22 year old Dean Walters stumbled around in the cold, snowy forest around him. He rubbed his hands together in an effort to keep them warm, wishing he had gloves along with the correct boots to move along in this thick snow. His footsteps kept sinking into the snow at every step he took. As he rose his foot, trying to take another step, it got caught a root under the snow. He stumbled, falling face-first into the 4 inch snow. After a few moments of waving his arms to regain his balance, He raised himself off the snowy ground. Wiping off his now-snow-covered face, he was able to see an abandoned building on the horizon. Climbing a tree to get a better view, he pulled out his black-blue binoculars from his dark green backpack (it had originally been a brighter shade, but to make it harder for the eyes of strangers to find him, he had covered it with mud and Walker guts to give it more of a camo color than anything.) Looking through his binoculars, he was able to confirm that this was the abandoned building he had been seeking out for the last couple of days. Seeing that it was already noon, Dean knew he had to hurry to the building if he was going to make it before sundown. Before he climbed down, he made sure to put his binoculars into his backpack, for he could not risk them falling to the ground and breaking. Seeing that they were secure, he slowly made his way down the evergreen tree: The only thing worse than breaking his binoculars would be breaking his leg. Just as he had finished his thought, his brown leather jacket got snagged on a broken branch jutting from the trees trunk. Pulling out his father's trusty hatchet, he made sure he was secure enough in the tree before he began to chop, knowing that it would have been way too dangerous to try and untangle himself from the branch without a high risk of falling. After a few hard swings of the hatchet, the branch had finally detached itself from the evergreen tree's trunk, and with it, his jacket. Finally able to freely move about, Dean continued his decent of the tree, reaching the bottom a few seconds later without any other complications. Running his hand through his bark brown hair, he realized that he may never get used to climbing trees, not that he really wanted to anyways, not after what had happened with his younger sister, Gwen. The memory still played out in the back of his mind.

"Be careful! If you think you might fall you come right back down, you hear me Gwen? Gwen!?"

After a moments silence, Gwen spoke up saying "Yes, yes, I know the drill Dean, you don't have to worry 'bout me so much."

"Now you know that's a load of bullshit, I always have to worry about my little sister," Dean smirked.

"Ugh, whatever you say Dean, I'll be back down soon enough, just let me get the lay of the land."

However, Gwen came down faster than she anticipated. Not really paying attention, Gwen had placed her foot onto one of the tree's weaker branches. Thinking that the branch was sturdy, Gwen lifted her lower leg, causing most, if not all of her weight, to be shifted to the foot that was on the weak branch.

SNAP

"GWEN!"

The branch underneath Gwen had broken, leaving her dangling by just her arms, with no other branches in the reach of her legs.

"I-I'm ok Dean," Gwen said trying to reassure her brother, who was beginning to break out in cold sweats 6 feet below her. That's when the branches she had a hold of started making snapping noises. The next thing she knew, she was falling down, down through the canopy of the tree, hitting every branch along the way.

"Oh my god. Gwen? GWEN!?" Dean shouted as he ran towards his sister, who was laying awkwardly on the ground, her blood slowly bubbling up and out of her mouth. Dean, grabbing ahold of his sisters brown leather jacket, started shaking her franticly.

"Gwen! Wake up! Gwen!" But he knew it was far too late, she was already gone.

Shaking his head of the memory, Dean continued onward towards the abandoned building. Gwen would want him to keep moving, Dean thought as he pulled his sister's jacket closer for warmth. With any luck, he would make it to the building in the next 4-5 hours.

Finally arriving at the house, a physically and mentally exhausted Dean wandered into the yard around the building, which he now realized was a house with an unfinished roof.

"Better than sleeping out in the cold again," Dean said with a smirk on his face as he walked closer to the house near the lake. Taking in his surroundings, he saw some heavy construction equipment and a truck that probably won't ever start working. He also took in that it was getting colder, so he made his way inside where he found a nice fireplace next to a sofa. He was half tempted to just plop onto the sofa right then and there, but he knew life wasn't that simple anymore. Pulling his backpack off his back, he crouched and opened it, grabbing hit hatchet out of the front pocket, where he always left it. Putting the backpack over his shoulder once more, he began to check every single room for Walkers or worse, other people. Luckily, all of the rooms he checked were clear, but the downside was that there weren't any supplies in them either.

Arriving at the last room he had yet to check, he took a deep breath, readying himself for what might come. Without second thought, he quickly opened the door, readying his hatchet just in case he needed to chop a Walkers head off. Inside he found no Walkers, but instead two duffel bags. Wondering what was inside, Dean walked over to the dark green bags. Fiddling around with the zipper of the duffel bag closest to him, he noticed that it was jammed. Not wanting to risk breaking whatever was inside, he put away his hatchet and pulled out his pocket knife. Slicing it open from the right side, the bag's contents were revealed. "Oh my god," Dean said with amazement. He couldn't believe what he saw; finally, Lady Luck had shone down upon him. The bag was filled with canned goods! Quickly moving on to the next duffel bag, he tried the zipper first, which had worked this time. Taking a look inside, Dean saw so much medicine; he didn't even know how he could even use all of this, but it was still an amazing find. Then Dean realized that something was wrong. Where were the original owners? No sane person would ever leave this amount of supplies behind, unless…

