Hunter is alone walking down an elevated highway. The highway is littered with cars, all in too poor condition to even hope to start. Hunter would have his rifle in hand and his shotgun loaded on his back. He stays careful keeping his feet away from cars. He can smell the rotting flesh of the dead, only problem is he can't see anything fresh enough for that strong of a smell. The towns around the highway are quiet, normally means that people activity has been minimal in the area for a while.

Hunter hears a noise behind him. He aims his M4 in the general direction but makes sure not to stay too focused on the spot of the sound. After a few moments of not being able to find the source of the sound he stops looking, assuming it was an animal. Just in case he keeps his rifle handy. When he turns an infected jumps off the roof of an old truck landing on Hunter discharging his rifle into one of the cars. In the same moment the cars alarm starts to blare. The sound echos for miles in the quiet district. Hunter manages enough strength to push the infected off him, the creatures blood spilling all over the place. When the creature is pushed off Hunter gets a decent look at the thing, It's an old infected, infected in the early days maybe. It seems to have loss use of one of its arms, rotten blood is all over its mouth. The thing is rotting from the inside out, puking its own guts out.

It doesn't take long to dispatch the creature, One good shot to the head and the infected drops. Some infected a handful of shots to the torso will ensure they stay dead, But a head shot is the only thing that can make sure.

Screams of more infected can be heard in the distance from all directions, Some sounding bigger then others. Hunter runs into a trailer of a near by truck. After closing himself inside he turns on the light to his rifle and looks around inside, lots of crates, and some beds. This trailer was used as a camp, recently. Setting down his rifle Hunter grabs his shotgun and takes aim as he explores the rest of the trailer.

The sound of a gunshot rang in the air, and not long after, another followed it, causing Irene to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Gunshots weren't so common anymore. In the beginning, it had been hard to sleep at night because there had been so many, but now, with the world nearly empty, it seemed, it became more and more of a surprise to hear them at all. It sounded like it came from...the highway, perhaps?

The young woman, who'd been sitting on the roof of her quiet little haven of a house for the past hour, got up and climbed down. Although she considered it important to relax at a time like this, there were things that needed to be done: she needed to pull some weeds, check for pests and disease on her precious veggies, see if dinner had gotten caught in one of her snares. And maybe it would be necessary to complement her cactus fence with some nice, deep pitfalls with something sharp or hot at the bottom. There had been no major incidents with infected before, but better safe than sorry, reasoned Irene.

The veggie garden was coming along nicely, but soon it would probably need some compost. The herb garden...was a little more weedy, but that was easily fixed. Everything seemed in place. Perfect. Irene wiped her hands on her filthy apron and checked to see that her glass knife was on her before carefully, quietly sliding open her gate. This was always the chore she dreaded the most, because while it wasn't very likely they could break into her little establishment, they might pick her off easy out here. She ran back and picked up her garden shovel. It was good and heavy, something that could easily bash out the rotten brains of an infected.

Hunter would wait for the alarm to stop inside the trailer, in his lap as he waits his shotgun. He sits watching the door, he can hear the infected outside. "How long can that alarm go for?" He would say in a muffled voice. "It's weak so the battery should die sooner or later but still! I mean how many cars still even are in decent enough condition to do anything like that! And I hit the one car that still has a working alarm! I mean...What the hell?!" A thud from an infected could be heard from the side of the trailer. "Shut up corpse I'm busy thinking!" It would thud again.

Hunter would speak under his breath "Even when the dying car alarm stops the infected may not leave for days, I don't have days worth of food left." He'd look at his shotgun. "I may have enough shells to fight my way out? But if more come then I may use all my ammo trying to get off this thing." He'd look at the gun again "But it wouldn't be the first time I had to survive with out bullets, you can survive with out bullets, can't survive with out food."

Hunter would stand up loading his gun and slinging his bag and rifle. He would creep out the opening int he roof of the trailer and look around to see maybe 20+ infected. "Well then...More then I thought." Most the infected were rotted pretty well, Mostly older ones. He would jump onto a near by car to soften his landing, But as soon as he lands the roof of it caves in and he falls though. "...crap...Next time...I hit the road..." He would turn his head and see an infected pinned under him in the car. "CRAP!" Hunter would fire the shotgun into the head of the infected, the slug running through the car into the road. He would look around and see the rest of the infected drawn to his gun. "...Note to self, get quieter gun."

He would start running down the highway, sometimes having to dodge the infected that would try to cut him off. Their were more then 20, maybe more then 30, maybe more then 40 even. Hunter was keeping pace, his training int he national guard kicked in, He kept pace weapon in hand and keeping his thoughts strait. Though he would get tired, Every human does. When out running infected it wasn't that bad, But Runners...Too many from this pack were runners, Out-running them wasn't an option.

