Two men cautiously made their way down a deserted street, house-to-house, scavenging supplies, and food, anything of use. The one taking the lead, an Asian who goes by Glenn, slowly opened the front gate to the second to last house. Vines grew thick around the fence and its gate, making it impossible to see what lay beyond. The gate was silent, thankfully, and sliding inside. The second man, Daryl, who carried himself with confidence, took one last glance at the empty street before following his partner.
The inside of the fence stunned both men. It was a mine field set to capture any walker who actually made it through the fence, which was a lot heavier fortified than it appeared externally. Barbed wire was criss-crossed to trip everyone. Barrels with pikes and barbs were strategically placed to pierce those who weren't careful. Basically, it was impossible for a single walker or two to get through. The men took it all in before sharing a look, one that expressed concern and a small shiver of hope. The fortifications meant that the insides of the plantation house have been protected, at least against the undead, and it would be safe to stay there overnight if needed. However, everything was relatively clean and up kept, meaning that someone could be inside the house waiting for them. Someone who was obviously smart, cautious and generally untrusting.
Upon reaching the front porch, Daryl pounded on the front door, more out of habit than expecting any walker to be drawn to the noise. After a moment, he twisted the doorknob, unlocked, and pushed it open. Another shared look communicated that the Asian would once again take the lead, with the redneck not even half a step behind him. The two quickly cleared the first floor, finding no one and nearly nothing, just a half bottle of water and 2 cans of peaches. A quick look to the backyard showed that it was just as heavily protected, if not more so.
The whole first floor was well cleaned, maybe a week's worth of dust and lint gathered on the furniture. Glenn shared his concern about an ambush waiting for the men to Daryl, who shrugged, lifted his crossbow, and started up stairs.
Almost every room had been cleared without incident; the Asian found a barely used tube of toothpaste in a bathroom, which he tossed at the other man with a joking smile. Daryl caught it, flipped him the bird, and slipped it into his supply bag over his shoulder. The men turned to the last door, the only one that was closed in the whole house. The redneck put his ear to it. He thought he could hear something in it, maybe a really weak, trapped walker. Weapons at the ready, he opened the door and both jumped it.
The room was a mess, compared to the rest of the house. Clothes were thrown all around the room, bed unmade and bloody, toys littered the floor, like a tornado had erupted in that single room. But neither man was looking at the mess, the toys, the crib pushed on its side, or the blood staining the bed.
No, they were looking at a nearly starved-to-death woman, sitting in a rocking chair occupying the corner opposed to the door. It didn't look like she had slept, or moved, in a week or so, not to eat, drink, or defecate. Not noticing the state she was in, they were transfixed by what was in her arms, a baby. An undead baby. Too small and uncoordinated to grab the women and bite her, not that it had teeth. It couldn't have been more than a month old when it died, nor could it have been dead for more than a week, maybe two. It turned to look at the men, then growled and wiggled in its mother's arms. Finally, Daryl tore his stare from the baby and looked to the mother. The mother, who hadn't moved since the men entered the gate, looked up from her child, and stared at the man.