My thumb flipped the safety to semi-auto as I brought my rifle up and scanned the surrounding trees for infected. None appeared. Gabe moved to my left and melted silently into the edge of the forest. I followed suit. The bare birches and pines provided cover while we waited, tense and alert. Gabe raised a hand and slowly pointed toward the crest of the hill ahead of us. The scope on my rifle magnified three figures as they detached themselves from the far edge of the old two-lane highway that intersected with our hiking path and scurried across the ridgeline at a brisk trot. Gabe watched them through his little binoculars until they had disappeared from sight before turning to look at me. I met his gaze, no doubt matching his surprised expression with one of my own.

 

Those were living people.

 

The undead do not move that fast, nor do they carry packs or firearms. Gabe had been living here since the beginning of the Outbreak, and other than me, he had not seen another living soul. He stood up and moved off in the newcomer’s direction, and I followed. There was no discussion necessary. Gabe and I knew each other well enough to guess what the other was going to do before he did it.

 

I shadowed Gabriel’s swift, silent movements as best as I could through the dense Appalachian woodland. It was soon obvious that the people we pursued were either laying a trap for us, or they were absolutely terrible at covering their tracks. Their trail would have been easy for a blind man to follow. They took no care to avoid breaking tree limbs, overturning rocks, disturbing moss and lichen, or leaving behind obvious footprints in the muddy ground. Gabe and I tracked them for the better part of two hours until they stopped at a campsite in the shadow of a steep overhanging ridge. Looking at their camp through my scope, I could see that they had a couple of tents, a fire-pit, a small steel drum converted into a makeshift grill, and the beginnings of a log cabin. They had dug the necessary footings for it, and the first layers of carefully trimmed logs lay neatly interwoven over top of one another. The trio of survivors started taking things out of their packs and organizing them into little stacks on an old white plastic folding table. Gabriel looked back at me and motioned me forward. I took my time, working my way down to his hiding spot as quietly as I could over the thick carpet of pine needles and dead leaves that covered the slope.

 

“What do you think?” He whispered.

 

“Not sure.” I replied. “They’re awfully close to our place. They might have noticed our cabin.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Gabe said.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Cause if they did, they would have either tried to rob us or make contact with us by now.