The museum was one of the less-ravaged public buildings. A few of the survivors had scoured it for medieval weapons, but most of the exhibits were touched only by dust.

Into this quiet place, several figures slouched in. One was little more than a skeleton, the victim of a dog pack that had stripped it of rotting flesh before the others rescued it from being completely scattered. The others had their own damages; whether inflicted by survivors, dogs, or decay, it did not matter. They all shuffled through the museum, hunting (but not for survivors… this one time).

At last, they found what they sought. They dragged portable barriers, rope and metal, out of the way. One stepped back, looked at the scene, then they moved the obstacles farther back.

With all ready, the skeletal member took its position. It raised one leg, stretched arms forward and back, and gaped as it looked over its shoulder. Another raised a camera, and the click click click of a shutter echoed through the exhibit for the first time in months.

With that done, they gathered around to look at the display. They snickered at the skeleton, appearing to run in terror from the T.Rex skeleton behind it. Their goal accomplished, they shambled away to find a working printer. What the remaining survivors made of their message, only time would tell.