Kevin and George became aware of a commotion as they approached the area with the other survivors. Moving in stealthily, they found a standoff between their group and a stranger.

Despite the man's slim frame, he was heavily muscled. Tattoos created colorful imagery on the back of his hands and up both arms to where they vanished under the edges of his sleeveless shirt. His head was shaved to a thin fuzz, and his partially grown beard had more black hair than what currently resided on his scalp.

When Kevin and George arrived, they found the stranger holding one of their people in a headlock. A knife in the man's fist was tilted back against his prisoner's neck behind the ear. His opposite hand leveled a sawed off shotgun toward the others of the group, switching between targets and silently threatening anyone who even looked as if they would interfere.

"Whoa," Kevin said. "Who are you?"

"Since you clearly don't have a clue what's going on, that must make you the leader," the man commented, shifting the aim of his shotgun toward Kevin. He noticed the badge in his belt. "Cop, huh?"

"Used to be," Kevin replied.

"Can't say I cared much for them, even before the end of the world," the stranger said. Despite holding the shotgun at arm's length, his muscles let him keep it steady and unwavering.

"Things are different now," Kevin said, trying to defuse the situation before one or more people got killed. "My name's Kevin."

"Adam," the man stated.

"Good to meet you," Kevin said.

"You don't know that yet," Adam interrupted. "For all you know, it won't be good at all that we met."

"Let's find out," George said.

Kevin didn't know how, but George had managed to draw his katana sword without him noticing until the sunlight flashed along its mirror surface.

"Why are you holding our man prisoner?" Kevin asked, trying to bypass the growing tension.

"He tried to take my things," Adam answered. "No one takes from me what I don't offer."

"This has clearly been a misunderstanding," Kevin said, keeping his voice calm despite his rapid heartbeat. "We didn't know anyone else was here. We were gathering a few supplies before we leave."

"I'm passing through myself," Adam explained. "You can help yourself to whatever I leave behind, but until then, this place and its stuff is mine."

"He's got medicine," the hostage managed to gasp before Adam tightened his arm around the man's throat.

"Like I said," Adam reminded. "This stuff is mine."

"We're not trying to steal from you," Kevin promised. "We're putting together a few things for.."

"Look, Cop," Adam interrupted. "I don't care. I don't care who you are, where you're going, or in what way you die. If it doesn't affect me, I don't care."

"I does affect you," Kevin insisted. "It affects what remains of the whole human race. This is about making sure we have a future."

"There's no such thing anymore," Adam denied. "There's only today and maybe tomorrow. Day to day is all anyone gets. I'm headed to Montana or Wyoming, one of those northern states with loads of undeveloped territory. The lower the population level, the fewer zombies."

"

You won't be able to get away from the undead," Kevin warned. "They're spreading out from all infected cities, merging into larger groups. Eventually, they'll converge from all directions like ocean waters swallowing a sinking ship. They'll find you no matter where you go."

"At least I'll have a few more days," Adam responded. "When death is certain, does it matter whether it's sooner or later. The result is the same."

"We've found a different option," Kevin continued. "We're going to build an encampment in the canopy of a forest, out of their reach."

"Good luck with that," Adam said in a dismissive attitude. "I'm headed north."

He released his hostage, shoving him down to the pavement. Adam shifted his boot under the black backpack at his feet and kicked it, catching it in air without taking his eyes or his aim off of Kevin.

"Like I said, no one can guarantee more than day to day," Adam said. "You going to shoot? I promise you, I won't die alone."

"Let him go," Kevin ordered. The people surrounding him backed away, clearing his path to the north.

"Good luck to you, Cop," Adam said in parting, slowly backing away. When the positioning of the buildings allowed, he ducked behind one and vanished out of sight.

"Those supplies he took might be needed," George commented.

"We're not scavengers," Kevin responded. "We don't kill simply because we have a need. Isn't that right, Priest?"

George nodded, a knowing smile on his face. He flipped his curved sword over, dragging the smooth top of the blade across the back of his hand holding the sheath. When the tip of the sword reached the lip of the sheath, he changed the angle of the sword, lifting up on the grip before putting the weapon away inside its covering in a single fluid motion.

As George walked away, Kevin watched him for a moment. Nagging questions lingered in Kevin's mind as to who George really was under those priestly garments he wore.