Hunter stopped and braced his feet aiming his shotgun. He'd fire one slug at a time dropping each infected as it came close. Click click, BANG, Click click, BANG, click click, BANG, click click, BANG, click click, BANG! This would work for a while, but he had to reload sooner or later. And the gun was loud, His ears were already ringing, and more infected would be here soon, Every thing with ears fore miles could hear that gun. So he stops shooting and keeps running, He would run off an exit ramp and do what he could to keep pace, But hunter wasn't in the same condition he was in when he went AWOL, he has eaten less, He didn't exercise anymore, He did cardio but that wasn't enough, He was weak compared to his old self.

The sound of yet more blasts made the bluebird and the squirrel struggle in their snares before Irene snatched them up and broke their necks with a flick of the wrists. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath as she salvaged the cordage and placed the still-warm animals in her pocket. A soft rustle in the bushes nearby announced the presence of an infected--apparently downwind of her--and she scrambled for the shovel, which she'd put on the ground to attend to the traps. A spray of foul, aged blood spattered the scrub oak when she swung the heavy tool into the creature's soft, festering abdomen.

Time to run, now. Irene took off. The weight of her shovel, combined with her unfortunate lack of cardiovascular endurance, slowed her. She could hear a whole horde farther off, and prayed they couldn't hear her breathing. She hopped the gate rather than opening it, set the shovel against her wall, and went inside her house. It was time to do what she did best: Stand her ground.

She grabbed all of the glass points she'd made and hafted onto twigs as spears. She couldn't throw very well, but if any followed her and got close, they'd be much more precise than her shovel. Irene went back outside and leaned on the wall. She doubted whoever set off the gun was still alive, but it occurred to her that perhaps she would have to fight them as well. That would be the hard part: Infected are vicious, but stupid. Real people? They're cunning.

After running for a while Hunters foot landed in a pot hole, his ankle twisting. He would fall with a scream dropping his shotgun, it then going off and landing out of reach. "Dammit!" Hunter would try to stand to grab the gun but fall from his damaged ankle. "Crap...Crap crap CRAP!" The nearest runners would be upon him, he would turn and fire his M1911 into the closest one. he would turn and fire into the next one dropping it, he would turn and fire two shots at the last one, the first missing the next hitting it in the head, the close runners would all be dead. "Dammit, too much noise, way to much noise." Hunter would stand with a limp and grab the shotgun trying to keep balance.

After limping for a short way his eye sight would start to fail him, he was passing out. "Not that hurt...Blood loss?" He would look at his ankle and see what looked to be glass crammed into his leg. "Crap...Need to find rest." The screams of the infected were close, Too close. "Suburbs, only way I can hold out for the night, or the week. Huh, decided to fight so I wouldn't starve, Now I'm likely to starve because I can't walk." Hunter would limp down the street, Moving from cover to cover, avoiding the sight of the infected.

"How could I be so stupid!" he would say under his breath. "After that first shot I should have ran back into the trailer, or waited till morning in the first place." Hunter would sneak his way into a yard of a fairly maintained house, It seems safe enough to hold out for a night or two, or a week. Hunter would limp with the shotgun still in hand, Though too weak to hold it up correctly, it sages facing the ground being held with one hand, The other holding his injured leg. His hearing almost gone, his eye sight almost completely blacked out, his strength failing, he keeps trying for the door. He would walk up to the door but pass out before he could enter it. Before he passes out completely he just hopes that none of the infected are smart enough to make there way into the yard.

About half an hour passed in which Irene simply stood still, two spears at the ready, waiting to drive glass through softly rotting ribcages. Although she could hear groans nearby, however, it never happened. Maybe the wall of cacti confused them. Maybe--hey! Was that what she thought it was? She put one spear aside and prepared to thrust the other into the infected's spine. She drew her back and...dropped the spear. That wasn't an infected, it was a normal human being! How did this asshole get into her property?

Irene knelt beside the man and put a couple fingers against the carotid artery. Pulse was slow, as was to be expected for an unconscious person, but strong enough that she didn't see any reason for concern. But then...maybe she could just throw him out. Pick his pockets for things she could use and leave him as bait to draw the infected away from her house. She didn't exactly have a wealth of resources to even keep herself alive.

Then she remembered, for some stupid reason, her childhood. How her parents had left her to fend for herself while they shot up drugs, how lonely she felt even in their presence. She had hoped fiercely that no one else would have to endure that. That no one would ever have to deal with the pain of being abandoned and left to die because of someone else's selfishness. Irene sighed.

