Harrisburg's Cache

Looting cleared out the non-perishables. Our gang got creative, foraging and hunting with traps, saving our ammo for the zombies. We ate a dog once. I had a rough time with it, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the most succulent meat I’ve had since beef. That’s a matter of perspective, since we’ve only managed to trap a few squirrels. They taste how you’d imagine, gamy as hell and their tiny bones difficult to navigate.

This guy who joined us in Harrisburg knows where there’s a hidden cache. He couldn’t offer any details other than the location. Our hunger compels us to follow even the flimsiest lead.

Harrisburg takes us through the snaking corridors of the storage facility. I stay vigilant, tightening my grip on my nine iron as we reach the correct unit. Tensions rise as Harrisburg fumbles with the lock. Starvation is testing our loyalty. He’s liable to get brained by this nine iron.

The door is finally opened, but the only thing inside is money, thousands of useless American greenbacks. We are devastated, but our shock turns to dread with the sound of clumsy limbs bashing against corrugated steel. The zombies approach us from both directions.