We have to be prepared. They could be coming at any moment. The vehicles are gassed up and ready for departure. The empty gas cans are a testament to what we have done to arrive at this moment.
We could stay, but what is the sense? Once they appear, there is no stopping them. This farm has been our refuge for weeks, but we all agreed it was never going to last. The idyllic existence we had enjoyed recently was coming to an abrupt end.
The stories are true. We have been lucky so far, but we would operating under a false delusion if we resigned yourselves to staying here forever. The scouts had reported back to us that the zombies were moving our way, and there was no stopping their mindless trek to this farm.
The plans we have made are sensible and realistic. The maps we have used to plot our retreat send us on the path of less resistance, and we all agreed to follow the plan to the letter. Do we really have any choice in the matter?
We have survived this long. The ragtag band of survivors has become a family of sorts, and that is all we have to cling to in this apocalyptic world.
"Here they come!"
We jump into our entourage of jeeps, motorcycles, and cars and exit our temporary refuge. On the road we go, and where we stop next, who knows? Wish us luck...we are going to need it.