One more step Herman thought, as he trudged through the thick brush of a deep forest, His wounds stung as he put one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely. Herman’s deep brown hair was matted, and his dirty face had some worry lines. He looked around 30 Ish; his clothes were torn in some places. like his plaid overcoat had a hole in the jacket pocket; his cargo pants knee had a gaping hole poorly sewn closed. A gut-wrenching scream pierced the foggy sky, “Damn it” Herman groaned as the screams were getting ever so closer. “A banshee is close.” He muttered Quietly, he noticed in the thick but patchy brush, a fallen Road sign. Rusted in Someplaces but still readable, it Said Greensborough in 2 miles, “Maybe I can get some rest there. Just maybe.” As he continued forward, he felt something slip out of his backpack, his journal fell. After the fall, Herman kept notes of the horrors of the apocalypse hoping it would eventually prove of use. Begrudgingly he slowly bent down and picked up his journal at the same time he gently dusted it off, the book was leatherbound with poorly made bindings on the spine of it. The book had torn and bent Corners as well as a strange smell, Herman quickly turned around and checked thoroughly around his surroundings, when Herman was satisfied, he made his trek again. Eventually the Surrounding oak and maple trees started to scatter, as he saw the pothole ridden asphalt road leading to Greensborough. His mind drifted, reminding him of the time before the apocalypse, he was just a construction worker trying to make ends meet. His old apartment was only around 750 square feet, just big enough to hold him and his cat but not too expensive so that he can't afford necessities, like cat food and basic groceries. Herman walked along the road slowly so as not to agitate his wounds, “I need to find a place to sleep for the night” he muttered. He tended to narrate himself so he could keep track of what he was doing, not an amazing trait for everyday life. The town was about a half a mile away now, “almost there.” The town appeared to be empty, which was strange since he thought there would be infected, but there was nobody.  Not even birds lurked around, the town had a single road that went through the middle of it, then after 20 or so buildings on each side. The road split off into two roads, one leading to the church, and the other leading to an old neighborhood secluded by tall pine trees. Herman, still beguiled by the town's silence, went to one of the old pharmacies about halfway into town and started to scavenge for anything of use, especially clean bandages and antibiotics. Since his wounds would get infected if he didn't clean them, the store was a very open space with rows of shelves in a vertical line from the entrance and stops at the counter. The place was mostly picked clean except for some bottles of kids cough medicine and ibuprofen, Herman, clearly disappointed, started to pick up some bottles of ibuprofen and then started to walk to the right of the counter. And walked to a glass door leading to a small room behind the counter and started to rummage through the containers scattered on the shelves and found a paper bag labeled with the name Abagail Callahan. shortly after reading the bag, he saw it, a prescription for amoxicillin “that will work fine.” he said in a tired voice, he quickly opened the bottle and picked up a pill sloppily and took it with some water from a canteen he had. The water was disgustingly warm but clean, he took gulp after gulp and let out a big sigh. Herman, clearly tired, stumbled into a quiet janitor closet and awkwardly slid down the back wall of the closet to the floor, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

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