Jason Bishop sat in a plush, dusty couch. He was comfy in the little three bedroom house. It was old, built back in the early days of the cold war. Quaint, cozy, plain, respectable; all words that came to mind about the house. It was a good home in the former Marine's mind. It was the right size, not ostentatious, practical, had a nice yard with a garden out back, and a detached two car garage. Nice place to live, he thought.

He had been fortunate, ducking into the house to get out of the night's heavy rain, and found an overlooked feast in a basket in the kitchen. A note read 'Tommy here is some things for you to eat until we get home, love you son' and hand laid in the basket on top of a can of chili, a tin of spam, a box of vanilla mimi Moon Pies, two large bottles of Yoo-Hoo, a packet of powdered doughnuts, and two packs of Ramen noodles.

Time to celebrate the birthday of the Marine Corpse, again. Funny how at the end of the world that event seemed come up every time Jason walked into an unexpected feast. But, sitting on the couch with a full stomach he could relax and listen to the roaring storm outside. It was a nice change. The rain wash the smell of death away, even as he watched the undead shuffle about blindly in the rain when the strobe like lightning flashed.

Jason had secured the house, making sure all the doors and widows were closed and locked.  It wouldn't hold any intruders living or dead, but the sound of someone breaking in would give him time to react.  Looking through the basket, he shook his head, letting out a small curse.

"Well shit..."

The chili would give him indigestion, the Spam and Ramen noodles were so high in sodium that he was going to have to watch his blood pressure.  The Ramen... well he could eat the noodles and only put part of the seasoning in, save the rest for seasoning other food.  The moon pies, Yoo-Hoo, and donuts were a real find.  They needed no preparation and could be eaten on the go.  He had gone ahead and eaten Spam, slicing it and cooking it up on his rocket stove.  If only he had had some bread and mayo, it would have given him flashbacks of his childhood.

He now sat on the couch, relaxing for a bit before getting everything packed up and heading upstairs, setting his things into the master bedroom and checking his secondary exit, the window.  The ground was soft below and he could make the jump if needed.  He checked the rest of the house, from upstairs to cellar, checking the medicine cabinets for pills, the closets for weapons or useful clothes, and the basement for anything that could be there.  Only when done did he go back to the first floor, spending some time setting up a couple of trip wires, and blocking off the stairs up, putting the table so that it blocked it off.  Again, it wouldn't stop a living intruder, it would slow them down and giving him a chance to react.  Only when done did he pull out a couple of pills, dry swallowing them.

The sheets on the bed smelled stale, but not moldy, it would do for the night.  Before going to bed, he spent the time to unload, disassemble, clean, reassemble and load each firearm in turn.  He hadn't fired any weapons today, but they had gotten wet, and it was best to keep things in peak condition when possible.

Cleaning his weapons, Jason had used a white sheet of fine cotton to cut cleaning patches which would come in handy for weeks to come. Unfolding the sheet a scrap of paper had fallen free. Without thinking Jason picked up the piece of paper and set aside keeping his work area neat and orderly.

Half an hour later, after he had cleaned his firearms he went through the same routine with his knives. Thumbing the edge of on he picked up the paper and was about the slice it with the razor sharp blade when he realized it was a receipt from a local pharmacy. A receipt for chlorthalidone. There was an address on the receipt, and a phone number. That made him laugh.