I took a long drag on my cigarette, leaning out over the tarred roof of the old hospital. I blew out the smoke slowly, felt it curl around my face and waft away in the crisp evening air. I surveyed the scene around me. Stuck, smack dab in the middle of the city, low on ammunition, low on supplies, and completely surrounded. I was also safe from harm, however, having barricaded the stairwell that led me to the roof. For now, I was locked in a stalemate, but I had one major disadvantage--in a couple of days, I'd die of dehydration. This was it, I thought. Finally fucked. After all the planning, the patience, the (at times) raw willpower, all of it was going to go to waste because of one stupid mistake. I never should have come back to this town. I wouldn't have, if I had a choice. But I need