The Marsh House, Savannah, Georgia: Nate looks out from a crummy hotel and watches the streets of Savannah with a bored look in his eyes.

If you can't look that shit square in the face and say 'fuck it', then why are you bothering out there? I never bother to weigh the risks, because the world is nothing but one big potluck for the alpha wolves.

Four Months Ago

Three stories above the bustling streets of Savannah, Georgia, Nate watched as a woman tore herself from the aftermath of a violent collision. He had been staring out into the horizon when the speeding car caught his eye. Anticipation washed over his glassy eyes, and the man flinched as the cherry-red suburban compressed like a spent accordion against an oncoming delivery van. The two mangled vehicles used up the resulting force by twirling across the intersection.

Nate smiled with a sick fascination. He had never witnessed a real-life crash before, and it was worse than he had expected. The female driver climbed painfully out of her shattered window, letting out a howl of agony as broken glass cut deep lacerations down her inner thigh. She crumpled into a ball just feet from the accident, and Nate watched comfortably as passerby's rushed to her aid. Through the dirtied windowpane, the civilians seemed to wrap around the woman in a warped vortex.

"Babe, is the window open?" A soft, butter-like voiced chirped from the bathroom door. In his excitement, Nate failed to form words.

"Babe?" A slender, feminine figure slipped out into the living room. She was a chiseled beauty with long, black hair and a sun-dappled, sienna complexion. Wrapped in a greyed bath towel, the woman crossed to Nate and placed a free hand on his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"There was a crash right outside the hotel." Nate forced in a tone both empty and mystified. The woman tilted her head and peeked out. Eyeing the blonde female being helped sluggishly across the open road, the woman flinched and shut her eyes.

"Oh god! Close the windows, honey. That's disgusting."

Nate scoffed, but grabbed the honey-colored blinds and slid them shut. Crossing to the front door, the woman switched on a light that illuminated the cramped hotel room. Nate turned around to sit forwards in the chair, watching as his 'girlfriend' transitioned into performing a sultry striptease. Though distracted by the carnage outside, Nate managed to clap the woman on.

"Do you like the way I look, daddy?" She teased, letting the words roll off of her tongue. Nate answered with a grin and motioned for her to come over, which she did.

"I had so much fun last night. Want to go for round two?"

Nate ignored the woman's questioning and moved her down to eye level. Silently, he wrapped his lips against the soft flesh of her collarbone and nibbled, immediately silencing the woman. Her legs lowered willfully to the carpet floor, her soft lips whispering his name as he trailed up her neck and bit her earlobe. Nate inhaled deeply, feeling the odorless heat from her shower permeate his nostrils. He would've called her name out too if he had bothered to ask. Instead, he continued to mark her body until a trail of boozy saliva trailed from the woman's chest up to her peachy lips.

The feeling of hunger for the flesh of a woman blocked out his sick fascination, until an abrupt bang tore the two apart from one another. It came from outside, silencing the buzz of the street below. The woman fell to the floor, squeaking as her towel unfurled to reveal her tight bodice.

"What the fuck was that?" Nate asked, returning to his occupied mind as he tore at the curtains. Looking below, he saw the injured woman sprawled out across the black tar road. She was lifeless, lying face down on the ground as blood spurt from her punctured neck.

"Holy shit." Nate exhaled. Behind him, the woman scrambled to pull her towel back over her body. Standing up, she rolled her eyes as the sight of Nate once again disinterested in her advances. She mustered the courage to look out into the chaos from over his shoulder and gasped.

A man stood at the dead woman's feet, point the barrel of a smoking gun directly at the bullet wound. As the crowd gathered angrily around the shooter, he stepped back in disbelief and clasped his hand around a bite-sized gash on his arm.

Nate rose up slowly from his seat, pushing gently against the woman until she retreated annoyingly back to the bathroom to fetch her clothes. Staring giddy-eyed out at the shooter as he tried to push through the accumulating mob of onlookers, Nates' lips curled into a smile that stretched his stubble all the way up to his ears.

"Bitchin'."

The open road: a lawless world even before the biters started walking around. With the world the way it is, there's nothing stopping us from asking ourselves 'why not take what I want?'.

Present Day

Nate watched the figures dart across his line of sight, ducking behind trees if the occasional dead would wander too close. He couldn't help but smile. Never in a thousand years did he expect the 'white chicks' to make it that long, and he was enjoying every second of it.

With the roar of his truck engine silenced, the surrounding woods were filled with soft whispers.

"He has to be keeping them somewhere." A familiar voice called out. He recognized it as one of the women he was following.

Shel, or something like that. Nate had never been good with names.

"He said he had a cabin full of supplies when we first met him, but that could've been a crock of shit." A masculine voice added. Nate also recognized the voice, but failed to remember the mans' name. He counted five figures before ducking down under the front window. The truck was much too well-hidden for any passersby to spot, but the man refused to take a chance.

He pulled a revolver from his coat pocket and spun the bullet chamber out like a cowboy from his favorite movies. Counting the bullets, Nate swore under his breath with a final count of three.

They only have one man in the group, I think. The real tiny looking guy. Nate thought, planning his attack with an aloof sense of calmness. One for the little guy, and two for whoever else wants to party.

"What if she's not there, or what if that bastard did something to her?" Shel whispered again with a frantic whine. Nate snickered to himself, slapping a hand over his eyes in a comical manner. Your sister will be fine, once she can walk in a couple of weeks. She wasn't too shabby for her first time, even with all the damn kicking.

"We're going to get Bec' back, Shel. Just keep looking."

Nate dropped his smile. The voices were beginning to register from farther away, signaling Nate's opportunity. He took a slow, concentrated breath and opened the truck door. Slipping out, the trucker slipped his keys into the now-empty pocket of his jacket and slowly shut the door. The soft silhouette of Shel's head passed between a distant cluster of bushes and was gone.

Three bullets, and a helluva lot of pussy. Nate psyched himself up, feeling the thrill of the chase rising in his stomach again. He lived for the excitement, and the promise of pussy didn't help to ease the hunger.

"Let's get this party on a roll."