[Texas, 1980. Welcome to Walton City. In Nails May We Rust.]

The scorching Texas sun beams down on you as you walk down some road, rows of suburban houses to your right, and miles and miles of Texan desert to your left. Your hat provides some shade from the sun above. Your backpack is pretty empty but still filled with what little supplies you can find. You're lucky it's just the first week of the outbreak, and most stuff is still here.

you walk past a car crash, a bloated, decaying corpse between a light pole and a wrecked car, you gag at the stench

You see too infected leaning against eachother into each other, they haven't noticed you, their brains are probably damaged from the parasite, though they are still dangerous, and you walk away from them, still walking down the street