He had never been a Boy Scout.  He remembered that their motto was something like, "Always be prepared" or some such, but that had not been him.  Hell, he was lucky his head was attached, because if it wasn't, he'd leave it behind when he went out...<br/><br/>The thought sickened him, silly as it was.  He was lucky his head was attached - he'd passed a gent this morning who had not been so lucky.  His own luck probably wouldn't last too long, either; he knew he should have stayed at home, but again, he had never been a boy scout.  When the authorities said to lock all doors and stay inside, he did that...he didn't deliberately try to break the rules.  But his cupboards were bare, and the only things in his fridge were the remains of a leftover pizza, now growing their own ecosystem, and quarter carton of chunky milk.  This...this...hell, what would he call it?  War? Plague?  He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, he was most assuredly not prepared for it.  He lasted as long as he could, but hunger finally won out.<br/><br/>Two days ago, he's broken into a neighbors house - they hadn't answered the door, and gorged himself on some dry cereal and a couple cans of Coke.  He'd been mid-feast when his neighbor came stumbling into the room.  Something was clearly wrong with her...her head was kinked at an inhuman angle, and her left arm bent in ways no arm should bend, bones protruding from her flesh.  She gazed towards him with strange, glassy, blank eyes...and then she vaulted forward, moaning with a strange gurgling sound, trying to reach him.  He panicked...he had no idea what she meant to do, but she terrified him.  He reached back and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a rolling pin, and swung out to ward her off...but she hadn't slowed.  She rushed forward, and the pin came down upon her head.  The sound, the cracking of her skull...<br/><br/>His stomach revolted at the memory, and emptied itself.  He put the thoughts of his neighbor behind him.  Didn't matter anymore.  He grasped the crowbar he had taken from her garage, and looked around, finally trying to figure out where his feet had taken him today.  He saw the restaurant up ahead, and his stomach, now empty, once again began to rumble.  He made his way to the building, tried to peek inside, but the blinds were drawn.  He looked about, then moved to the back, looking for a door.  Finding one, he thrust his crowbar into the frame by the latch, and began to lever the door open.