More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.

The gate closed solemnly, as though in no great rush to close in this secluded island of humanity. Around us, the world was quite different. Same houses, same lawns, but the smell of death was gone. In the front yard of a two story pink house a child rode his tricycle, and a man in his robe and slippers read a dated newspaper. The last newspaper ever printed; I know, I read it too. Behind us, the heavily armed men strolled leisurely away, as though our presence had only been a mere formality. None here seemed altogether interested in who we were or where we came from, nor why we were here.

The road curved around. Several people were standing around a charcoal grill and talking as smoke lifted gently into the sky. What I wouldn't do for a hamburger. And then it hit me. That's the first real thought I'd had in six months. The only one not about death, or despair, or pain. I wanted a hamburger. My mouth formed itself into a grin as I stared at the people seemingly enjoying their lives.

"Stop the truck." I said to Red. His smooth head shone like an eight ball under the cabin lights as he turned confusedly to face me. I nodded again to validate my sincerity. Betty came to a slow, rolling stop as I opened the door and hopped onto the pavement. Graham crouched in the doorway behind me, her shoulder length brown hair flowing across her face as it was carried along in the wind. Beautifully slender hands brushed the strands aside as her emerald green eyes scanned everything around us. Her long, feminine hourglass figure accentuated the semi-tight suit that she'd unzipped halfway, revealing an olive green tank top. Her skin was a dark golden brown, as smooth as a model's, and accentuated her thin pink lips.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"I'm just going to check things out a bit." Technically, it was the truth.

The six people huddled around the grill, dressed in short sleeves or polo shirts and shorts, stopped talking and stared as I approached. I was covered in blood and wearing a heavy black combat suit. A man wearing a yellow and green striped shirt extended his unoccupied hand with a smile, "Welcome to the neighborhood. Would you like a beer?" He gestured to his libation with a quick glance to his left hand.

I nodded.

"That's the spirit!" Everyone laughed, including myself, as he reached into an ice chest and ripped a can from its plastic six pack holder. My greedy hands attacked the metal top, popping the beverage open and chugging it as quickly as possible. The sudden bitter bite was as refreshing as standing under a cool waterfall; a moment of normalcy. "Whoa, calm down sport. We've got a whole case full. No need to rush. Hey, d'you like a hamburger?"

Am I dreaming? It has to be... He lifted a juicy grilled patty from the grill. The fire hissed as the fats dripped into the flames, sending tendrils of heat reaching for the source. "I'd fucking love one."

"Why don't we go inside for a minute, and we can have a little talk while you eat."

"What about my friends?"

"Oh, they're more than welcomed. Plenty to go around."

The kitchen was as standard as I could have hoped for. It opened into the driveway through two full-sized glass doors. The room was octagonal and painted a rustic yellow-orange, with white-tile countertops covering three sides and a small island in the center. My host was about thirty or forty, balding, with a little pot belly. His shirt and shorts reminded me somewhat of a vacationing snowbird in Florida. He motioned for me to have a seat and pulled a disposable plate from its bag.

"You want whole wheat or white buns?"

"Uh...either. I haven't really had a choice for a long time."

"Yea, that's the problem with the big cities. So many people trying to fit into one space." He disappeared outside momentarily before returning with my hamburger and another cold beer, the water from the ice chest still dripping from the can. "So, what brings you to our humble village?"

"Trying to get to Bunkersville outpost."

"That's in Connecticut, and you're a long way from there. Wrong direction too."

"Yea, we noticed. We think somebody fucked with our navigation."

"Who in the world would do that?"

"A lot of people back there are just as bad as the zombies."

"Why were you trying to get to Bunkersville? Did Red Rock fall?"

"Nah, we're checkers."

"Oh. Hamburger good?"

"Excellent. Where'd you get fresh meat with no power?"

"Zombies."

I stared blankly, hoping he was joking.

"No shit. The heat kills whatever's in them. Perfectly safe."

What the fuck kind of place is this?

"So you're a checker, is it? What exactly does that mean?"

"We're sort of messengers. Errand boys if you will. After we get enough supplies or something, we take a little trip to the next town and deliver it. We're what keeps the little underground economy everybody's got going actually running. Somehow we ended up here."

"Not much here. Sleepy little town. Well, it was. It's kind of dead now. "

I took another bite of the hamburger. A little gamey, but not that bad otherwise. Just don't tell the team.

"So, how'd you guys set this place up?" I asked.

"This was a gate community long before the infection started. When it came, we shut the doors and grabbed whatever guns we could. Luckily, most of the guys here like to hunt in their spare time, so they're pretty good with rifles. Only four houses out of the twenty in here had infected in them, and we got those cleaned up faster than expected. Nobody knew where to go, so we didn't. We figured all of the big cities would be packed with those things, or people fleeing those things, so it wouldn't have done us any good."

"Well, how do you get supplies, equipment? Surely you didn't have a year's worth of canned food just sitting around in case there was a zombie outbreak."

"On the other side of the back fence is a Wal-Mart. It's five feet between us and their back door, so we made a sort of fenced walkway on this side, and dropped it over there. Turns out there were some survivors, as well as several infected, in the store. After cleaning it up, barricading it as much as possible, and fortifying the walkway, we took down that section of the back wall. So...now that Wal-Mart's pretty much our own personal little pantry. They've got everything we need; food, water, clothes, toiletries, medicines."

"So what happens after that Wal-Mart runs out of supplies?"

"We've made a lot of our spare room into gardens, to grow our own crops. There's a Wal-Mart gas station there, so we make occasional fuel runs to it so we can power the generators. If we had to, we have a truck in their garage ready to run somewhere to get supplies. But for now we're doing just fine."

"You have generators?"

"Yea, we run the televisions and some other basic stuff off of them. Air conditioner, hot water pump, stuff like that. Makes life a whole lot easier. "

"Does anyone still broadcast? I haven't seen a t.v. in forever."

"Most of the stations are dead, but one's still going. Some local news in Kentucky or something managed to hold up, and they've been sort of giving updates on how everything's going."

"What are they saying?"

"Well, for the most part it's good news. People are starting to get control of the streets, slowly but surely. The military wasn't as badly effect as most people originally thought, so those that can are being recalled and given orders. They're starting west and clearing sector by sector, repopulating in their trails and leaving weapons behind. "

"They won't have enough ammo for the number of these things."

"That's why they're using tactical nukes on the cities that can't be saved."

"You mean cities without survivors?"

"Cities they think will be too much trouble, survivors or not. Lucky you, Red Rock's on the list. In a week it'll be gone. So if I were you I'd just sit here or head to Bunkersville until they come this way."

"That's crazy! They'll kill half of the surviving population that way!"

"The Chinese did it first, but with conventional bombs. Europeans followed suit. We didn't invent the hammer, we just made it better."

"My god."

"Eat up, you've got a lot ahead of you.

A.N. No action here, but plenty to come. If you hadn't already figured that out.