Kyden

Kyden:crouching inside the shell of an old convenience store, his eyes scanning the shattered windows. He’s been tracking a small herd of zombies moving through the outskirts of town and knows he has maybe fifteen minutes before they drift this way. He quietly picks through the shelves—most are empty, but he spots a dusty can of beans under a fallen rack. He slips it into his backpack and listens again: faint shuffling outside. Not close yet, but getting there.