Alex Kigin sat down on the bench inside one of the overturned train cars he used as shelter, resting after his morning patrol. He hadn't spotted any people, but he had seen a few flybaits around. He'd picked some of them off as they wandered around aimlessly, often using his bow for the closer ones, and once using his hunting rifle - not a high caliber at all, just a small game weapon, but good enough to pop a hole through a zombie's head with a direct hit.
Now came the business of checking the state of his equipment. He started with the self-defense items, as he had always practiced doing. He ensured that the battery-powered drill he had was still working, then cleaned his gun and checked his bow, making sure he had no broken arrows as well, then looked at his knife, which he decided could use a cleaning. After that, it was on to the golf club. Next, he made sure his complex had not been damaged in the weather or by raiders or wild animals the previous night, then finally checked and reset the traps around his perimeter.
Alex had always expected some kind of catastrophy to come along, and so he'd been preparing since he moved out of his parents' house. He was ready "when the shit hit the fan." He immediately got away from his nice suburban neighborhood and soon came across this wreck while the beasts responsible were still feasting upon the driver and passengers - mostly hitchhikers. He fought them off and set the wreckage into a well-formed home structure with much effort, and hunkered down.
Soon, Alex spotted a figure on the horizon - a figure carrying a shotgun. Not flybait. Then, the figure fell, his leg caught in a trap as he approached the structure.