Tristan: Chris's body, at least what the infected wolves didn't chew off, is sitting against one of the walls of the ranger station. His chest is ripped open and so is his head. His left arm is missing and both his legs are nothing but bones. "Holy shit," Bailey says when she sees Chris's body herself. "The wolves really went crazy on Chris." "Poor bastard," Rebecca says. "That's not right," I say. "Yeah," Bailey goes on. "That's not right. I hope Chris was at least dead before they dug into him." "Not that," I say. Looking around some more, I then approach the front door of the ranger station. With the wooden plank ready in my hands, I peek in. "Son of a bitch," I say, lowering the plank. "I was right. Fuck. I hope I wasn't but I was right." "What," Rebecca asks. She and Bailey walk up to my side. I step aside to show them what I've found. There, in the ranger's station, is a blood-covered floo

Marcus Fellow: "Hello," I say, shooting a civilian a quick wave. The civilian nods his head back as I continue my daily patrol. Walking through the marketplace, and then through the housing section, I finally stop at the motor pool. The same two guards from before see and immediately drop their weapons. They open the gate for me and I walk right through. "Thank you," I say with a salute. Once through, they close the gate and go back to guarding. I walk through the mostly empty motor pool before finding Jacob. At least, half of him. "Hey," I say, tapping the side of the military jeep. "You busy?" "Yeah," Jacob says, pulling himself out from underneath the jeep's hood. "Kind of. We have three jeeps but only one of them barely worked. This one is close but I'm still missing a few parts." "Too bad you couldn't have talked to that Tristan guy before he and his family left," I say. "What? They're gone? Wonderful." "Not exactly. They've gone to the other sections of the bunker." "Th

Tristan Harlow: Climbing up onto the roof of the command office, I crouch down and look around. I think about which directions the wolves ran and which directions the noise came from. I see some nearby wolves running through a line of destroyed buildings. "They seem to be heading to the west side of the bunker," I think. "That must be where Rebecca and Bailey are. Son of a bitch." As I watch the wolves run for a few seconds, I see them group up with some more wolves in what looks like a rundown hut. The pack grows bigger, and from where I'm crouching, I count at least ten wolves in total. "Fuck," I cry. "10 wolves. 10 infected wolves. All heading to Rebecca and Bailey." My instinct is telling me to run. Every bone in my body is telling me to just turn around and run. I see myself leaving this death trap, getting back in the car, and driving the hell out of here. However, despite all the voices turning me to l

Rebecca: I dig and dig through the dirt until claw marks are everywhere. When I dig up the last plot of dirt, I show Drifter a small handful of seeds. "This ain't much," I yell from the vegetable garden. "But I think it's more than enough," Drifter shouts from on top of the nearby building. "After this, the people in that damn bunker will trade with us."' Drifter shoots me a thumb-up while I nod my head. While I put the seeds into my pocket, I look around. The whole garden is still surrounded by those infected wolves. They're just outside the iron gate, watching, staring at Bailey and me. "We managed to get the seeds," I think, "

Tristan: As the soldiers open fire on me, I keep running while keeping my head low. "Crap, crap, crap," I shout as I run for my life. Having to jump left and right as bullets hit the ground and throw dirt into my face, I reach the city and turn a corner. Crouching down as the soldiers keep shooting, I cover my head. "Ahhhh," I scream, squeezing my head in between my hands. As the gunfire dies down, I look around the corner and see the soldiers all reloading. They switch the empty magazine for another magazine and run toward me. "Crap," I shout again as I look around. In what looks like a small neighborhood with makeshift houses, I turn around and see myself against a small house, not even half my height, made from sheet metal and broken wooden posts. I look through a nearby window and see