I drove for about two week. There wasn't much left to do. I had to use the local roads and unused highways because of the pack freeways. There were some people left alive. Some. The rest, well I think you know. I stopped to rest whenever I got the chance. Usually an abandoned gas station or a supermarket, I tried to stock up supplies whenever I could. After a few days I had amassed enough to hopefully to get to somewhere safe. It was about a week and a half after I had gone on the run that I met her.

I had stopped at a gas station. In my previous supply gathering trips I had managed to pick up a fire ax from an overturned fire truck and a police shotgun I had picked up from a dead cop in a looted Wal-Mart. Ammo was low, but I conserved it by not using it as much. I saw a run down station that seemed to be intact and by the looks of it hadn't been raided. Always looking for a chance to top off my gas tank and my reserves, I pulled up in front. Grabbed my shotgun and slung my ax onto my back with a strap I fashioned out of some rope and a belt. The front door was locked, but I didn't see any signs of life, living or undead. I didn't want to waste a shell or attract any zombies breaking down the door so I went around back. There was one he was busy pounding on a trailer. Seeing my opportunity, I pulled out my ax and in one clean motion chopped off his head. The radio reports had said that the head was the weak point. After I parted his head from his shoulders, I stomped on the skull to make sure he was dead or at least more dead than he already was. He didn't have any useful supplies on him.

The back door was unlocked so I went inside. After seeing one, I entered cautiously. The lights were out and the switch didn't work. I flicked on the flashlight on the end of the barrel. There wasn't anything moving dead or alive. I walked towards to counter to activate the pumps to hopefully get what little gas was left. As I turned on the pumps, I heard a sound. I whirled around and aimed my shotgun and there staring me in the face was that of an old friend pointing a .45 at my head. Her name was Kathryn. We had known each other in high school, but lost touch in college. She was as surprised as I was. It took us a few seconds to come to our senses and lower our weapons.

She was alone like me. She however had been walking. She had been separated from her family on the highway and lost touch with them when the zombies swarmed the interstate. She had managed to grab her father's .45 when he was killed and took off down the highway. We caught up for about two minutes when a group of zombies attracted by out talking attacked the station. I activated the pumps so I could at least fill up my tank. We ran out the back shooting one zombie in the process. There were only a few of them so we took them out. I told her to fill up the tank while I covered her. A few more zombies came running around the station so I fired at them. I had some practice from my previous encounter a few days prior. Shooting was a skilled I learned to perfect early on.

When the tank was full we both piled into my van and took off down the road. I still had no idea where we were going to go, but now at least I wasn't alone.