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It's been four months - four months since the dead first walked. I believe I'm one of the very few still alive in the city. Maybe it's worse, maybe I'm the last. I am far from home, or what used to be home. Wherever I go, all I see is death, zombies everywhere, devoured corpses on every street. I am at the breaking point, willing to kill anyone in my way, though sometimes I wonder if I should just put a gun in my mouth and end it all. Now I've found a place I can call safe, at least for the time being.

I don't dare step out during the day, too easy to be seen. I move about when necessary at night. Although it might be harder for them to see me, it's also harder for me to see them. As I peer out the window of my little haven and look onto the deserted city street, I think about what was happening there the day before the shit hit the fan. The cars, the people, all now gone. I need a working vehicle, something that can get me out of here, to somewhere safe. If I can, I can get to my boat at the dock, and I can go to an island and live out whatever time I have left in peace.

"Seems empty tonight. Then again, it's always like that until they swarm on you like angry hornets," I muttered to myself. I pull out my silenced pistol, and check the clip. Seven shots, and five spare clips. I'm going to have to check out that gun shop downtown, hopefully there's some stuff left, and I holster my gun.

I feel like James Bond, sneaking around, avoiding detection. The only difference is I can't back out of this mission, and if I fail, I die. Or worse, I don't die; I end up as one of those things. 'Better take a little insurance.' I remove a bullet from my gun, stashing it in my pocket. A last resort. The streets are quiet as I creep from car to car, my gun clutched in my hand, ready to fire at whatever moves in my direction.

As I peer into an open store window, something moves. Ducking behind a dumpster, muttering a prayer under my breath - not that it will do any good of course - slowly I poke my head up, catching a glimpse of a zombie moving towards the back of the store. I raise my pistol and fire. A muffled whiz hits the air as the creature drops to the ground with a thud. "Damn I'm good. Should've gone into the Army, instead of the damn police. Could've done some good in these times." I jump through the window, and search around the store, my lighter in hand.

"Cabbage, wonderful," and I stuff the can into my jacket pocket. "Anything I might actually like? Ah, here we are, corn and chicken soup, not bad." I feel like a criminal, even now. Some things just never change. "Oh fuck," as three more zombies appear in the store, and I immediately cover my mouth. 'Oh fuck' plays in my mind over and over, but shuffling footsteps bring me back to reality. 'I guess the cabbage will come in handy after all.' I quickly move towards the front end of the store and throw the can of cabbage into the cooler in the back. The glass shatters, and instinctively, the ghouls stumble towards the source of motion and noise, 'Dumbasses.' I dash out the window into the street.

'That was too close,' I think as I lurch down the dark street. Suddenly, a small pack of zombies come lurching out of an alley. 'Fuck me, how can this get any worse?' The zombies seem to turn in my direction, and moan. "Good one God, I'm laughing on the inside," and I run in the opposite direction, but the moaning does not subside. 'Christ, so much for leaving this place.' I turn and fire at the pack, which seems to be growing larger. "Oh shit!" I scream, turning on my heels, and bolting down the street. I see a fire escape, jumping up to grab the ladder. Just as I reach the roof, the mob of ghouls reach the ladder, tearing it from its hinges. "Great, now what?" I scan the rooftops, seeing they are almost totally vacant, "Guess they aren't able to climb, perfect," and I jump from rooftop to rooftop, pistol clutched in my hand.

Standing on the roof of an abandoned furniture store, I see a sign - Jericho's Armory. A smile breaks across my face, the first in years. "Shopping time," and I jump across the rooftops to the building. I shoot the lock on a hatch, and look inside. The racks are full, and the door and windows are locked and covered with steel shutters, but it seems too clean. I pull the can of soup out of my pocket, and throw it into a display case, shattering the glass. "Who's there?" a voice rings out. 'Jesus, a survivor.' "Don't be alarmed, I'm not one of those things. I'm coming down, alright?" I take the safety off my pistol and stash it in my belt as I climb down into the store. "Hello, where are you?" A man comes stumbling through a door. I spin around and pull out my pistol, training it on the older man, the shotgun in his hands aimed right at my head.

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