Placing the shotgun against the wall, mason took his first real moment of rest in days. Gore was splattered all around, but that just added confidence to the fact that he might be done fighting. At least for the remainder of the day, he thought. Mason rummaged through his pack to get the last of a sweet luxury. Yes, a moment like this deserved one of the comforts of the past. The Slim Jim tatsed slightly stale but heavenly compared to the crap that was left on the wasteland. The house he found had a large gun safe, filled with more supplies than just ammunition, not a bad day’s work. One of the firearms inside was a rifle with a suppressor, perfect, he could indulge himself in his favorite pastime. From the roof of the neighbor’s house you could see the freeway clearly, with many of the undead milling around. Mason delighted in every well placed headshot he landed. It was made all the better by the fact they couldn’t retaliate, they couldn’t hear him, thus being unable to do squat. Mason sighed after he burned through the last magazine, then laid back to watch the stars. Tears came to his eyes as he thought how pointless this existence was. , each day fighting an never-ending enemy and living off the scraps of a broken world. As he stood on the edge of the roof he made the decision. This world was too much to bear also, he always wanted to fly.

Sonya, Truck and Jeff drove along an empty suburban street, seeing dead zombies all around. “We have to find the guy responsible for this, he’s got to be a total badass.” Jeff said excitedly, peering intently out his window. “You gonna be president of his fan club?” Truck asked sarcastically, letting his bald head rest against the seat with his eyes closed. “look, there.” Zoe pointed to a house that the trail of dead zombies seemed to end. After milling around the bodies, they found one that was human when he died. The dog tags read “ Mason Reding, 1st zombie reaction platoon.” "Such a pity." truck said as they walked back to the car.