I could hear the wicked screams behind me as I ran towards the ridge. The sun was setting and from experience I knew how dangerous nights could get. I approached the edge careful not to make noise and alert my pursuers but I forgot one important thing, my injured arm. A few nights ago I got into a firefight with some local scavengers. Through hunger they turned savage like any human would do in the world today. Would you like to know what I was shot over? A can of beans. Yes a can of Bush’s baked beans and I can assure you that they were not after the recipe. Blood being a potent scent I tried to hide by staying downwind hoping to bypass my pursuers. I was active military so combat and life threatening events did not phase me. I had to think fast for a way down the ridge. Remembering the rope I looted from the scavengers I quickly tied a knot around the sturdiest tree I could find. As fast as I safely could I began repelling down the ridge. As my pursuers reached the edge they began jumping over after me. As they fell past I caught a whiff of their pungent odor. I cannot describe it accurately so I will give it my best. Think of a rat that has crawled into your vents and died but instead of cleaning it out you left it there to rot for months. Every scavenger I have met has called them zombie whereas I call them stinkers for obvious reasons. Reaching the bottom I felt my best plan of action would be to return to the town I came from.
	Littlewood was a quiet town in Alabama a little south of Montgomery. Well it was quiet before the outbreak but is now teaming with numerous stinkers. I would like to put here that stinker or zombie are both inaccurate representation of the monsters which are more of the undead type. As I approached the town which to the naked eye would seem empty I began to notice something quite interesting. Someone or something had laid a trap for me or some unknown traveler. I quickly got off the road careful not to make noise and grabbed my m700 from my backpack. I chambered a round and sat in wait. Around an hour passed before a group of scavengers started to walk down Main Street towards the trap. I decided it was in my favor to not inform them and to let it happen. What happened next will haunt me for the rest of my life. The trap to what I saw was like the Vietcong’s punji spikes but what I didn’t see were the pressure activated mines that went off when stepped on. The first explosion sent an earthquake type shock my way and after the second everyone in the group was pretty much dead. After the dust settled I saw a head pop up from behind a store counter. It was a man, mid 50’s, clad in military spec gear. He had trip wire in his hands which made me believe he was the one who set the traps. As he walked out to claim his loot I raised my rifle and began to site him in. I slowed my breath, calmed my nerves, and squeezed the trigger. A satisfying crack broke the eerie silence and I counted, 1-2-3-4 before the man collapsed. I waited a few minutes before I moved in to check my loot. What was left of the scavenging group was just an arm and a leg. I thought to myself “I guess it cost them an arm and a leg.” I found ample supplies to get me going again.
	After this morning’s events I decided to make camp south of Littlewood by a lake. Hoping the serine atmosphere would calm my nerves. I found a map on the man so I decided to plan the best route to get me to Mobile. I realized that on foot I am extremely slow so I set off back to the town in search for a car. On the way back to the town I see an overturned horse buggy. Sitting on top the buggy seemed to be some kind of hat. As I approached the hat I realized it was a yamaka and from curiosity I decided to pick it up. Immediately following me touching it a band of gang like rabbis jump out of nowhere. The leader, I knew this by beard length, pulled a shotgun from the brush and pointed it at me. He said to me “I am pretty fly for a rabbi.” I decided the best choice of action would be to give them their hat back which they gladly accepted but I had to give them all my food and money. I gladly accepted but was slightly angered at their maniacal laughing as I walked away. When I got to the town I found a beat-up pickup that still had the keys in the ignition. As I drove away all I could think of was the scavenging group I just let die and not warn but then again, that could have been me. Stinkers began to pour into the small town so I felt it was best I began my journey south.
	The interstate was the best choice of travel regardless of the roaming hordes of Stinkers. About 120 miles south of Littlewood my gas light shown bright orange so I decided to get off in Greenville. I had to maneuver my way through abandoned cars and dead stinkers. The gas station was empty so I decided to continue through the town. I approached the residential area and noticed how nice the houses still looked. In Littlewood all the houses were either looted or burned so I decided to stop at a two story house that look relatively un-looted. Before leaving the truck I decided to look for any kind of close quarter’s combat weapon seeing how I live in Alabama. In the glove compartment I found a loaded m1911. I turned off the safety, unlocked the door, and stepped out. From my combat experience I knew to check corners as I approached a building. When I finally reached the door I turned the knob and realized that the door was locked. I broke the glass unlocked the door and slowly entered. I checked down the long corridor and saw broken glass and turned over furniture. It looked as if a tornado had hit, which made me believe there was a fight for this house. I began to look around when I heard footsteps behind me. I quickly turned around and yelled “Get down or I will put a bullet through your skull.” It was a boy maybe 15 or 16. He was scared but confident. He had a luger firmly in his hand screaming “Friendly?” He looked like he was starving and thirsty, and from his scars I could tell he had faced the brunt of the outbreak like me. We sat down and started talking. He told me how his father and mother had died protecting him from Zombies and that he had waited here hoping for the best. I asked him “Why do you have that luger?” and his reply was “My great grandfather was a SS officer in World War II. This and one other replica is all I have left of my family.” Now I was curious and asked what the remaining replica was. He then replied two words “Mein Kampf.” I asked him where it was and he said the study. I followed him to a dusty dark room filled with books. A locked velvet box stood out to me and I immediately knew that’s where it was. He began pressing numbers followed by a loud beep which did not sound good. After three incorrect tries it opened but sounded an extremely loud alarm which meant one thing, run but I was here for fuel not a German book. I asked “This is important do you have any gasoline?” which he replied that he did. He led me to the garage where I picked up as many gas cans as possible. In a flurry of adrenaline and exhaustion from not sleeping I did not notice that the zombies had broken in. I tried to save the boy but the last time I saw him he had become a human shish kabob. I picked up the book got in the truck and drove out of Greenville as fast as I could.
	That night I stopped for some much needed sleep but to also collect myself from today’s events. I slowly built a small campfire in the parking lot of a rest area. I made sure to make it as low as possible for less visibility. I remembered the book the boy gave me and then I think, I never got his name. I started reading and thought that the world described in the book is sort of like the present day circumstances. After a few pages I decided to go to bed to gain energy to drive the rest of the way to Mobile.
	When I went to start the truck in the morning the battery was dead. In my exhaustion I forgot a simple rule, to close the door. What do I do now? There were cars all over the rest stop but I feared the noise would bring unwanted friends. I decided to take a faster smaller car, a corvette. I transferred my stuff and began to hotwire the car. Yes I know, hotwiring is illegal but I needed a car. As I struck the wire to start the engine I noticed that same pungent smell. I heard moans, not one moan, but many. I turned around and to my horror I saw a horde slowly approaching. I closed the door and began frantically striking the wires. I was engulfed, I was so close to Mobile just around 80 miles away. Sparks! Yes! The car lives! I quickly put her in gear and did a burnout on zombies. I was on my way.
	I was finally home. I could see the city from the interstate. I decided to get off on exit 12 and find some food. I found the local Publix and decided to risk it for food. It was dark inside and it looked as if no one had occupied the space for months. I got a buggy and starting filling it to the brim with all the food I could find. I sat down and began stuffing my face for what felt like ten minutes. I stopped due to feeling stuffed but I could still hear eating. I shrugged it off and started towards the door when I realized I forgot the number one rule to check all corners. There waiting for me was what looked like a 250 pound southerner with a shotgun pointed at my newly stuffed stomach. All I could think about was two things, not how much I wanted to live but how much I wanted to go back and save the scavengers or save the boy. I heard that satisfying crack and like that it was over. All the work and dedication. I decided to get up from my desk and get something to drink because games are tiring work.