It took quite a bit of doing, but after twenty minutes of carrying and/or dragging the dead deer along with him, he finally made it back to the cabin. The first thing he noticed was the bike parked out front - it hadn't been there before. Jack set the dead deer down beside his Toyota, and went to inspect the bike. It was expensive - at least, was before the outbreak, and in fairly good condition. But he knew what this meant, and gave a sideways glance at the cabin. He was no longer alone. The bike meant that there were a maximum of two people inside the cabin, though he couldn't be sure if it was an individual or a pair - nor how well armed they were. More importantly, he needed to know if they were friendly. Jack could use all the help he could get.

He armed himself with his Remington, made sure it was fully loaded, and took a couple of cautious steps toward the cabin. He couldn't see any movement from here, but noted that he was exposed. Quickly he made a dash for the wall beside the door, and pressed his back against it, holding the shotgun at the ready.
"I know you're in there," he ventured, hoping that he was speaking to someone reasonable. "And I figure you knew I was coming because of the truck. Look, whoever you are, I'm not here to harm you. My name is Jack Marino, I'm just trying to survive, like you. There's no need for this to end violently." He tightened his grip on the gun, hoping he didn't have to use it, but just in case. He had met some pretty crazy psychopaths on his drive up to Washington.