Alan perched silently in the oak tree, scanning the cliffside for signs of the infected. The area near the caves remained still, with no movement or sound. After nearly an hour of watch, hunger pangs pierced Alan's stomach. He needed to find food and water soon – his mad dash from the dorms had left him with nothing.
He usually skipped dinners but started his days with a full breakfast, but this caused him a great deal of issues this time.
Carefully, he climbed down the oak, wincing as his bruised arm throbbed. He would have to push through the pain. With no supplies, his only hope was scavenging. Alan headed downhill into the woods, movements slow and measured. The forest floor was strewn with twigs and branches that could snap underfoot, announcing his presence.
After walking for fifteen tense minutes, Alan spotted a promising sight – one of the park's ranger's rooms. Keeping low, he approached the small brick building. Pressing his ear to the metal door, he listened intently. No shuffling footsteps or moans came from within. Cautiously, he turned the handle and opened the door with a crack. The room appeared empty, if in disarray – papers scattered across the tile floor, a trash can tipped over. Slipping inside, Alan locked the door behind him.
First, he drank deeply from the half empty water bottle, the room temperature water soothing his dry throat. Then he rifled through the medicine cabinet on the wall. Most of the shelf space was empty, but he found a small first aid kit. Inside were some gauze pads, medical tape, and a pack of ibuprofen. Alan quickly downed two pills, hoping to dull the ache in his arm. After padding his makeshift sling with gauze, he felt a bit more prepared to face the horrors outside.
The room had no food or weapons, but some useful tools hung on the wall. Alan grabbed a hammer, screwdriver, a sack, and heavy-duty flashlight. He also found a dirty mop which he broke the handle off of, creating a serviceable wooden staff. Thus armed, he felt ready to continue his search.
Exiting the room, Alan headed west, following the tree line along the park's main access road. Before long, a small cinder block building came into view – one of the park's equipment sheds. Keeping low, Alan approached the shed and peered through a filthy window. His heart leaped – bags of fertilizer and gardening tools filled the interior. Where there were gardening tools, there might be food. Gripping the hammer tightly in his good hand, Alan slowly opened the creaking door.
The shed was musty but seemingly empty. Alan quickly filled a burlap sack with any tools that might be useful – trowels, snippers, rakes. Then he turned to the back corner, where large bags of soil amendment and fertilizer were stacked. Moving a few bags aside revealed a battered metal cooler. Hands shaking, Alan unlatched the lid and opened it.
"Yes!" he whispered. The cooler held half a dozen bottled waters, some sodas, and several pre-made sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. Alan eagerly unwrapped a sandwich and a bit into it ravenously – the egg salad which he previously despised had never tasted so good. He downed two bottles of water and two more sandwiches before packing the rest into his sack. His stomach still grumbled, but it was enough to take the edge off his hunger.
Re energized, Alan felt ready to keep searching for more supplies. The park's visitor center would have vending machines, maps, and possibly camping gear. Hefting the heavy sack of scavenged goods, Alan crept back out into the woods.
After hiking for twenty minutes, he arrived at the Visitor Center parking lot. The once-tidy grounds were now littered with trash and debris. Alan scanned the lot and surrounding picnic areas. No movement or sounds indicated the infected were near. Gripping his makeshift staff, Alan made his way to the building's front entrance. Cracks spider webbed the glass doors, but they remained intact. Peering inside revealed a shadowy interior, the lights long dead.
Taking a deep breath, Alan pulled open the door and went in, flashlight beam dancing ahead. Overturned displays and torn posters littered the front rooms. He scavenged energy bars and packs of other kinds of snacks from the vending machines. In the gift shop, he found reusable water bottles to fill. Sturdy backpacks and rain ponchos hung on a rack. After stuffing his sack full of supplies, Alan shrugged on a backpack and continued searching.
The information desk had park maps and informational brochures. Alan grabbed a map, scanning it quickly. His eyes fixed on a notation – "Park Ranger Station." That would have communications equipment and emergency supplies. Folding the map, Alan headed for the exit when a scuffling sound froze him in place.
Adrenaline spiking, Alan shined his flashlight toward the back hall. Behind a fallen display stood a hunched figure, face obscured and clothes soaked in blood. It let out a gurgling snarl and started limping toward Alan. He barely had time to react before it was upon him, jaws snapping wildly.
Alan swung his staff, cracking the zombie across the forehead. It fell back with a warbled shriek. Wasting no time, he sprinted for the exit. Bursting into daylight, Alan ran full tilt across the parking lot. Risking a glance back, he saw the crazed infected stagger out of the building in pursuit.
Panic surging through him, Alan raced for the surrounding woods. He plunged into the trees just as snarling jaws snapped behind him. Dodging around a thick trunk, he watched the zombie slam into it full force. Before it could round the tree, Alan brought his hammer down hard on its skull. The thing collapsed, unmoving.
Panting, Alan quickly rifled through its pockets with a look of disgust, but he steeled his heart. After rummaging through the pockets, he found a Swiss army knife and packaged snack cakes. The thing had once been just a normal park visitor. Shuddering, Alan hurried away through the trees. He needed to get to the Ranger Station before more infected arrived.
*Navigating by map and sun position, Alan hiked for over an hour up into the forested hills. The pain in his arm had faded to a dull ache. Eventually, he spotted a small log cabin nestled between pine trees. The Ranger Station. Alan observed from the treeline, watching for any movement. The cabin appeared still, almost picturesque in the fading afternoon light.
Approaching cautiously, Alan found the door locked. He circled the building, peering in the windows. The interior seemed in order – desks, file cabinets, radio equipment, and a small kitchen. No signs of life, or death. Working quickly, Alan used his scavenged screwdriver to open a back window. He flipped on his flashlight and climbed inside.
Securing the window again, Alan began eagerly rummaging through the cabin. The kitchen had canned goods and bags of rice, which he quickly packed into his sack. A first aid kit provided more pain meds for his arm. In a storage closet, he found blankets, ropes, and rain gear. A locker held bear spray, heavy flashlights, and a rifle with boxes of ammo.
Jackpot.