Rob made a safe haven for his community in a cabin he built with his two hands. He survived with a modest 250 kill count, which is still considerably impressive. Rob had one mission: to build a community. He found that community in his friends and associates at the cabin he laid the foundations for. He realized then he didn't want people, but a person - his lost love, a Knox County park ranger. He took the least valuable car from the cabin and drove to the ranger station she was placed at - cutting down trees on the overgrown dirt roads. The rain fell. Empty. He chopped his way north to the cabin. The storm developed. Empty. He wasn't well, having recently received a double fracture in his leg from a fall, and now in more isolation than he thought possible. A voice on the radio "bzzt-the camp-krrppzt". Forgetting his usual meticulous caution, Rob drove his way down to the lake, having to abandon his car due to the thickness of trees and his desperation for company - perhaps it was her voice on the radio. He limped around the lake to the camp, but all he found was dead and death. The fog, the storm, the splint on his damn leg and his lack of equipment - zombies spill from the doors and windows. He puts up a good fight, but he knows he faces the end. Eventually he is pulled down and is no longer alone.