[@Alina13][@Aintitfun1997]

Hunter sat in the passenger seat of his pickup truck, even with the sheet over his shoulders he was cold. He wanted so badly to put the heater on to warm up, but that would mean he would have to turn the truck on, let the engine run in the quiet field, use what gas he had left inside of his only transportation back to town. If he was much closer he would walk it, maybe even bike it. But it was almost 30 minutes just to drive! Walking... He would be lucky to make that distance before worrying about nightfall. He knew where to find guns, he knew how to find food, he knew how to filter water, but gasoline? All of those pumps are electric, the only fuel he had he had to take from cars on the side of the road. The roads that were outside of town that was. It was too risky to try and get it from cars in town.

But other then the cold, he was comfortable. The moonlight light the small clearing decent enough he could see anything that wondered into the camp, he had his pump action in his hands, so if need be he could jump out and deal with any problems that raised, and there was still a hatchet by the wood pile if the situation could be handled with that. What he also had to make him feel nice was the fact that the worn seat inside the truck was nice and soft, with just him and the shotgun inside of the cabin there was enough room to feel... nice.

He sat for what seemed like forever, sometimes getting out of the truck to walk around just in case. Then going back in the cabin of the truck. It was when he leaned his head down that his hands pulled back the pump on the shotgun and he realized that he boom stick he was planning on using if things went wrong only had two hots in it. He opened the glove box for the spare shells. The box only had a few shells inside of it, most were in the silver case inside the camper still. Most were also training loads, useless other then... well training. But opening the glove box he found something he would have rather not have seen.

Hunter instead of grabbing the about empty box of shells grabbed a cheaply printed picture of a girl he once knew. He held the picture for a while before breaking down in tears. He wanted so badly to finish what he had started all that time ago, to go save his best friend.  He was forced to stop back then though, he told himself it was just until he had more fuel to travel a distance, more ammo to fight off the dead in case things went bad. But even when things were a lot better, even when he had the fuel to travel again, the ammo to fight off an army, he didn't leave. He stayed in his camp where he felt safe, where he felt invincible, where he felt he could do what ever he wanted. It wasn't until he found the picture that he had realized what his procrastinating had done, what he had chosen to do. He sat in the passenger seat the rest of the night, eventually crying himself to sleep. Waking up as the sun started shining through the windshield of his truck. Where he then proceeded to act like nothing had happened, putting the picture back into the glove box of the truck, loading the two shells from the box into the gun in his hand.