It won't be permanent.

She dragged the man inside her small house and onto the couch, grunting. He was muscly, and muscle was heavy. If not for her experience lifting bins of compost and whatnot, she probably wouldn't have been able to move him. After a cursory check for injuries, she realized the stranger's ankle was swollen. With a reluctant huff, she moved to grab her medical supplies, grabbed some bandage and a cream that was supposed to reduce swelling, and tended to the injury.

After being passed out for who knows how long Hunter would start to wake, His leg was bandaged, his gear was out of sight, He was unarmed, and in a strange location. Did he make it inside? Did he settle down? No no that can't be the case, even if that was the case he would have left his side arm close by. He would stand, his leg still hurting. He started walking around, wondering what he may find. Maybe a person? Maybe people? Maybe Cannibals?! Wouldn't be the first time, First they help you, then they get you to trust them, they they cut you into tiny pieces then eat you. No, not again, not going to get eaten by some cannibal who tries to steal MY gear, eat MY flesh, Who ever they are they messed with the wrong person.

By now the sun was starting to set, and Irene had gone back outside. She plucked some of her herbs so that it could go along nicely with the meat she'd caught, yawned, and went back inside to prepare the small animals. Irene froze. The couch was empty. I should have tied him up. Why in the hell did I not tie him up? She checked for her knife. Yep, it was still there. It crossed her mind that she might have just let a depraved psychopath into her home, and she groaned softly, wondering why she had bothered showing any humanity.

"Have fun making that ankle of yours worse, idiot," she called, and slipped into the kitchen. With nervous glances behind her, she beheaded the bird and the squirrel, plucked the bird, and skinned the squirrel. The faint smell of blood wafted out of the kitchen.

Hunter would be in the kitchen holding a knife he found. "I'll let you know when I start having fun. But until then I'd like some answers." Hunter would notice the blood all over the women. Too fresh to be from an infected, Was it his? Only she would know. "What's with the blood? And I should mention, I have been in worse situations, armed with nothing but my smarts and my fist. So we can talk this out or we shall land in the knife fight of our lives." Hunter tried to keep a calm face, even with his military training he was still weak from blood loss. He was armed with a knife and for all he knew this person had a gun behind her back, maybe even his gun. Hunter would do a small laugh at the thought of getting shot with his own gun.

"Oh, I guess you didn't notice that I just chopped the heads off my dinner," she said. "Oh, and two days ago...I think it was two days ago. A rabid dog was trying to get into my damn yard, so I had to bash it to hell. So that's where the majority of the blood came from." She held up her own knife, a transparent one that glinted in the fading light, and started to gut the squirrel. "Put that thing away. I'm trying to cook."

Hunter would just sit quietly, most his encounters either led to his opponent either terrified or they would charge him into battle. Hunter was shocked to get a situation where not only did someone stand up to him but didn't try to fight him. He felt kind of like a moron in this case.
"May I ask where my weapons are? Or where am I? Or who you are? And why did you help me?" Hunter was a bit confused, the person didn't seem like a cannibal, but still time to be safe in case, he was in no condition to travel, or to fight if it came to that. But could this person really be trusted? Or was this another person trying to get the upper hand on him?

Irene caught some vibes like he'd caught this guy off guard. Good. She smirked slightly as she ignited some gas and heated up some oil. "I don't know where your weapons are. You're in my damn house because I found you laying in my yard. I'm just some delinquent who got out of trouble when the zombies came out. I helped you because..." Wow, that was a good question. She ended up just shrugging and laughed a little. "Because my stupid conscience made me. But I'm starting to regret it. That dumb ol' conscience, you know? It'll get you every time."

"...ya, I guess it will." Hunter would set down the knife, He tried to recall what happened before he passed out, His memory is hazy after he landed in the pot hole. He still had his holster so more then likely he dropped his handgun when he tried to defend himself. His rifle should have been on his back though? Could he have dropped that too?

Hunter would look out the window. "Too dark to go outside." And the fact his ankle was still in too poor condition to walk on. But he didn't like the idea of being unarmed. But this did seem like the first person in a while that didn't try to kill him.

"So what's your name?" Hunter would ask still trying to sound like he's in control of the situation.

"Irene," she said, not bothering to look up at the much-taller man now. Instead she just stirred around the chunks of squirrel and added the bird and herbs. "Yours?" She casually took the knife the moment he put it down and examined it at the same time she stirred the meat. It was heavier than her own. She put it back. "I have a tank of rainwater out back," she said, pointing to a metal bucket. "Go get some if you want any with your dinner."

