The quiet life of Toby's garage-turned home would be ruined March 1st.  There was no endless wave of Infected battering down the doors, now fire raging unchecked and threatening to destroy the entire neighbourhood.  No band of survivors willing to murder and steal to eck out a living.<br/><br/>It would seem the oddest sound at first, the sort of thing that was heard all too often in the early days, especially after the Evactuation failed.  Weeping, the sort of hopelessness that seized those without the strength to go on, or worse, those too terrified to end their own lives even knowing they were Infected.  Weeping, exhausted sobbing echoing from somewhere in the garage.  The sort of half heard sound that might have been one's own horrible memories creeping back to haunt you in those long, lonely hours.<br/><br/>It might take hours, or only minutes, for Toby not only to hear it but to realize it was real, and coming from close by.  From the storm drains in shop floor, and the sealed manhole that would lead down to the sewers and electrical lines under the city streets.  The tired, hopeless cries of a woman, apparently trapped in the pitch black tunnels under the city.