Jonathan Carolla had watched a pair of girls, who looked eerily alike, walk up the dirty, long unused I-25 north into the former town of Las Vegas, New Mexico. He'd scouted it out for a few days, also having taken note to visit the sites and enjoy the landmarks that he recognized from the 1984 classic Red Dawn, which was filmed in the town. He hadn't found much; a fire had destroyed a lot of the infrastructure up north, but it had died either by the work of committed inhabitants or lucky nature before it could reduce the innards to ash.

Fortunately, the town had been evacuated early on due to the rapid spread of the virus, reportedly starting in the west coast and moving east with the wind. There had been plenty of goodies left behind by the townsfolk when the army forced them out, but the truly parasitic effects came from the refugees that passed through, notably the ones that were sick and used up more than they were worth. There wasn't enough left to sustain a large group for a prolonged period of time, but John had taken enough to get himself by until he reached Oklahoma again. Either way, there was just enough for those that had the energy to seek out what was left.

John was able to predict the path that the girls, who were bickering like siblings, were gonna take on their way into town; the last few had come up on a direct path toward a big building with a car that looked like it had been recently driven. It was some kind of office building, as best as he could figure; it had large, retro lettering on the front that indicated it was probably an older building from the early 20th century, and had served as some kind of local warehouse for a long time before being converted into offices. Regardless, it had been picked clean by sick scavengers seeking to use the furniture inside as firewood in their final hours; as a result, it was filled with bodies wrapped up in blankets and sleeping bags in their futile attempts to battle the cold no one had shaken.

He waited for the girls on the hood of a car 20 yards away from the building and on the opposite end of the street, effectively keeping him out of their eyeshot. Between his legs, he was carving away at the old metal, roughly scribing his name and what he was pretty sure was the date into the sheet of steel to pass the time as he continued to observe them. He was hoping that they would smell the stench of the bodies and walk away; the last few hadn't and became infected due to his inability to reach them in time to warn them. He hadn't even thought of putting notes on the door up until the point when the girls raised handguns to the door as they prepared to enter. He made sure to have his shotgun in reaching range; if they wanted to get in a firefight with him, he was gonna be able to raise it and fire it effectively. He was avoiding having it in his arms or on its sling since a deaf man came through and didn't understand what was happening, and John had been forced to shoot him down. John wanted to make his introduction as friendly as possible, which was especially difficult in these circumstances.

"Ya don't wanna go in there, kids. Ain't nothin but moldy goods and stinky bones," He shouted between the gap, still focused on engraving his name, the most eternal part of his existence, into something that probably wouldn't matter anyway.