William Lewis, Bill to everyone who couldn't get around to calling him William, thought he had seen it all. He was jaded with his work, a sheriff's deputy working out of Spanish Springs, Nevada. Neighbouring the Poor Man's Vegas - Reno - Spanish Springs had it's share of undesirables wandering through their streets, crime wasn't rife, but it was frequent, and brutal enough to leave Bill unsurprised when he was the one to discover victims, but it always unsettled him.

Bill had joined the force fresh out of college, his father had an in with the Sheriff and pulled some strings to get him the job, but he was well worthy of it. He was a good cop for many years, working his shifts, managing not to live the job when he was off-duty. He married, and started a family - two daughters and a labrador - and then divorced. His wife nailed his ass down in the settlement and took the kids, the dog and the better car to Sacramento, leaving him with their home at least, filled with both good and bad memories and burdened by a mortgage they'd struggled to pay on two salaries.

Bill retreated into his job as a comfort, working overtime where he could to keep up the mortgage payments, figuring he'd only have to work til he was 70 to pay the house off, just in time for his kids who didn't want to visit sleepy Spanish Springs to fight over it when he died. Traffic stops became more lucrative, often culminating in an on-the-spot off-the-record fine and a warning. Handouts were made for blind eyes to be turned, Bill lined his nest, his view of 'the law' and 'justice' drifting apart day by day.

When the Outbreak came, Bill was kept up to date, this mysterious infection was plaguing the country, spreading like Wildfire. Bill was on the front lines as the undead poured out of Reno, a hot-spot for infection from the initially airborne virus as planes flew in from all over the country. Reinforcements were called into the city from all over the county, why weren't the national guard being called? When Police officers began to desert, Bill was not long in following suit. He loaded his truck with what he had to hand, and set out West, giving Reno a wide berth.

His goal was Sacramento, to save his bitch ex-wife and his estranged daughters, none of whom had spoken to him for more than 3 years. When he arrived at the last address he had had for his wife, the one on their divorce paperwork when they had last spoken, he found a family there, all turned, none of them his. They had clearly moved and he was stumped, he had no leads to follow, her name wasn't in the phone-book, and all of the databases were inaccessible considering the local stations were almost entirely overrun. He had no choice but to give up his search, and hope they were alive.

Cast out into the vastness of California, he fought his way to the coast over the following weeks. He had made loose ties with a few groups on his journey, but they all had their own destinations, their own agendas, some of them died, some of them parted ways, one companion tried to rob him and wound up dead, it all blurred together in Bill's memories as he stood on the bridge to Arklay Island, squinting into the setting sun from on top of the truck he'd picked as a vantage point. With a good feeling in his gut, he climbed down onto the warm tarmac and started picking his way between the cars. He was determined to see whether there was still a life to be carved from this new, dirty world, and what that life might hold for him.