Chapter One: Hannah

Hannah sighed as she hefted her backpack higher onto her shoulders, adjusting her grip on her shotgun as she did. The gash on her left calf was excruciating, but she knew she couldn't stop now.

"2 fucking days of hiking and not a goddamn camp in sight." She thought, checking the sun to make sure she was still heading northwest. She'd been headed that way since her truck had broken down and she'd seen the smoke of a campfire. Well, it wasn't her truck, per say, but those bastards she stole it from deserved it. Her nerves raced as she still wasn't sure what sort of people she'd encounter once she actually got there. The last run in she'd had with people left her with the gaping cut on her leg. She'd run into all kinds of crazy shit over the last 2 months since she left Mississippi. She inhaled and forced that place from her head.

"There's nothing left for you there.' She reminded herself, willing the memories away. A snap of a branch stopped her dead in her tracks. She threw her shotgun over her should and unsheathed her machete quickly. Her hunting instincts took over and she crouched behind a tree as the undead stumbled into view. She waited for the thing that once was a man to come closer. Hannah was no longer repulsed by the way the skin hung off it's face, exposing it's rotting teeth. She'd grown accustomed, hell, even good at killing them. The zombie came into a better position and she struck with perfect precision, jamming the blade deep into it's brain. The zombie dropped silently and effortlessly. She wiped the blade off, but decided to keep it handy, gritting her teeth against the searing pain in her leg. The stitches wouldn't last much longer. She guessed she had about 2 ½ hours of sunlight left and continued on her way. Zombies aside, Hannah loved the woods. Shit, she was practically raised in them, romping around with her older brother Zack and her pops. She'd learned to hunt at the age of 6 and had gotten her trusty Browning shotgun on her 13th birthday. It just came naturally to her. So when shit hit the fan and she was hunting the undead instead of deer, it was an easy switch. She hoped she'd make this camp by sundown. Last night had been unnerving and she'd hardly slept.

"I'd kill for a shot of whiskey right now." She mumbled to herself after another hours worth of walking. She laughed at the irony, grateful she'd only encountered one zombie today. She was exhausted after barely anything to eat and next to no sleep from the last two days. Her backpack which held her entire life, including her leather-bound notebook, water, 2 cartons of smokes she'd jacked from an abandon gas station, her last granola bar, a change of clothes, her dwindling ammo supply, a few other things and a basically empty first aid kid felt like it was filled with bricks. She stopped again, checking the sun once more for direction. She guessed she'd gone about 15 miles or so.

'Jesus fucking Christ. Where is this place?" She wondered. It was then that she saw them, and her jaw dropped.