Hunter realizes he is not really in control of the situation, he decides to cooperate but still keeping his guard up. "Hunter...That's my name." He would look at the rain collector outside. "Water would be nice. Thanks." Hunter would walk out back into the yard. As he was collecting the water he would see the glimpse of a metallic object near the edge of the yard. He would walk up to it and see the shotgun resting on the ground. "Well theirs one." He would grab some water then go over and grab the shotgun. He would walk inside with a limp still and walk over the the couch, he would start to take apart the gun and attempt to clean it from the inside out.

He would start talking under his breath. "So what if this is the first person that hasn't tried to kill you in forever, you still have a mission to finish, She's out their, and you have to find her." He would reassemble the shotgun and pump it.

She got out a couple of plates and scraped the food onto each one. Grabbing a couple of forks, she put the slightly dirtier plate on the coffee table, then sat with her own food at the table. She scooped some water straight from the bucket into an aluminum water bottle, took a long gulp, and started to eat like a starved dog. As she did so, however, she eyed the shotgun nervously. A shotgun would definitely win against a piece of sharpened glass, and Irene found herself hoping that this Hunter guy didn't have much ammo left. Don't show any fear.

She looked back to her plate and skewered a stringy chunk of bluebird on her fork. She should be killing a deer soon. She had a surprisingly good supply of salt, and it would last her through desperate times. Irene drooled a little. Venison sounded great at the moment.

Hunter would notice Irene staring at the shotgun. "Don't worry it's not for you. I still need to get my supplies, then after I find them I'll be waiting for my ankle to heal so I can start heading to Tensions Peak."

Hunter would put the three shotgun shells on the table and set the gun leaning on the couch.
"Thanks for the food." Hunter would take a few bits of the food, tasting it carefully, making sure it wasn't poisoned or anything. After a couple bits he was satisfied. "Thanks again for the food."

"Hmm," she muttered, and waved her hand dismissively. "No problem. If you're not gonna finish that, I'll take it." She burped softly after finishing her food. "So I heard you muttering a little from the kitchen. If you're off your rocker, you can get out. I don't need a crazy person in my house."

Hunter would laugh a bit "Crazy? Me? Na, I just think out loud, Happens when you spend a lot of time on the road" Hunter would hand over the plate. "So how long have you been here? The place seems really well set up." Hunter would stand looking out the front window.

James looked across the row of gardens. They were a mess, with fences torn down, plant beds overflowing with weeds, and grass rising as high as his knees. This was a problem, because to James they represented mini-jungles that were full of hiding places for the dead men to hide. He'd seen many people go that way, dragged by an unseen hand from under a car, or bitten by a set of teeth waiting behind a tree stump.

But he had no choice. A dozen of the things had followed him since he left his safe spot in the loft of Old Man Cowskie's house, down the end of the street. He'd tried to be subtle and stealthy about it, but the dead men noticed him anyway. They were slow though, real slow - so long as he kept going, he'd be okay. The problem was, the further he moved down the street, the more he encountered blocking his way. Turning off from the path, and into a garden, seemed like the best way to lose them.

Now he wasn't so sure. At least if he tried to run through his pursuers, he had a good chance at outrunning them. With the gardens on the other hand, he might not see a hidden danger until it was too late. He became hesitant.

He closed his eyes, as he often did in these situations, and focused on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He opened his eyes, and was blessed with a calm but certain sense of direction. He couldn't go back, because though he could out run the dead, he'd draw more to him as he went, until eventually he'd have hundreds chasing after him. Eventually he'd have to stop, and then would find himself surrounded, no matter where he sought to hide.

No. It had to be the gardens.

Stepping over the low-lying picket fence, he entered the first of them. Immediately his feet landed on something hard, hidden in the grass. He took a step back, peered down and saw that it was a small fire truck. He couldn't remember the children who had lived here, and he didn't want to. He just hoped they were okay.

Then there was a thump, off to James' right.

He turned and raised the tyre iron, but wavered briefly. Sure enough, a small child, about six years old perhaps, in faded and tattered clothes stumbled towards him from an open patio.

"Jesus," James uttered. He hadn't killed any dead men yet, and the prospect of striking down a dead child was somehow inconceivable.

He moved on, vaulting a chest-height chain-linked fence and tumbled into the next garden. A barbecue sat in the middle of it, fighting back the weeds and the rust. James looked around, and noticed loads of picnic chairs that had been tossed and turned - and then he saw the pools of weeks old blood. Something bad had happened here, and he didn't want to find out what.

He looked up ahead, and sized up the thick hedge that formed his next barrier.