The sun was beating down on a band of survivors, ragged, tired, trudging along a main street. The man leading the group was the most haggered of the people. He couldn't be more than early forties, but the wear and tear of him made him look many years older. Behind him trailed a handful of men and women reaching the end of their strengths. One of the young women stopped to admire the large building looming in the distance ahead of them. It stretched high into the sky and pierced the clouds with a tall spire at the top. Even a decade after the outbreak, the Empire State Building still shimmered with a level of excellence.
Suddenly the engine of a car cut through the silence of the hikers. Their ears perked up and eyes widened. A car. Maybe if other people are alive in the city, they can get some help. The older man was the only one that waited with a glimmer of apprehension. As the car screamed into view, the others adjusted their expressions from ones of hope to ones of fear. The truck was fixed with barbed wire, spikes stuck off the front, the men in the back held large guns like those that the military use. The passengers meant business. The truck whipped around the survivors then screeched to a halt. The young travelers coughed from the swirling dust of the road, but the older man gripped a baseball bat until his knuckles turned white.
From the passenger side, a blonde man in his mid-forties emerged and stalked up to the survivors. The blonde man was calm and collected. He smiled an eerie smile at the survivors, causing them to shrink back in submission. He locked eyes with the leader and his smirk widened, baring pearly-white teeth. A certain charm wafted from him that could convince you to trust him, even though the lead pipe in his hand would suggest otherwise. This man was called Anders.
"Alright. No one has to get hurt," Anders cooed.
Dave, a young man of about twenty suddenly jumped from the bed of the truck and eagerly walked up to the survivors with an open bag.
"What you're going to do," Anders continued, "Is drop your possessions in the bag, and you get to leave."
The leader of the survivors stood his ground, glaring at Anders and the others. "We aren't giving you a damn thing," the man told him.
Instead of appearing angry, Anders smiled, "If you don't...we will gun down each one of you."
The man stepped back, knowing Anders meant it. Slowly the group began reluctantly depositing their belongings in the bag. Once they were done, Dave closed the bag and returned to the truck. Anders smiled again at the survivors and turned back to the truck. Suddenly seeing the opportunity, the lead man pulled out a pocket knife and rushed Anders while his back was to him.
A shot rang out.
The man's head snapped back and he was dead before his knees hit the road. The other survivors looked around in horror until their eyes found the source of the shot as the body slumped to the ground.
Anders calmly looked back at the body, pursed his lips, then continued to the truck. When he reached the door, he nodded at a man perched in the bed, whose revolver was still smoking. The shooter holstered his weapon and sat back down in the truck. The other hunters didn't say a word and just waited for the car to start moving. The shooter was a man in his late thirties with dark hair and a scraggly beard edged with the faint beginnings of greys. His eyes were dark, not so much with anger, as with a resigned exhaustion.
The truck started up again and peeled out, leaving the broken survivors in their dust.
As Joel sat in the back of the truck, he could feel the heat of the revolver at his hip, but he felt nothing else.
The truck spurred into the open garage door of a warehouse and screeched to a halt. Inside the warehouse were several heavily-armed guards. Deeper into the warehouse were tents and bustling hunters. Including the men in the truck, the band tallied to over two-dozen. As the large door dropped down to the ground behind them with a thud, the men began exiting the vehicle. Joel hopped out from the bed and headed for a set of stairs up to an office.
One of the guards approached Anders. "Everyone all right?" he asked nervously, "We heard gunshots."
"Gunshot," Anders corrected, "Joel is a good aim, he only needed one."
The hunter's eyes fell to Joel ascending the steps then went back to Anders as they walked deeper into the camp.
"Anything happen here?" Anders continued.
"Nothing. We heard some runners far off, but they never came close to the camp."
"Good, good. Go grab the bag from the truck. We got some good things for the new recruits. I'll want them broken in tomorrow."
Upstairs, Joel entered the office and closed the door behind him. There wasn't much to the room. Just a couch, bags of supplies, ammo and weapons on the table, and bottles of alcohol strewn about the room. Joel exhaled and flopped onto the couch, letting his eyes drift shut, finally having some quiet.
Suddenly the door flew open. Reed, a man in his mid-twenties with fiery red hair rushed into the room. Joel didn't look at Reed, just remained on the couch, eyes closed.
"Joel, hey, I was wondering-"
"What does a closed door mean to you?" Joel growled.
"Huh?"
Joel sighed, annoyed, "When my door is closed, that means I want everyone else on the other side of it. We clear?"
Reed looked at the door, then back at Joel, "I was just gonna show you something."
"Is it life or death?"
"Well-"
"Then it can wait."
Reed was put out and turned to leave the room, but Samuel, early thirties and balding, rushed into the room as well. Finally Joel opened his eyes, frustrated at the stream of intruders.
"There a party I wasn't told about?!" he snapped.
"Anders needs you," Samuel cut in quickly.
"What could he possibly want?"
"Clickers were spotted not far. There were yells. He wants you to head the group to check bodies for supplies."
Joel's brow furrowed in thought a moment until he decided to stand up and grabs his gear. Reed became chipper again.
"I bet you're gonna want me to show you what I wanted, huh?" he threw in.
He followed Joel out of the room, half-jogging to keep up with Joel's long strides. Joel's mood had become even more sour. Quickly trotting down the steps, Joel reentered the main camp and locked eyes with Anders standing with two fresh-faced young men. Reed was busy talking the ear off Joel, who was hardly paying him attention.
"Were you listening?" Reed asked, head cocked to the side.
Joel growled in response.
