The sun is high over head as RK trudges along the side of the unkempt road. Dust blows out of his fur as a gentle breeze flows over him lifting his dirty brown cloak. In the distance a city's skyline is becoming visible. He continues at his slow pace passing a sign that says, "New York City, 3 miles". RK groans as he reads the sign.
"Three more god forsaken miles," he says in an almost crying tone. "But I'll make it, I will not die out here!" His words echo on the empty streets. RK pulls a metal baseball bat from his cloak and looks around quickly to make sure none of Them heard him. Letting off a quick sigh of relief as the street remains quiet, he moves on ahead, bat in hand.
The city continues to grow as houses become more densely packed. Many of them, their windows boarded, and if they're not, then the window is broken out. RK stops at house as noticing something on the door step. A skeleton, a human skeleton, lies motionless. In it's hand, a pistol, held just to the of it's head. Someone who managed to kill themselves before becoming one of Them.
"Lucky," RK says approaching the body. The pistol is worn from many days of sitting open to the weather, rusted and dirty. RK picks it up and looks it over. "This won't work." He tries to eject the clip, but it's rusted in place. Shrugging he pockets it, it looks like it used to be a nice gun. Then he continues along the road, growing ever closer to the main city.
