Cars sucked. 

Cars really sucked.

Having to drive a car sucked like a hoover that just got a shot of NOS.

Gareth sighed and cranked the wheel to the left, turning down a small alley. The wide truck barely fit between the buildings but he'd had plenty of practice, and he'd torn off the side view mirrors the first time down that alley so it didn't matter anymore. 

He stopped the truck below a fire escape and threw it into park. It took a little maneuvering but he was nimble and within a minute he had the keys in his pocket and had slid over the drivers seat and into the back. 

The rear window slid open and he forced a duffle bag packed with supplies through the narrow opening. The bag landed in the bed with a loud thump and he quickly followed it out, pausing a moment to listen for the telltale sounds of the dead.

Nothing.

He grabbed the bag and pulled the strap over his head before he jumped and grabbed hold of the ladder dangling from the fire escape. Five minutes later and he was pushing up the window on the fifth floor of the high rise and slipped into the dimly lit apartment. 

Blue Oyster Cult's (Don't) Fear the Reaper was playing on the static filled radio and he couldn't help a grin. 

"Looks like Z has good taste in music still," he called out. "Come on in, Felicity. I found some ravioli while I was out." 

Without waiting for a reply he dumped the duffle bag onto a table and started pulling out canned food and other various sundries.