There's an ammo case and two gun cases, only one of which has a shoulder strap. The other two have do have convenient carrying handles and you take one in each hand after slinging the larger one over your shoulder. You stepped into the thick underbrush and proceed into the forest. It's shaded but hot and muggy in there. The plants pull on your shoes and pants. Branches smack you in the face. This would be a lot easier with two hands, but you're strong and have tons of endurance, and are certain that civilization is just beyond the next bunch of trees.

No civilization there either. Why would there be? Civilizations exist at the ends of roads, not in the middle of a forest. You might find a shack or something out here but even then there would be some trail leading to it. Out here you only have plants, bugs, small rodents, plants, things that might want to eat you, and more plants. And all those plants have a fondness for the cases you're carrying. In fact, one just knocked the ammo case from your hand. Again. Only this time a latch popped open and bullets spilled to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up and your stomach growls. It feels like you've been walking for days and the sugar high from the soda and pastry have worn off. By this time at home you and Trevor would be sipping beers, comparing zombie targets, and wondering when the waitress is going to bring your burgers. This sucks, you think as you sit down next to the ammo case and start putting the bullets back. As much as you would love a burger and cold beer you aren't getting them. In fact, you can only think of two ways to improve you current situation, ditch all the stuff you're carrying or ditch most of the stuff you're carrying.


I'll load the guns and carry those with me. The rest I'll hide and come back for.

I'll bury them here; I'm sure I can find them again.

It's not my stuff; I'm not letting it out of my sight.