Above the chaos, on the freeway that cut through the town, his old duster billowing in the breeze and his balaclava doing what it could to keep the ever present stench of rotting flesh out of his nostrils, Gabrial watched through an old pair of binoculars at the two differing parties.  One was holding up in a store, surrounded by a horde of the undead.  The other, a pair of individuals, were heading away, chased by a few of the creatures.  Which group he would follow was a choice he had to make, and make fast.  The store was the natural choice, as he had seen more survivors there, and with food more than likely, but the pair may need help, and in this mad world, numbers were everything.<br/><br/>At length he decided the store.  The two on the run had obviously been able to survive this long with their system.  And at the store, there were supplies. He put the binoculars back in a pouch on his bag and removed his western hat to wipe the sweat off his brow.  Now he had to find a distraction to get the horde away from the store.  He looked in the trunk of his hybrid 1970 Chevelle for something to use, wondering how he was going to pull this one off...<br/><br/>His hand-held airhorn.  That should be loud enough, he thought to himself.  Hopping into the driver seat, he jams down the tab so it was stuck on and tossed the horn into the middle of the street before turning his beast on and driving off aways after seeing the horde moving in his direction.  Bypassing the horde and going through the backside of the town, he let the Big Block pull itself slowly into the area with the store and once close enough pulled into the loading dock.  After cautiosly checking his surroundings for the undead, he killed the motor and exited the car and banged on the loading bay doors.  "Hello?  Anyone in there?"  A side door cracked open and he entered hesitantly, looking around at the survivors here.  "Um...Hey there...I'm Gabe."