These days, Dean didn’t like company other than his brother. It meant zombies or someone already on the verge of giving into the infection. The only time he went out of his house was to set traps and collect the animals that fell into them or find firewood. He had to be cautious.

It was any other day today when he headed out into the woods, gun held tight as he went over to find one of his traps. Sure enough, something was caught in the snare—it wasn’t the typical deer but a human’s ankle. The person looked up and got a barrel of a gun to their face.

“How do I know you’re not infected?” he growled.