(Well the zombie apocalypse happened. It's been ten years and factions have formed and towns have sprung up. There are profits to be made for those brave enough to journey the long distances between towns with goods. Even a small bag can bring a good profit.) Elder walked down the sidewalk of the ruined town, heading for New Hope. His rifle hung from it's sling, bobbing slightly as he walked. He checked the messenger bag yet again, making sure everything was there. He needed this to go down smoothly, and not having everything wasn't going to help that. He pulled his old Luger out and checked it again, then looked around. Nothing, no zombies, no raiders, this was going too well.