[b]Outside Jonesboro,
Victor "Vic" Hammerstein[/b]

Dully glowing embers fell from the tip of the lit cigarette as Victor took a long drag off it, a soft breeze carrying the tiny flecks of red away and scattering them across the air. Vic Hammerstein was a tall and well built man, standing at 6'2 with a lean, muscular frame befitting of a professional soldier. Smoking was a nasty habit and one he rarely partook in. He disliked the negative effects it had on his health and teeth but sometimes he needed to relax and with so many fine packs of cigarettes laying around, free for the taking, he decided he might as well relax on his break. He'd been walking or driving all day, ducking in and out of alleys and buildings to avoid the Walking Dead when his car would've drawn too much attention. For the first five days of the chaos he'd stayed with his employer, guarding his mansion as agreed. But the man's constant condescending, snide tone wore on him rapidly and when the infected became too much to handle, Victor had taken everything of value that he could use, stolen a car and abandoned the rest to die, escaping as the Walkers were drawn towards the screams of his coworkers and the family they guarded. He regretted nothing. 

Over subsequent days he'd splurged in the extreme, spending every penny of the cash he'd taken and trading some of the other valuables for ammunition, fuel, etc. He knew from both training and experience in third world nations that the money would be completely worthless everywhere within a few days, so better to spend it now (even at a ridiculously inflated rate) than use it for fire starter later. 

Now, Vic sat on the sidewalk in front of a small convenience store, a "Stop-N-Rob" his father had called them. The name was fitting, especially in the chaos of the end of the world. The concrete walls were pockmarked with small caliber bullet holes and most of the windows smashed. Victor had only been able to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and some junk food from the looted store and was now thinking on his next move, rifle in his lap. 
He needed a solid place to stay, or a strong group to travel with. Living in town wouldn't be a good idea, but the roads out to the country would still be clogged with evacuating refugees, and therefore the Dead. He needed to hide for a while, until things settled, then he'd head to the middle of nowhere and ride out the storm. Living nomadically like that would require a group though. So, step one was to get a group. But, to get a group, he'd need a home for them. So, step zero would be to find a place to defend, then gather some survivors there. 

Vic stood, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. It was time to get to work. But where to begin?