"Look," Reed insisted and thrusted a 2x4 into Joel's hand. There was nothing special about it, but the end had scissors taped to it. Joel looked at it quizzically.
"Reed, the scissors are gonna fall right off."
"No they aren't. It's taped on," Reed insisted, pointing to the tape, "This will do some killer damage."
Joel handed the plank back to him, shaking his head, "Reed...and I mean this with complete sincerity...that is a stupid idea."
He turned away from him and walked up to Anders. Reed stayed where he was, looking tremendously deflated.
Joel led two young men slowly down the alley, careful not to make much noise. The two men, Brock and Creed, stared wide-eyed, jumping at the slightest sound. They had come from a fallen Quarantine Zone and were fresh to the horrors of life outside protected walls. Many people died when a zone fell. Those who didn't would travel to another zone or tried to hack it outside. Of the latter, people either joined packs of hunters or fell victim to them. Brock and Creed were fresh-faced volunteers. Young. Naive. Joel had seen their type before. Always one of two: cocky or mortified.
Joel joined as the latter.
As they pressed further down the alley, sounds of groaning echoed from around the corner. The sound bounced off the buildings, making it appear as though the voice was all around them. Joel peeked around the edge and saw a woman in a ripped blouse hunched over, her shoulders scrunched to her ears. She was trembling. To the average person, she appeared as though she might be crying. Joel knew better. Slowly he crept behind her, causing the young men to hold their breath and wait.
With speed and finesse, Joel grabbed the woman from behind and broke her neck; a sickening crunch echoed in the alley, and then all went silent. Joel immediately began going through the woman's pockets, searching for anything valuable. His eyes flicked to the two horrified men and he jerked his head towards mangled bodies further into the alley.
"C'mon," he told them, "Keep quiet and search them for any valuables. Food, weapons, ammo, any clothes that aren't too worn."
The young men did as they were told. Creed jumped right into it, rolling a body over. Brock, on the other hand, knelt by one of the eviscerated men and let out a breath. He moved a shaky hand to the corpse's back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Creed found a wallet too and tossed it aside as he continued his search. For many seconds Brock held his in his hand, staring down at the brown leather. Slowly he opened it and saw a photo of a man, woman, and children. Brock shut the wallet and choked back a sob.
Joel looked up at him and his eyes went to the wallet, "Stay focussed."
Brock's eyes jumped to Joel's and he nodded, setting the wallet down and continuing his search. Joel's eyes lingered on the wallet and he swallowed, standing up and walking over to the only remaining unsearched body. Then he went to work.
When the men found all they could, they gathered up the loot and began walking back towards the camp. Creed pressed on ahead, Brock walking a few steps behind him. Joel came up from the rear to walk beside Brock, who looked like he was choking back tears. Just as Joel opened his mouth to speak to him, a piercing screech ripped through the silence. Joel's eyes widened in panic as he searched for the sound. Suddenly a series of clicks and pops followed.
"Run," he told the men, "Run!"
The three broke into a sprint as a pack of clickers burst around the corner after them. The infected stumbled quickly after them, flailing their arms as they tried to catch the men. Brock looked behind him at the clickers and tripped over a garbage bin, crashing to the ground. Joel and Creed stopped, but while Joel took a step back towards Brock, Creed decided to keep running. Suddenly the clickers were on Brock, scratching at him. There were too many. Brock let out a terrible scream as one clicker sank its teeth into his arm and another snapped at his throat. Joel drew his gun and his eyes met Brocks. Joel's eyes softened, showing a broken pain.
He pulled the trigger.
The front of Brock's skull sprayed the infected and they let out shrieks, jerking their heads toward the sound of Joel's gun. Joel didn't give them time to find him, and turned tail and ran. He raced down the alley and whipped around a corner, ducking behind a dumpster as the infected continued running down the street. When they were far enough away, Joel snuck back into the main street, walking quickly and quietly. Suddenly he could hear the sound of a man's yell.
Creed.
Joel ran toward the sound and found Creed had run down an alley. He was trapped in a dead end and rather than stay quiet and hide or distract the infected he was screaming at the top of his lungs as he tried to pull away the debris that made the blockade. Joel let out a sigh and watched from his hiding place. Creed pulled out his gun and began firing at the clickers, screaming all the while. He kept missing. The clickers continued snapping and rushed closer to him, occasionally jerking back as they got clipped by a shot. Suddenly the sound of runners could be heard getting closer. A whole pack would be on this area in minutes.
Joel stepped out toward the entrance of the alley. Creed's gun clicked as it ran out of bullets and his screams became more desperate. Joel got into a shooting stance, pointing his pistol at Creed. Creed's eyes widened in hope for a moment at Joel's arrival, but then it was washed away by overwhelming fear. Joel squinted, aiming.
"No!"
Creed dropped with the shot and the clickers were on him.
Joel turned and walked away, leaving the clickers to their meal. He returned to what was left of Brock and liberated the body of any spare ammo and his gun. His movements were robotic, without feeling. When he was done, he stood up and trekked the rest of the way until he reached the edge of their compound. The guard spotted Joel and shouted to someone inside the warehouse. The door was opened for him. Joel walked wordlessly to a table in the middle of the camp where Anders stood waiting. Joel tossed the bag of finds from the bodies and locked eyes with Anders, who stared back amusedly.
Joel turned on his heel and headed back up to the office.
Kash, Anders' number two, a man with jet black hair and a scar above his brow walked up to Anders.
"Where are Creed and Brock?" he asked, eyes following Joel.
"They didn't make the cut," Anders told him, opening the supply bag.