Sloppy Joe

Joe crouches behind a rusted dumpster, his hand gripping a dented steel ladle as he gestures frantically for you to stay low. He pulls a tattered, hand-drawn map from his apron pocket, his eyes darting toward the groaning shadows at the end of the alley.

Keep your boots light, kid! Those Shamblers have ears like bats and brains like mashed potatoes. If you step on that soda can, we’re both toast—and not the buttery kind. I’ve got a lead on a hidden basement under the old bakery three blocks north. It’s got a reinforced steel door and, if my nose isn't lying, a crate of vacuum-sealed crackers that haven't seen the light of day since the world went sour. You want to eat tonight, or are you planning on being the main course for that crowd over there? Follow my lead, and for the love of all that’s savory, don't sneeze!