Jack had always hated that survivalist crap. Overdeveloped men throwing themselves into life threatening situations with only an egg, a lighter and 12 carrots to survive on for like a month. It had all seemed so pointless to him and yet here he was 6 months later having to survive in a world that used to offer all the creature comforts you could imagine. However being rather pampered in his life before the outbreak had only been a blessing. Whilst others suffered from overcrowding and fighting for the mealy resources they had available only to succumb to the infection he had been in a very quiet almost desolate area with barely anybody living near him. The wealthier had barricaded themselves in and stayed quiet, some driving off in their huge 4 by 4s. The first day that he deemed the 'beginning of the apocalypse' he had been able to get supplies from the hospital, drive home, pack a rucksack, get changed and prepare himself as much as he could. His rucksack contained a syringe, a few vials of penicillin, a lighter, a couple of bottles of water, a couple of tins of baked beans, a sleeping bag from his attic and a large winter coat for when it got colder. As well as this he was dressed in his favourite flannel shirt, a tough pair of black jeans, a leather jacket and carried a hatchet, from his shed, on his side and a number of tough scalpels, from his hospital, in a wire pouch he had sewn onto his rucksack, so that they wouldn't cut up anything or anyone if he fell or they just moved in the wrong way.

He was sitting in an old cafe that he used to frequent, before the outbreak, sipping on a cool bottle of water he had found in the back. The cafe had been pretty much bare and he was surprised to have even found the water. He had been moving around New Orleans for about a week now after he realised that cooping up in his own home would end up with him dead anyway. He was trying to find another group to move around with, there was always safety in numbers. However he still couldn't get over what happened to the last group, those poor kids. He had been surprised by the lack of walkers around this area and would have said it was his good luck, if he believed in luck, that had led him here. Just then he faintly heard the roar of a Harley. He had always liked bikes as a kid and knew the distinctive sound of a Harleys engine evine if he didn't like the bikes themselves. Turning his head the sound seemed to be coming from the nearby railroad, whoever was making that noise was going to be dead shortly and was probably also the reason he was zombie free. Raising the bottle of water up in salute he thanked whoever was on the bike and wished them a swift death. The sound got louder before it cut out and as it cut out he could here a fainter noise that was obviously much closer. Crying. Pulling a scalpel out of his bag he skulked round to the side entrance h had used. The crying was quieter here and so he moved round to the front entrance. This led onto a small road that went off in three directions. He couldn't yet see the source of the crying and so assumed it must be close and hidden. Putting his head further around he spied a small alley way off on his right. Stepping around slowly he walked up to the lip of the alley and pushed his head around. He couldn't see much however the crying was definitely coming from here. As he advanced down the alley his mind flashed back to the last group who had been crying. No. No, he wouldn't think about that. Finally he came to a large dumpster and around the other side of it sat a boy, huddled up in himself and whimpering. The kid looked barely older than 10 and by the state of his clothes had been out on his own for quite some time. Jack slid the scalpel back into it's pouch and kicked the dumpster making a quiet sound as it hollowly echoed. Jack knew kids, this would would definitely not trust him.

"Hey kid." Jacks gravely voice hummed. He raised his hands as if in surrender to assure the child that he had no weapons.