Strong winds in the evening yielded a strange surprise when the sun rose. Fliers printed in bright orange paper covered the ground, and more were stuck in the trees, flapping there like dying birds. NO HELP COMING read the header, making the rest of the flier seem redundant. A last act of the government, it served as both a warning and a surrender. NO HELP COMING. Welcome to the new normal.
The snow falls heavily as the world turns white, and visibility drops to only a few yards around you. Of course a blizzard would come now. You’re not alone though. Another shape moves through the storm, gesticulating wildly as it struggles through the whiteout. And then another. And still another. Your stomach lurches as you realise the odds are not in your favour… Stumbling into the middle of a roving horde of dead was not in your plans, and the colony is relying on your salvage.
“They don’t care that we’re starving! I can feel my ribs, yet that pantry door is locked up tight. We need food, and I don’t care what those scumbags say. There’s way more of us than them. I say we break that door down, and if any of them get in our way, well… its their choice if things turn ugly.”