The convoy of vehicles rolled into what remained of Hudson Falls as the last light of day began to fade. George gripped the wheel tightly, his eyes scanning the desolate streets. The small town was nestled on the edge of a vast lake, which glistened darkly under the setting sun. But the once-quaint homes and small businesses were in ruins. Shattered windows, charred walls, and debris littered the streets, evidence of the chaos that had ripped through this place.
The survivors were few, but they had fortified a section of the town, using what they could to barricade themselves from the monsters. As George pulled up to the barricade, a group of weary, armed figures stepped forward. They looked ragged, thin, and exhausted from days, maybe weeks, of terror.
A man with graying hair, deep lines on his face, and a rifle slung over his shoulder walked up to the SUV. His worn eyes locked with George's through the cracked windshield.
