He had once hunched over, in that pose that within a few hundred years would have been the posture of all humans. It would have messed up that nice incremental increase of height in that evolution of man diagram. Truth be told it would also look ridiculous without the computer. Like a man using a public toilet, and the latch on the door wont quite close. A man in this situation has two options. One, hunch over like a coiled spring ready to erupt and barricade the door at the merest sound of a foot step, or go into the superman position in which one leans over and presses ones hand against the door. I digress. So, once, he had hunched. However, then the bomb had fallen and oh how he grew to love it. Now the first three years living underground had been a bit repetitive. But something down there caused his hair to grow back and the enforced exercise had straightened his spine. He was pleasantly surprised the day he found out he was over six foot. So truth be told, it was all beneficial. He had been reborn as a spry and healthy, as he could be, 32 year old. Doing the thing he loved most. Hillwalking. He was now 40 and still loved it. His only tie to the past was his name. He now referred to himself as Statistical Analyst Head for Mid west Region. Or just Stat for short.

He had never hill walked before he went into the shelter. But he had always liked the idea of it. This stemmed from a nine hour period in his childhood, during which time he spent reading 'A Hillwalking Guide', partly because of the pleasant landscape on the front cover and partly because the only other reading material in the dumpster was a Playboy. Which, after a brief flick through, startled and scared him. The Playboy incident also had also seared its way into his mind, which had disastrous consequences later in life. Puberty being the main one. Once he had actually hill walked, he loved it. It was everything he thought it was going to be. He mentally went over his checklist for his next wander. Knife, food, compass, flashlight, raincoat, fleece, OS map, boots, gun. Most importantly his wire cutters. No fence was getting in his way. One of the benefits of the breakdown of government was not having to explain to policemen why you cut a big whole in this gentleman's fence. Oh and taxes. They were long gone.

He struck out nice and early into the chemically enhanced orange green light of the sunrise. His boots on and everything packed. Carefully he negotiated his way through the wreckage of the town. He still checked the town notice board in case someone had come through. He really didn't know why he bothered. Hadn't seen a soul for three years. A moan erupted in the distance. Stat turned casually.
A slimy green decomposing thing that once was a man rounded a corner and made its shuffled way towards the hill walker. It was wearing a t shirt saying "What Wouldn't Jesus Do?" and a pair of Bermuda shorts. If you squinted your eyes enough and didn't focus, you could for a second go back to the days before the bomb at a nightclub somewhere early on a Sunday morning, just from the noises, the smell and shambling footsteps. Statistical raised his gun and calmly put a bullet in its skull. It had the desired effect.

Some said that they were mutants, others that it was some human to human strain of mad cow disease. No one knew for sure. Most called them Zombies, a few, mostly those who before the bomb had imported olive oil because 'It just isn't fresh in supermarkets', called them life challenged individuals. A girl he met once who wore a cape and had the taste for the dramatic called them the living dead. Usually to the accompaniment of a swoosh. A bullet to the brain was the only way to drop them for good.

Stat struck out for greener hills. Well. Hills at least.

He had read that before the bomb hill walkers were at constant war with farmers and land owners. It was a never ending struggle of good and evil. The freedom to roam versus the freedom of get the hell of my land you're ruining my crops and scaring my animals. In which barbed wire and wire cutters were the weapons of choice. Again Stat thought himself lucky. He regularly would open gates and make a physical effort to remember not to close them. He read of Scottish hill walkers who cut open the fence to a nature reserve because it inhibited they're right to wander. Heroes. Okay sure they were viciously mauled by some wolves that had been reintroduced to the habitat as they had gone extinct there hundreds of years ago. But still heroes! In fact most heroes needed a certain amount of stupidity. A specialized kind.
He strolled on through the hills. Pausing every now and then to view the scenery. He had developed that style of walking that only people who are regularly out in fields develop. The rolling gait of a man not sure if his next step will take him into a small hole where he will break his ankle. He had never been in this direction since he had come down here three weeks ago. He Paused and sucked in a large amount of air before collapsing to the ground spluttering. After several minutes he stood up. Something was different. He couldn't make out what it was. Voices! He heard voices. He'd have to play this safe though. Couldn't just rush in. He'd seen Mad Max, could be slavers. Or even farmers.
Peeking out, from what used to be a stand of trees, he located the source. It looked to be a military installation. He sucked in a sharp shocked inhalation of oxygen. More spluttering. Those fascist pig dogs had. Had. Had. Fenced In Some Land!

A fiery emotion of indignation wrapped around his soul. He marched down to the front of the base. In fact it wasn't "some" land, it was a fence at least twenty feet high that stretched as far as he could see! Twenty yards away and someone shouted at him to stop. He kept walking. The voice repeated its order. He kept going. ten yards away a bullet kicked up some dirt in front of him. He stopped. A helmeted head appeared over the top of the barricade.

The next few minutes were spent by Stat doing some serious indignant staring at the fence. It only looked like it was a matter of time before the fence backed down and imploded. However his ultimate victory was interrupted. A large man in military garb had appeared outside the gate.

Two hours later they had six Lieutenants, two Captains and a Colonel shouting at each other. Some making the claim that it was there job to make sure that nobody infringed on any persons civil liberty and Stat should be left go where he wanted too. Others made the claim that Stat was obviously insane.

Stat decided after the first hour and a half to inch his way to the fence and get to work with his wire cutters. He had crested the nearest hill and they were still arguing. He crossed a few Zombies in the next hour or so. They hadn't bothered him though, they seemed to be making a bee line for the shouting voices, gunfire and explosions coming from back towards the base.

He paused and sucked in some more air. 'Yep, this was the life.' he thought as he coughed and spluttered hunched over on the ground.