Had the traffic cameras in Atlanta still been working, the power grid not downed, the recording stations not destroyed from looters and walkers, they would have caught the strangest sights the last three weeks.
Corpses of those killed by strange fevers brought by rotting teeth, rose from the dead.
People were torn apart at the seams like ragged teddy bears tossed to vicious pack dogs at the hands and teeth of those corpses.
The undead began moving as one, stumbling, staggering body toward the quickly disappearing movements of the rare living soul.
The walkers lost any preference they may have started with, tearing into the flesh of a horse that had brought an office into the plagued city.
Some strong survivors came and went only to come again, rather unscathed by it all.
And the traffic camera sitting lonely on the traffic light post at Spring and Pine would have caught a pair speeding out of the city like a bat out of hell, rounding the corner at a breakneck pace to cross the interstate jam-packed with deserted cars. It would have seen the man, muscled and dirty with dishwater hair, swing a bat with stunning precision and drop a stumbling corpse in a flash. His partner, stocky and dirty-blue-gray, pumped his legs furiously to achieve their blazing speed. There was a wild look about the two, bent on survival, that would have frightened any regular person on first sight, but there was no one to see; not even the traffic cameras saw, instead sitting blind, unknowing, dead.