I hang the sniper rifle from a makeshift strap that holds it to my back as I pick up a shotgun, and a double-handful of extra shells, putting them in a pouch that I'd made by sewing some fabric on to my pants leg. I cock the shotgun and lean it against the table, then push some large, heavy crates in front of the door we came in. I then peek out the door we're going to leave through. Only a few zombies...good. I might not even have to use my gun. I pick up a machete and slide it through my belt loop to hold it there, along with a crowbar on the other side. A person can never be too prepared. I stick a vial of boomer bile and a bottle of pills in my pocket, along with grabbing a first aid kit. I look at you as I pick up the shotgun again. "Ready?"