Unless they suffered the same fate as his last group. He missed them all so much, from Samantha and her stupid laugh to Bill and his corny jokes. Clearing the sad memory from his mind, he pulled out a can of baked beans. Moving downstairs and into the room that would have been the Living room, he placed the can on the nearest coffee table and looked around to see if there was some firewood nearby. After a few minutes of searching, he found out where the previous group had stashed the wood: inside this big blue tub near the door. After carefully placing the firewood into the fireplace, he rummaged in his backpack for his lighter and the newspaper he always tried to carry with him. Then Dean realized that with this amount of firewood, the flames would generate too much smoke, which would draw the attention of strangers. Being all alone, that's not really what Dean wanted at the moment. Pulling out enough wood to leave two in the fireplace, he put the rest back where he found them. Once again moving back to the fireplace, he picked up his lighter and ignited the newspaper. After a few seconds, the paper caught on fire. Placing this underneath the firewood, he sat and watched to make sure he had enough fuel for the fire to start. Luckily he did and the fire started without a hitch. Picking up the can of beans from the coffee table, he cut open the top with his pocket knife, and then preceded to poor the beans into his small cooking pot. It was the perfect size to fit in almost anywhere, especially inside his backpack. Sitting the now filled cooking pot on the rack inside the fireplace, he decided that he should do a supply check while he waited for the food to be finished. Looking through his backpack he made a mental note of everything that was stored inside. He still had some newspaper left, which was good since he didn't find any lying about the house. Placing his lighter back inside so he didn't forget it, he realized that he should probably stir the beans really quick before he continued. Digging through his backpack, he finally managed to find his spoon, which always seemed to be at the bottom. Being careful as to not touch the outside of the pot, he stirred his dinner. After that was done, he placed the spoon on a scrap of newspaper to make sure it didn't get dirty. Moving back to his backpack, he pulled out the picture of his father.

Dean had never known his mother, who had left after he was born, but he and his father had been like best friends. On the day of the outbreak, his dad had been out of town on a business trip, and was supposed to come back after 4 days. Even though he never made it back, Dean still held onto the hope that his father was still alive. That was, until, he noticed his dad's car in the middle of the street. He had gotten back sooner than he had expected, which turned out to be the death of him. In the midst of the chaos, somebody swerved and head on collided with his dad, killing him instantly. Only, his dad wasn't dead when Dean showed up to the scene. He hadn't been strong enough to put his father out of his misery then, but now Dean wished he had been. Ever since then, Dean has had nightmares about his father wandering the countryside as a Walker, enduring eternal pain and suffering.

Dean took one last glance of the picture before returning it to his backpack with sadness in his eyes. Remembering his father wouldn't help him in his current situation. Realizing that he hadn't stirred the beans in quite a while, Dean zipped up his backpack and placed it aside. Quickly moving towards the beans, he noticed that they were beginning to burn, so he pulled the pot off the rack and set it down on the floor while he stirred it with his trusty spoon. After a few minutes, the beans had cooled off enough for him to start eating them. Without wasting another second, he began to dig in, devouring the whole meal in only 2-3 minutes. He hadn't realized how hungry he had been, but not eating for 2 days can do that to a person. It was after he was finished that he decided to clean off his cookware.

Opening the door to the outside, he hadn't noticed that the sun had already set. Not wanting to be out in the dark for too long, he quickly scooped up some snow and placed it in his pot along with the spoon. Just as he was about to turn around he heard a sound. It sounded like a low snarly growl. "WALKER!" Dean though as he heard the sound, realizing how close it actually was to him. He turned around quickly, his mind racing, looking franticly for his father's hatchet. "Oh shit," Dean said aloud as he realized he left his hatchet inside the house. Not knowing what else he could do besides letting the Walker bite him, which certainly wasn't an option, he grabbed the pan tightly in his hand, waiting for the right moment. Just as the Walker lunged and Dean, he did a quick strafe to the right, causing the Walker to grab nothing but a cushion of snow. Quickly reacting, deal brought the pot down hard on the back of the Walkers skull, shooting snow everywhere, and making a satisfying smash as the walkers head split open. After a few seconds of hushed silence, the Walker made a weak but noticeable groan. That's when Dean started to stomp on its skull, harder and harder after every consecutive hit. After Dean was done with it, all that was left was what looked to be a bowl of Walker brains.

Inspecting himself for injuries, he looked himself up and down, not finding anything out of the ordinary. It was then that he realized the amount of blood that was on his pot, so he rubbed it off in the snow next to his feet. After this was done, he looked around for any more Walkers, which he was happy to find none of. That's when Dean knelt down so he could refill the pot with snow. Proceeding back into his house again, Dean found himself even more exhausted than he had been before. Closing the door behind him, Dean walked lazily over to his backpack where he pulled out his hatchet and pillow, sitting them on the sofa. Moving back over to the fire, he noticed it was beginning to burn down, so he grabbed himself another log and placed it gently in the fireplace, watching it for a while, making sure it started burning. After the new log caught fire, he placed his pot on the rack once more, so the snow could melt and make the water needed for cleaning the pot in the morning. Realizing that his placement of the pot should be good enough, he moved over to the sofa and laid down, placing his head on his pillow and closing his eyes. "Hopefully tonight will go smoothly, God knows I need a good night's rest," Dean thought as he lay there drifting off. Tomorrow he will continue on his way to find Wellington, a sanctuary that Samantha had told him about. But for now, he needed his sleep. After what felt like ages (but was really only 5 minutes), Dean fell asleep.

But he woke up 12 hours later to the sound of gunshots and frantic yelling.