His vision blurred, he wakes up in the forest with what seemed like the biggest headache known to man. Matthew was just a young survivor in a cruel world, doing what he can do to survive while retaining some old world traditions as he calls them. Some seem to respect it, others.. not so much.
He wakes up from his unintentional slumber in the middle of the soggy mossy ground, and looks up towards the cloudy sky. Bird sounds are vacant, with the autumn leaves rustling in the slight, gentle breeze. His hands covered in mud and grass, he slowly gets up and stumbles, holding onto a tree to hold his balance. He looks around as his vision becomes more clear with not a soul to be seen.
He memory was foggy, he couldn't quite put his finger on how he got to where he was. He wiped away the blood away from his busted nose and began to walk alone.
He could remember his home life and his family. The joys of a beer on the Friday night after a long work week. He remembered the first of the infection that hit the UK, and he remembered the sorrow he felt knowing his parents committed suicide by overdone in their bed, as to not become a Stumbler as Matthew called the infected. However, after trying as hard as he could, he could not remember how he got to the country, but only parts of the bigger story such as Germany at The Hole as it was called. A small traveler town created by a small pocket of humanity, and even then the memory seemed clouded in his mind and heart . His name was never forgotten though and he firmly kept that very close to him, as losing his identity was losing his humanity, as he thought.
He carried a big weight on his shoulders. With his apparent, hopefully short term amnesia, holding him back it was up to him and him alone to pick up the pieces of his memory and hopefully remember what brought him to the epicenter of the infection, and with the scars he held on his arms, he began his journey.