[b]Cody - Near The Pub[/b]

A cold wind slithered in between the decaying buildings of New Orleans and kicked up little flurries of snow all around, its mournful howl punctuated with the occasional moan of the undead. A lone soldier, ducking into yet another alleyway, pulled his shemagh tighter around his face, the cold biting at his cheeks. The weight and coverage of his uniform, equipment and armor kept the rest of his body warm enough to be unfazed by the cold and for once he found it was surprisingly comfortable. He remembered unpleasantly all the weeks he'd spent in the desert, training and sweating buckets under all of his gear and desperately wishing for shade from the sun's violent rays. This weather was a refreshing change and just about the only positive thing he'd experienced in the last several weeks. 

The soldier was one Corporal Cody Heiler, a Combat Medic in the United States Army's 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. At 6'2, he was an imposing figure even with his rather slim build, thanks to the bulk of his armor. His black hair had been recently shaved into a short buzz, a decision he would've regretted if not for his helmet keeping his head warm. Dark green eyes swept his surroundings warily, waiting to catch a glimpse of movement from some window or door that would signal an impending fight. The young soldier had been in a near constant state of alarm and awareness for the past several days, constantly waiting to be attacked and for good reason. In a matter of weeks the young man's life had gone from bad to worse to dire and morbid. The refugee camp the 3rd Cavalry had maintained, just outside of their home base of Fort Hood, had been wracked by disease, shortages and infighting between the residents and shortages of troopers due to ever mounting casualties in the war on the undead. They had thought their situation was bad then, but when a solid mass of Walkers close to a thousand strong lumbered their way, the unsuspecting populace of the camp realized that starvation and overcrowding were the least of their worries. Despite the best efforts of the perimeter guards, the walking dead smashed through the gates and overwhelmed the guard posts, flowing over them like ocean waves. The population had retreated further into the camp, trying to escape, but their panicked efforts were in vain. Only a handful of people got out the back gates before the horde surrounded the camp and flowed in from both directions. It was pure luck that saw Cody leave the camp alive. 

Before long, he found himself in Louisiana, headed for another camp just outside New Orleans. But upon his arrival, he and his two comrades discovered the camp in ruin, its populace having joined the shambling, flesh eating hordes days ago. Once again, Cody narrowly escaped with his life, though one of his fellow troopers wasn't so fortunate. A short time later, his second companion had committed suicide with his sidearm, leaving Cody to face the apocalypse alone. His vehicle out of commission and everyone in his life dead and gone, Cody had wandered off into New Orleans, searching for a place to stay and something to do. 

Now he was here, creeping through abandoned apartments and stores like a stray cat, fearful of discovery. Cody let out a long, tired sigh as he rounded yet another street corner, his will to continue slowly fading. Looking upwards however, his expression changed to one of surprise and disbelief as he saw lights coming from a little hotel across the street. He could see people inside, moving about and talking to each other. The place seemed warm and inviting and Cody wondered if it was a sanctuary or a trap. He decided quickly though, that there was only one way to really find out. He slowly walked across the street to the hotel, his carbine hanging from its sling in front of him, non threateningly. 
When he reached the door, he stood slightly to the side of it and raised a gloved fist to knock three times. 
"Hello?"
he called.
"Can I come in? I'm not looking for trouble."