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His body shakes with fury. He balls his fists tight and grits his teeth. "Oh, we're leaving alright," he hisses through them. "And as soon as we run into a hostile group, we're pointing them in your direction. We'll see how you like having your loved ones threatened, you sick bastard." He stalks away from you, back toward his mother.

You check the time—6:00 pm.

You spy Rachel standing near the edge of the hilltop, looking through a pair of binoculars off to the west. You look off that way yourself, but other than a patchwork of farmland, nothing really stands out. Using your own binoculars, you scan out in the direction she's pointed and see several buildings far off.

"I was just scanning the horizon, making sure there wasn't another horde of infected coming our way when I saw a farm," Rachel says.

"Not surprising. I mean, we are in the country after all," you reply.

Rachel's lip quirks slightly, but she continues, "Yeah, but this place looks promising. Given the size of our group, I'd feel better if we had more food. Not to mention, it may be a suitable place for us all to live at least short-term."

Surrounded by plowed fields filled with young, green vegetables, lies a single story home with all of its windows boarded up. Off to the side is a tool shed, and a large barn sits just behind it.

"Although," she continues, "from the barricaded windows and parked cars, there might be survivors hunkering down there."

"So whoever goes down there should be prepared for trouble," you say.

Rachel nods in affirmation, "That was my thought as well. Mind you, if we meet other survivors, I think we should talk first, but as the days go on, the risk of violence will become greater."

You tell Rachel, you think the group should