Sound had always been the staple of modern man and theirs vehicles. The deep rumble of a diesel engine on a crowded highway, the way a Mustang barked when it gathered speed, the calling card of those who enjoyed their machines furious. All things that would eventually get you killed. All thing that had undoubtedly got many killed, as evidence from the wrecks and reanimated drivers, still struggling to free themselves from their seatbelts. 

Montana's military grade truck, sprayed an innocuous dark blue, was stuffed with so much automotive insulation it's once fearsome rumble had been muted to a stifled hum. This was a sound for the contemporary human, just quiet enough to only attract the most inquisitive of the tireless legion. It allowed him to idle in near silence as well. Useful if there were humans lurking nearby. As was true in the old world, humans were still the most problematic species around. 

Problematic enough to leave their abandoned cars in the middle of the road. This issue had grown worse the closer he got to Atlanta. His main options were to try and drive through, or to move them manually. If he was lucky, he could simply move them out of park and they rolled on their own. Other times, he'd have to get out and physically push them out of the way. 

Luck favoured the man, and the car sitting in his way, an old sun bleached Chevrolet, rolled freely across the road, where it came to a stop against a parking meter. 

Back in his truck, the man continued down the road, passing several landmarks of interest, when he caught the tail end of lucid human bodies entering an abandoned gas station. Valuing intel over rashness in this situation, Montana turned slowly into a group of abandoned vehicles, and brought his truck to a slow stop. Had it been anywhere else, he would have kept driving, but since this was his first time in the city, he wanted to speak with some of its inhabitants. How the next few moments played out would effect his method of gaining that information.