Chapter 1: The Road to Henderson

The dusty streets of Atlanta lay before me like a barren wasteland, the abandoned buildings a grim reminder of what we had lost. I adjusted my backpack, the weight of our supplies digging into my shoulders as I walked alongside Eugene Porter. The silence between us was comfortable, a familiar ease that came from sharing countless close calls and hard-won victories in this new world. Our mission was to reach Henderson, a small town about twenty miles east of Atlanta, in search of much-needed medical supplies. The rumors had been circulating for weeks – a hidden cache of antibiotics, painkillers, and surgical equipment, just waiting to be scavenged. It was a risk, but we had to try. Our people were counting on us. As we walked, Eugene fidgeted with the grip of his rifle, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. I kept my hand on the grip of my own gun, my senses on high alert. We had been lucky so far, but luck was a fleeting thing in this world. The streets were empty, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. We moved quickly, our footsteps light and deliberate. The last thing we needed was to attract unwanted attention. Eugene pointed to a side street, and I nodded, following him as he veered off course. "What's the plan, Eugene?" I asked, my voice low. "We need to hit the local hospital," he replied, consulting a crumpled map. "If the rumors are true, that's where we'll find the supplies." I nodded, my mind racing with the possibilities. The hospital was always a risk – the sick, the injured, and the desperate often congregated there, hoping to find help. But we had to try. As we approached the hospital, I could feel a growing sense of unease. Something didn't feel right. The building loomed before us, its windows shattered, the doors hanging crookedly on their hinges. Eugene motioned for me to move forward, and I crept ahead, my gun at the ready. The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with the stench of decay. I moved cautiously, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Eugene followed close behind, his rifle trained on the shadows. Suddenly, I heard a faint noise – a low groan, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. My heart quickened as I turned to Eugene, my eyes locked on his. We were not alone. What do you want to happen next?