It's nothing...

Your Status: Unknown (Possibly Infected)

Your Equipment: Button-down shirt, Jeans, Intertwined Backpacks

Your Inventory: Pistol (6/13), Firecrackers(34), Bottled Water (2), Pocketknife, Flashlight

Heart pounding, you swing the pistol left and right, still searching for the source of the noise. You can't make anything out through the increasing gloom, and after a few minutes, you concede to yourself that you're probably just jumpy after everything that's happened today.

Shouldering your pack again, you set off, taking advantage of the adrenalin high to wake you up. You cover ground a bit more quickly than you had before, slightly less concerned with what you stepped on, and just before dark, you arrive at the edge of the highway. You settle into the nearby brushline to observe it for a bit.

An hour and complete nightfall later, you're finally satisfied the road is clear, and thankful to be moving again. The cold is piercing, and you're beginning to shiver uncontrollably. A gust of wind blows a scent of rain across you, and you can tell a storm is coming. Standing, you quickly approach the highway, wincing as your tender soles hit the cold asphalt, before heading towards the first car you see. A brief check reveals it to be unlocked, but inside you find nothing of use.

This trend continues for almost half an hour, as you work your way south. You finally approach an older fifth-wheel trailer, its' door hanging off its' hinges. Carefully, you step into it, your pistol held ready, and you search every spot inside it for signs of Infected. Seeing none, you begin quietly searching drawers and the tiny closet for anything of use.

You don't find much: a few cans of food and bottles of water that were overlooked by a prior foraging party, a sheath knife much more suited to fighting than your pocketknife, and, most importantly, some flip-flops. While they're a poor choice in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, they're at least better than nothing, and you'll only need them until you come across something better.

Smiling slightly at your slight turn in fortune, you drink a bottle of water and eat a can of food, you turn to the bed, complete with blankets. That's something you definitely won't turn down. Setting your pack and flip-flops aside, you flop onto the bed. After tucking your pistol and knife under the pillow, you curl up beneath the blankets and pass out.