A Dead Man's Tale

Prologue

A man slowly walked, crouched to avoid detection, through the decrepit town looking for a safe place to rest. Since the beginning of the outbreak that somehow caused the deceased to become reanimated the man had been struggling to survive. His pack was empty and it had been for several days. He desperately searched for food, medicine, ammunition or anything that would be of critical use. That was the reason that he had journeyed into the town, hoping that some building would contain something useful. The town reminded him of his home, the quaint American suburban neighborhood that he lived in for fifteen years making a life.

That seemed like so long ago now, nearly two years had passed since everything collapsed and the infected corpses began to devour society one person at a time. Living in the back areas of Pennsylvania was one of the first advantages the man had, with its low population compared to the urban centers and the groups of hunters and gun owners that had gathered together to survive. Even those groups were overrun either from without or from within which left him alone to traverse the country with the slimmest hope of survival.

During the half day that he had been in the town the man had searched through a post office, a diner with a collapsed roof, several houses and small stores. All of which were near empty of useful supplies. Along the main street the firehouse, the largest building in town other then the church, had been fortified quite well with the windows boarded up and the entrances rigged with traps like  snares and claw traps favored by hunters. What was odd about this fortified building was the lack of any signs of life visible from the outside, but that's the idea when the infected are attracted to noise and the sight of living creatures. Smears of blood were splattered on the wall like a macabre piece of advertising. Handprints, some faded and others fresh, of varied sizes had been pressed against the walls and had been beating against it for some time.

Although there was evidence of the diseased corpses in the area there were none to be seen from his position across the street in a small hardware store. Curiosity got the best of him and he slowly revealed himself to the firehouse, hoping whoever was inside was hospitable to strangers. After a fear filled minute in the street, he expected to get shot by an unseen gunman he took another step. Then he slowly took another.

Before the man realized it he had approached the line of traps and fortifications around the firehouse. The scavenger carefully maneuvered around the fatal traps to come right up to the large rising door leading to the garage of the firehouse. The door was raised slightly, propped open by a cinder block, with enough space for a person to slip under. The man dropped to the pavement and rolled himself into the dark garage. Upon entering he heard a noise that made his heart stop. It was the monotonous moan of the infected.

A firm hand grabbed from the darkness, gripped the scavenger's arm and brought it to the unseen owner's mouth but before being able to sink its teeth into the living flesh the man shoved his attacker away. A loud clattering caught the attention of more of the infected bodies that were standing idle inside the garage. The scavenger heard the sounds of shuffling feet from an unknown number of corpses draw closer. As quick as possible, the man retreated out of the firehouse through the narrowly open garage door, having to kick at several grabbing hands before he was free. Fearing that the noises made from within would draw more of the infected, the man dashed from the scene for a place to hide. He kept close to the tree line that hugged the main road leaving the town and was able to avoid several groups of the diseased bodies  as he made his way further from the town. He didn't plan to return the town again and would move on after a night of uneasy sleep.

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