Nick walked through silence, aside from the shuffling scuffle the soles of his boots made against the gravel drive leading into the park. Night had fallen fast, seeming faster yet due to the trees' canopy overhead, now allowing only scant moonlight to filter through.

It got to him. Nick was by no means a city mouse, but out here in the woods the night's stillness felt like a palpable thing. A presence,  surrounding him, pressing in on him. Something he could reach out and touch... or be touched by. He'd never really been used to it, even on those camping trips as a kid, absent the familiar comfort of the slight rattle from his family's heating unit, or a distant car's engine, or even the ever-present nigh-unnoticeable hum of electronics.

Out here, there was just... nothing. It was creepy. Even before you took the (probable but not yet proven) restless dead into account.

Nick walked up to the booth guarding the entrance to the park. The toll gate arm was down, blocking the road to vehicles, the booth unmanned and unlit. In the light of his phone - battery down to 4%, shit - nick could see a sign informing him that the gate closed at 10pm, and that visitors were directed to the ranger cabin for payments and permits.

It briefly occurred to Nick that he could probably just walk in, find a campsite, and set up. Things were about to boil over in the worst way, and the formality of checking in was almost laughable... but money was probably going to be worthless soon, too. Might as well avoid any trouble while it mattered.

Up ahead the road spit, one fork heading to what looked like a visitor's center, the other heading deeper into the woods. There was a single light from the center - a lit window - so Nick walked up and dutifully tried the door. Finding it locked, he gave it a quick rap with his knuckles.

After a few moments the door was thrown open by a swarthy bear of a man in an unbuttoned park ranger uniform, hairy chest visible under his thin cotton sleeveless undershirt. His breathing was ragged, his skin flushed, his face slick with sweat. "Can I help you?" his voice was gravel menace.

Nick took a step back. "Uh... I... uh... need a campsite?"

The man peered down at Nick for a moment, then sniffed, stepping out and absently buttoning up his shirt. He looked up the dark drive towards the park entrance. "You parked out on the road?"

"Oh. Uh. I hiked in."

"I see." The ranger frowned. He was a big guy, broad shouldered, looked like he lifted weights. Hirsute guy too, hair down the back of his arms to the back of the big meaty hands. He glanced at Nick's pack. "You mind if I take a look in your bag?"

Nick's hands tightened on his pack's straps. He wasn't overly fond of authority figures at the best of times, and while he didn't have anything inside that'd be considered contraband, felt rankled by the unexpected intrusiveness of the question. "Uh, yes. I mind."

The ranger regarded him with a steady gaze. "I see. We've had some trouble with kids coming out here to cook up drugs."

Nick blinked. "Do I seem like the kind of guy who'd be cooking meth?"

"I didn't say meth." The ranger folded his arms. "And you never can tell. So that's why I asked."

The sweat began to trickle down Nick's back, causing a slight itch he wouldn't be able to reach. "No, look-" he put his pack on the ground and started to unzip it.

"No need." The ranger held up a hand. "You a resident of Illinois?"

"Yes."

"Site fees are twenty five per day. I'll let you off for tonight because you got in so late, but it'll be fifty if you're going to stay the weekend."

Nick felt himself relax. Commercial transactions were normal. This, at least, was something he could handle.

"Okay." He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket.

The ranger tilted his head back. "Payment processors are down, though. You'll have to pay in cash."

Nick looked down at his boots and swore. Of course the processors were down. The collapse was in full swing.

"If you don't have the money-" the ranger started.

"No, no, I have cash." A dark part of Nick rejoiced in the fact that the credit card companies, the banks, the entire financial industry was, well, gone. They were parasites grown fat on the blood of simple workers like himself. He'd anticipated this, had a few hundred bucks in his go bag, didn't have very much in the bank anyway... but it was a stark reminder of how things were about to change. He handed the ranger a few twenties. "You got change?"

The ranger took Nick's bills, counting them slowly, methodically. "Three days?" He pulled a fiver out of his own wallet and handed it over.

Nick grabbed the bill, but the bigger man didn't let go of it.

"Oh, son, what's your name? For the registry."

"Nick."

"Nick..."

"Foster."

The ranger released his grip on the bill. "You enjoy your weekend here at Blackwoods State Park, Mr. Foster."

"Thanks." Nick put the bill in his pocket. "Ranger..."

"Tanner. I'll be back with your permit."

"I'll be here." Nick immediately wondered why he'd said it.

The ranger returned to his cabin without a word, closing the door behind him.

Nick forced his shoulders to relax. The guy was in-tense. Peering into his wallet he calculated that he had enough cash for maybe another week... but cash itself only had value as long as it was backed by the federal government. As soon as it became clear that nobody was going to be able to fix anything, it'd be worthless... and Park Services wouldn't have the legal authority to kick him out, anyway. Somehow he got the notion that Ranger Tanner wouldn't let something like that stop him, though.

If Nick was right about how this was all going to play out, though, the Ranger would have bigger fish on his plate than some guy squatting on a campsite. And if he was wrong... well, he'd be going home, sheepish, regardless.

***

Permit acquired, Nick kept to the left - while he didn't remember the park's layout, he didn't really need a map to find the campgrounds. It looked like the first such row was already occupied with tents and a small camper, but he didn't really feel safe so near the entrance anyway. As sore as his feet were, Nick was determined to get further from the road, further from the gate, further from... everything, really.

Nobody stirred in the nearest tents as Nick walked by. Who were they, he wondered? Did they know what was going on out there? Were they going to go home Sunday to an unfamiliar world, firmly in the grip of collapse, ravaged by the undead? Truth was, he didn't know how fast things were going to spiral. How bad it already was. He wouldn't be able to check Twitter until he found a campsite.

There were a few more turnoffs, a few more rows, but Nick didn't feel comfortable stopping until he'd reached a particularly out of the way spot a bit off the main road. This was, he reasoned, as safe as he could be. He slipped the pack from his shoulders with a groan and set his electric lamp on the site's picnic table, hesitated, then turned it on low, reasoning he'd never be able to set up the tent in the dark. As tempting as it was to just climb into his sleeping bag and go to sleep, Nick knew there was a right way and a wrong way to go about things.

And for once, he'd do it the right way.

Step one. Pick a site bereft of sticks and rocks. Easy enough, this was a commercial campsite, there was a nice flat expanse of dirt larger than he'd need. His tent was a simple dome with two main lengths of pole, he put their segments together, threaded them through the loops in the tent's canvas, and folded them out into the X that would form the main support of the tent. He had some small metal looped tent stakes that fixed to each corner, and viol-la: Tent.

Step two. Make a fire. Nick took a look at the site's fire-pit - a lowered dirt area with a corroded metal circle holding generations of ash and well-used charcoal. The night was brisk but his tent was set up and he had a sleeping bag... Nick felt confident that he could skip the fire tonight. He had neither the time nor the will to go traipsing about the woods collecting kindling... so that was it, yeah?

Bone weary, sore of feet, relieved to have made it this far, Nick crawled into his tent. He briefly considering hooking his phone up to the outlet near the picnic table to charge, but that could wait until morning. Last thing he needed was a raccoon making off with his android.
He sat at the edge of the tent and gingerly removed his shoes, careful not to pop the blisters - ointment and bandages could also wait until morning - and took a long last look into the woods before switching off the lamp.

He'd done it. He was committed. He'd escaped.

At this point the readers were asked if the story would stay with Nick for now, or focus in on what was happening
elsewhere in the park. They chose to leave our protagonist for now.