Shane's wandering through the forest on the outskirts of Atlanta, close to the where the group was camped up, big bag filled with a rifle and a buttload of ammo slung over his shoulder. They're lucky enough they got enough meat to eat thanks to the river near the quarry where Amy and Andrea fish, but he's getting awful tired of picking tiny bones out of his teeth. So he's out here looking for game, and hoping that nothing chooses to make a meal out of him.

He hears a crick of dry leaves and twigs nearby. Shane steps forward to where it originate with cautious step. His eyes catch something swinging in the wind, and it almost feels like he's hallucinating. Not trusting whatever lay ahead, he tucks the bag down by a fallen log, and carefully steps close, his palm rested on the Glock-17 on his holster.

He sees it again, a glint of light, something that's catching sunlight as it swings to and fro, tied by a thread to a high branch above. He reaches out, and catches it. A.. piece of glass. A mirror, actually. Shane sees half his face in the broken shard, and watches in horror as someone reaches out in the background behind him for the bag he'd set down, and takes off.

Breath catching in his throat, he drops the shard and takes to his feet, following the fast, elusive footsteps that crunched through the foliage far ahead.

"H-hey! GET BACK HERE, YOU CUNT, THAT SHIT'S MINE!" he calls out, panting hard.