Setting aside his unease for a later date, Kevin focused on getting his people back on task. They still had significant work to do; the battle between the scavengers and zombies could end at any moment, and Kevin didn't want to be around when the winner stopped by for a visit.

***

Razor brought down his sword on a zombie crawling across the dirt toward him. Turning in place, he used the momentum of his body, adding to the strength his arms and powering his blade into a horizontal slice that lopped off the head of another zombie approaching from his right.

His guns had already run out of ammunition, and he'd been forced to rely only on his sword. Spinning and dodging between the slow moving undead, Razor hacked and slashed his way through his adversaries. Blood and severed body parts followed in his wake, but they were quickly covered by the falling bodies of the slain.

Time passed as Razor continued his killing unabated. Years of violent experiences among the scavengers served him well in his task. When he finally stopped, the encampment was clear of the undead. As he looked around, breathing hard, he saw the zombies horde had been exterminated, and the Snake Eye clan had gone with them.

Surveying the desolation, Razor saw no one else standing. He couldn't care less about the other animals of the clan. They'd only be useful as a shield between him and the predators of the broken world. The only concern in his heart was for another.

"Red!" he shouted. Picking his way among the dead, he continually called out. "Red!"

"Raz or," Red answered as she emerged from one of the tents. She carried a zombie arm in one hand and the bloody blade she'd used to remove the limb from its owner in the other hand.

"One of these days," Razor told her as he happily embraced her, "I'm going to have to teach you how to say my name right."

Sticking her knife in a nearby zombie corpse, Red dropped the severed limb she carried and wrapped both of her arms around Razor.

The two of them picked through the tents and bodies of the scavengers, securing whatever useful items and unfired ammunition they could put their hands on. They moved carefully to be certain they didn't get any of the zombie blood on them. they didn't know how much exposure was required to get a person to turn, but neither of them wanted to find out.

When the scavengers had originally set up their base on the hill, they'd wanted to be sure it would never fall into the hands of their enemies, living or otherwise. They'd made a few preparations, and Razor thought now was the best time to make use of them.

Tall pipes rose from the ground behind every tent. Red didn't know their function and dismissed them, attributing the metal tubes to decoration or some of the thrown together barricades like those surrounding the outpost.

Razor opened the valves on each pipe and came to meet Red by the entrance. He pulled the lever beside a windmill, linking it to a gearing system. The gears spun as the strong breeze turned the windmill blades. A connected pump began to work, drawing up the flammable liquid hidden in two massive storage tanks buried under the hill where the encampment stood.

Fuel sprayed in all directions from the array of pipes, but Razor and Red had already departed. Razor fired the single flare he possessed before tossing the spent flare gun, its purpose fulfilled. The flaming projectile touched off the fuel coating the scavenger settlement, instantly setting everything ablaze. The slain zombies, the dead scavengers, and all the things they'd plundered over the years went up in flames.

Razor and Red walked away from the conflagration, a heavy pack carried by each of them held all the salvage they could carry. It wouldn't last long, but it was enough to tide them over until they found a new home where they could defend against intruders of any kind.

Knowing a transport of some kind would help them cover more ground, Razor led the way toward a nearby military base.

***

Adam strolled along the roadway leading from the survivors he'd encountered. His pack was slung over his shoulder, and he adopted a brisk pace he'd be able to maintain for hours.

As he continued his chosen course, the empty road and clear skies let his mind return to what the cop had told him about finding a place out of the reach of the zombies. It was a nice idea, but he'd run into many people over the years with the same train of thought. Sanctuaries, infection free zones, and even fortified cities capable of keeping out anything, he'd heard it all before.

One by one, they all died off, the people and their hopeless dreams. Adam knew the truth others refused to see. The world and everyone in it was doomed. They could cling to their fanciful ideas and daydreams of escaping the horrors of the world if that was their way of coping, but Adam faced it directly.

Death would come for him one day; it traveled with him every step he took. If he only had a year, a month, or a single hour remaining to him, he'd enjoy his life and not waste time chasing some delusion.

Rounding a gentle curve in the road, Adam skidded to a stop. He looked but couldn't believe what he saw for he'd never seen so many undead before. Crowded together shoulder to shoulder, the undead completely blocked all four lanes of the road, spilling over into the surrounding countryside as well. Adam assumed the road continued through the woods, but he couldn't see any of it, only the unending ranks of walking corpses.

"This could be a problem," Adam muttered.