Graham crouched among the underbrush, holding his rifle tightly in his hands as he stalked the deer that had hopped and leaped into the grazing it now feasted in. He raised the scope of the rifle to his eye and took a long, deep breath in. He had to choose where he wanted to hit. A headshot would be ideal, but the deer was at an awkward angle and a misfire could result in it getting away and Graham having to make do with the little rations he had in his backpack. He moved his sights down to the deer's back legs. If he hit it just right he could make it go through the back left and then travel through into the front right, it was a hard shot, but one that would surely pay off if it was done correctly. He squeezed the trigger, the bullet flew into the deer's leg before it could even react. Graham was lucky, it went straight through the back left and into the front right, sending the deer toppling to the ground.
He would have to be quick about getting the meat, a gunshot would surely attract those flesh eating monsters that had caused this whole situation. He moved over to the deer which was writhing about on the floor and making noise. He quickly unsheathed his bowie knife and silenced it with a quick stab to the heart. A deer's anatomy was strangely similar to a man's in some places, Graham learned this through his many years hunting the poor bastards for sport. Now he hunted them to keep himself alive. He quickly made short work of whatever meat he could get off the dear, and took some of the fur too. He wrapped the meat in the fur and carefully placed it in his bag so if the meat did slip out it wouldn't contaminate his other food or get blood all over the insides of the bag,
He rose from his crouched position and wiped some of the blood from his knife and hands on his trouser leg. He slowly and cautiously made his way through the forest. He had camped there last night and was lucky to not encounter any walkers or bandits looking for a quick meal or kill. He'd killed men during this whole apocalypse, an action he'd sadly gotten used to. Time seemed to pass more slowly in the forest, he'd felt like he'd been there for days, there were no discernible landmarks and practically all the trees looked the same. Occasionally he'd find a remnant of times past, a name or two scratched into a tree or a swing hanging solely from a sturdy branch. It made him depressed to think about what might have happened to the people who carved their name lovingly into the tree or the children that played on the swing so he just moved on as quickly as he could whenever he saw something like that.
After a time spent walking he encountered a hopeful, yet distressing sight. A city. There would be supplies and possibly allies there, but there would undoubtedly be walkers and possibly bandits waiting for Graham to wander into a situation he wouldn't be able to save himself from. He saw a sign on the edge of the town, he raised his rifle's scope to his eye and read. "Salt Lake City" he'd never really heard of the place, only a few overheard conversations from people at restaurants or cafes could be recalled. He saw an old muscle car drive up. He let out a small 'heh'. He had a friend who had a car almost exactly like that, always overcompensating as Graham recalled. The small moment of jovial remembrance was wiped clean after he saw the stranger exiting the vehicle. He saw someone approaching the stranger stop and go prone. He watched the two, the first stranger decided to leave the car as did the second.
A few minutes after the two strangers had made their way into the city and Graham was down at the old muscle car. He had picked up the empty water bottle the stranger had thrown away and put it in one of the side compartments of his backpack. If he found clean water an empty water bottle would always be useful. He checked in and around the car ,but there was nothing but a few crisp crumbs and penny change left to salvage. Graham decided to leave it for whatever poor sap thought crisp crumbs would make a good meal. He was sorry to leave the car without siphoning any fuel from it, but alas he had no jerry can to carry it about in and even then it would be too much weight to bother with. He turned to the city entrance and slowly, but surely made his way in, holding his rifle at his waist in case of attackers.