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This may be the most risk-filled and difficult ordeal in the past few days, and you're leaving nothing up to debate nor another person's decision. You step atop a tree stump and call out to all in earshot.

"Listen up! Our homes are burning and the area isn't safe. It's time for us to get out of here. If we don't move fast and work together, some of us will get hurt or infected. Jaime will hold off the infected. Woody will head inside the house to gather supplies. Madison and Brody will pack the vehicles. Everyone knows their job and knows what's at stake. Let's go!"

The supplies inside your home will be essential for your survival once you leave. You need to gather as much as possible while you have the chance.

"I'm going in my house to take what I can get," you announce to the group.

"Ready when you are," Woody says and raises his rifle.

Jaime steps in the direction of the incoming infected. "I'll keep the horde back as long as I can. That jeep's fifty cal will come in handy now. The twins can get ready to pack up our vehicles." Woody follows you across the field and up the walkway to the front door. Smoke trickles out of your home, and you touch the door handle half expecting it to be hot from the fire inside. It's cold, so you swing it open and let out a waft of warm air. Ash covers furniture towards the back of the home near the kitchen but much of the rest remains unaffected by the fire.

As you move in, Woody taps your shoulder and hands you a piece of dark cloth. "Wrap this over your mouth and nose to keep the smoke outta yer lungs," he says. "Smells like a Texas barbecue in here."

You rush towards your pile of gear and pack as much as you can in your duffel bags and backpacks. Woody joins you and picks up as much as he can carry. The two of you take turns bringing supplies to lay in the front of your home.

"My pop made the best B-B-Q ribs whether they was pig, cow, deer, or road kill," Woody says through his bandanna. "He'd cook anythin' four-legged though smaller varmints didn't have lotta meat on the ribs."

He hikes up his own backpack and hauls it just outside the door. With all the bags you have, it takes only two trips back and forth to collect everything.

"Pop was a purist. None o' that ketchup sauce or barbecue sauce but a dry rub. Not sure what was in it. Uncle Clem thought pop sprinkled in gunpowder, but it was never substantiated."

By the time your gear is by the front door, white smoke billows from the kitchen and floats to the ceiling in a blanket. Luckily, you have everything you need and can leave before the fire spreads even further.

"One day these fellers came 'round askin' for my pop's recipes, these good ol' boys with shotguns and the stink of no-good on 'em. Said they wanted that recipe and wouldn't leave without it."

Woody leads the way outside. When that first whiff of fresh air hits your face, you throw off the cloth covering your nose and mouth and suck in a deep breath.

"Let's head back to the others again," you say and start towards the main road where the sounds of heavy gunfire warn you the infected are near. Woody winds up walking ahead, and you lag behind and watch your house as the smoke swells up in a mushroom shape.