Midsummer, midday, hot:30 in the afternoon
Ringgold was a small town that grew into the expanding metro area of Fort Oglethorpe, which in turn bordered the state line and the southern expanses of ever-growing Chattanooga. A town of older, pre-politically correct values and religious wholesomeness. When the dead rose people were astonished, but not so perplexed that their world fell to pieces. Old values saved them. Old values, and a collection of shotguns, high-powered hunting rifles, bows, and the skills of the hunter.
Living close to the Earth also helped. Growing crops and raising animals was second nature to farm families that had survived economic hardship for generations. The end of civilization might have been harsh, but at their creditors were nipping at their heels anymore. New comers to this little community had to face two realities; life in Ringgold meant daily toil to grow, harvest, hunt, repair, or guard and life in Ringgold meant living by the community's decision. No one stood alone, voluntarily or through exclusion, Ringgold was a community or nothing at all.
The old Adventist Church was well built from heavy timber beams, cinder blocks, pour concrete slabs, and all steel roofing. It was also just on big long auditorium with a handful of smaller class rooms along the sides. It was a natural gathering point for what remained; fourteen families, sixteen men, eleven women, and a boy named Alvin who wondered in all alone.
Life in town wasn't complicated, people were welcoming, helpful to a fault, and newcomers could always try to fit in and stay. As long as the never ending migration of undead from the city of Chattanooga a dozen miles north didn't bother them.