The air was cold this time of year. It made it difficult to be traveling alone on old abandoned roads covered by foliage. There was no beating mother nature. She always reclaimed what was taken from her.

It was quiet. He hadn't seen any infected so far in the last 7 miles of walking. Joel was hesitant to think that was a good thing. He never let hid guard down when he travelled. Joel had left the Boston quarantine zone on a solo smuggling mission. He was traveling on an old abandoned road when he came up to a bridge with the intent to cross.

Old and rusted. A showdown of what it would've been before the outbreak. he could easily use those words to describe himself as well. It was the only way to cross over a small ditch of swampy freezing water. no other way around for miles unless he was going to jump and swim for it. The bridge was long and if he got into some trouble on it their wouldn't be an easy way to get out of it.

His thick boots made the foliage under his feet creak and crack. He walked cautiously until he was a 3rd of a way down the bridge when he saw the unmistakable outline of another person.

Reaching for his weapon was like second nature and aiming at the stranger.

"Don't fucking move! Get your hands up."