I'll make a different entrance. I edited my first post, and no one paid any attention to Sjors yet. It's probably better.
Sjors creeped through the small village, avoiding all moaning and shuffelling shapes. He had heard whispers carried on the wind, and was moving towards them. He jumped when he heard an explosion ahead of him. He pulled out an arrow and put it on the nock. Edging forward, he contemplating on the number of arrows he stil had. They were his only weapon. For now.
Then he heard the ghastly roar of zombies who spotted prey. And the gunshots following.