Jack Grein
Jack dove down the hole that he had just uncovered and closed the entrance again. As soon as he was certain he was safe, he looked at his surroundings. Jack was underground. In a bunker of some sorts. Probably made by some apocalypse fantasiser who died during the first ten minutes. He walked to what seemed to be the kitchen area and grabbed a random can out of the pantry. He popped it open with his bare hands almost reflexively, not even caring about the trickle of blood that went with it. He walked around, before finding the living area and sat down on a Lay-Z-Boy and began to eat. He ignored the screams, knowing that the end had begun.
A few hours later... Jack shoved his hands into his leather jacket's pockets, content after eating a can of peaches and three packets of beef jerky. He sighed as he kicked up his black Converse on the table across from him. He listened to the bangs on the door, courtesy of the people outside. All Jack had was, well, cans of food and jugs of water. He leaned forward to find his small phone on the table and was unsatisfied when it didn't come on. "You can't be serious..." He grumbled, trying again and again. He eventually got up, and looked out the window of the hatch. The ghouls were a horrid sight. Jack had to look away, or he was certain he would pass out.