At this moment.
By the mountain forest.
The crescent moon has risen beyond the flying birds, the rosy clouds linger in the west with the setting sun.
Looking up.
Remnants of clouds toy with the fading sunlight, bringing clarity to the evening sky.
The group in the forest, eating dry rations, are conserving their energy.
Watching the afterglow of the sunset, they marvel at the greatness of the creator; the setting sun is infinitely beautiful, but it heralds the approach of dusk.
Yet, in this apocalyptic world, zombies could appear at any moment.
The sky grows darker, and though this area is remote, as the sun sets, the zombies' sense of smell sharpens, attracting them in twos and threes toward this location.
Some arrive directly at the edge of the small woodland, disrupting the group while they were eating.
Third Uncle and others eliminate these zombies with knives.
