Dave lept to his feet, rifle in hand. A crow had disturbed his slumber. Which was just as well, he needed to get up anyway. He glanced out the window of his cabin. There was nothing but a few birds. Dave sighed in relief.
He walked to the cabinets- they could have some food, and he was starving. He opened the door. There was an old can of beans, with some chips that had expired months ago. He took out his knife, and set to work cooking breakfast. He had carried with him an old portable burner, and a small pot.
Breakfast was bland, but satisfying. He no longer felt hungry, and that was the important thing.
Caw, caw, caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!
Dave immediately raced to the window, grabbing his gun. Crows normally didn't get upset without a reason, and they were normally the first to know when a stiff came wandering in.
The outside of the cabin was no longer alive with the sound of birds; they had all flown away. Including the crow. But in the place of their sounds, a long, drawn-out moan echoed across the forest. Stumbling out from the trees came a stiff, medium-decay, with part of it's head gone. All it was wearing were short jeans. It had once been a young woman. But now it was something entirely different from any human. A zombie.
Dave crouched underneath the window and hoped it didn't see him. Although he could easily dispatch the stiff with a single shot, the gunshot could attract many more than he wanted to deal with. Besides which, he didn't think the cabin could withstand much of a pounding, if it came to a siege. No. He would have to wait until it left.
He waited for about fifteen minutes, until the sound of birds resumed. The danger had past, for a little while.
After waiting a little bit, Dave got out of the cabin and headed into the surrounding woods. The woods were loud with the sound of birdsong, which was good. Very good.
He walked into a small clearing. On the ground there was a tattered sleeping bag. When the apocalypse had first begun; when the dead had risen from their graves to devour the living; countless people had fled into the wilderness carrying hardly any supplies. Most of them had died after only a matter of days. This sleeping bag had obviously belonged to one of these; there were no other supplies in sight, and the bag was stained with blood. Dave stepped forward, towards the sleeping bag.
Without warning, there was a snap and he was rushed about twenty feet into the air. After the initial shock was over, he realized what had happened; he had stepped into some sort of trap, which had triggered a net to snare him and pull him into the air. Dave cursed himself for his stupidity. The trap could have been set by anyone. If he was lucky, the culprit was someone long deceased. If he wasn't... there could be Raiders involved.
Dave wasn't going to hang around to find out. He reached into his boot- he had a knife stored there, which he could use to cut his way loose. A quick probing of the boot revealed nothing. He glanced at the ground, expecting the worst. Twenty feet below him lay his knife and rifle. He had dropped the rifle, and the knife had fallen out. He must have done a sloppy job securing it the previous night.
He sat there, suspended, trying to plan out his next move.
Caw! Caw! Caw! CAWW!
A dozen eerie moans came next. Dave turned his head in horror. Approaching the site were about ten to twenty stiffs.