Something is wrong. There are no crazies.
"Well speak of the devil." A crazy kicked a can past me accidentally. I spin and throw the knife which plunges into it's chest.
"Why are you guys so hard to kill?" I ask as I pull my knife out and lodge it back in to finish the job. "Now, gas."
I fill two gallons (more than enough to get to the gas station) and start walking back to the AMTS.