he was on top of a crashed bus, taking a look around. Something didn't seem right. He pressed the radio button clipped to his shirt's neck, the neck microphone he had taken from the marine (along with the rest of his equipment) picking up his whispers and sending them crystal clear through the radio waves. "Shelter, this is Victor. Can you hear me? I need a status report on the west side."