“Sad, but true,” Charlie said. “The stuff I found is this way.” He rode his bike down the access road to the state park, passing by a small parking lot and picnic area. The place looked a little forlorn, as the weeds and grass hadn’t been controlled in a couple years, but in a few more years, unless you looked really hard, you’d never know there was anything here in the first place.

We pedaled into the bigger parking lot that went up to the main visitor area, then circled around to the large wooden fort that had been a visitor favorite for years. It was supposed to represent the exploration of the area, but no real fort had ever been there. It was a big building, nearly two stories tall, with small windows and a narrow stairway leading to the second floor. Properly provisioned, it would make a decent temporary shelter from roving bands of the undead. Long term, though, it was not a good place.

Charlie swung off his bike and took his rifle off his shoulder. His AR was similar to mine, except he had changed out the upper for a flattop version with a bull barrel. He could hit things a little farther out than myself. I preferred closer work with my AR. For long range stuff I used my M1A.

Taking my carbine off my back, I leaned my bike against the building and nodded to Charlie that I was ready. We entered and as my eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, I saw what made Charlie call this one in. There was a backpack in the corner, a small plastic bag of foodstuffs and bottled water, a long pole, and a hatchet. Everything was arranged for quick pickup in case of attack. I climbed the stairs and looked around, seeing a blanket on the floor and a flat rock with charred twigs, the remnants of a tiny fire.

I went back downstairs and nodded again to Charlie. “You’re right, someone is using this place.”