When he was young, he had liked to wake up to the feel of sunlight, and a warm summer's breeze on his face, but those days were long gone. He now lived in a windowless bunker somewhere under California.<br/><br/>All the little comforts of life had been stripped away as the Zombie infection spread. First it was quiet walks in the park: everyone stayed inside with their doors locked and bolted. Then, as the infection spread and people died or turned, phone service was gone and then electricity, and then running water in most areas. Now the world was baron, and as far as he knew, he was the very last survivor.<br/><br/>Nathan yawned, stretched, and opened his eyes. He was greeted, as always, by the four dull metal walls that made up his home. He lived in the basement of a house that had once been owned by a christian family. He had known them before the outbreak. They had this bunker to protect themselves from the Apocalypse. It was a shame that they were so into bible prophecies that they didn't even see the real one coming. The family, the Millers, was the nicest bunch you'd ever want to meet and they were the first Zombies that Nathan had wasted. The first of many.<br/><br/>They may have been wrong about when and how the Apocalypse would occur but they damn sure guessed right on how to survive it. The bunker was crammed with weapons, ammo, and non-perishable food and water. There were solar panels on the surface that fed into a battery below ground. One person could hold up there for years before running out of supplies. It even had a small portable two way radio, but from down there, the signal couldn't reach far into the outside world.<br/><br/>Nathan would spend many days and nights surfing the frequencies hoping to pick up a message although he knew it was unlikely. He was just so lonely. It had been so long sense he had seen or spoken with another human being. At night he would masturbate, but lately he found it difficult to picture a girl without discolored rotting skin and blood and gore dripping from her mouth. Sometimes when he got desperate enough he would leave the bunker and scout the surrounding areas. This was one of those times.<br/><br/>Nathan got out of bed and pulled on the cargo pants that lay in a heap on the floor, sliding the suspender straps over his bare shoulders. He grabbed a shotgun and a TEC-9 from the gun rack nearby. He stuffed two of his pockets with with extra ammo. On his way to the pantry he grabbed the hunting knife from his desk and slid it into the holder attached to the waist of his pants. He took a can of peaches and a bottle of water from the pantry, doubled back for the radio, and found pockets for them all. Lastly he pulled on a tight fitting black shirt that wouldn't snag or be grabbed if he was in a tight situation.<br/><br/>Now, ready for a foray into the outside world, Nathan climbed the metal ladder that led up to the access hatch.<br/><br/>The hatch led to the house above. He entered cautiously, shotgun in hand, and checked the premises. He carefully worked his way to the front door and walked out. That warm morning breeze that he had been missing hit his face. He cringed at the smell of rotting, festering, flesh, and switched off the safety on his shotgun. With his free hand he pulled the radio out of his pocket and started scanning the frequencies as he walked down the deserted streets.<br/><br/>Suddenly the static on his radio spiked, and he could sworn the meaningless fuzz had, for a moment, tried to make out a word. Excitedly he tried to tune in on the frequency in question. He he heard the word 'survivors' clearly before the static drowned it out again. He extended the antenna and continued tinkering with the dial 'New York' he heard the voice say. As quickly as it had come, the signal was lost. Nathan stood there in shock trying to find the frequency again. It was the first time he had heard a voice in years. The words played again and again in his head. He now knew for sure that he wasn't the only one left.