Martin takes pride in his work and after leaving the orginal camp, he finds a quiet spot on the side of the island and builds himself his own shelter out on the beach. It is small but there is a rock wall protecting the log lean-to from zombies and access to a few bushes that hold berries, as well as having a place where he can get water not too far away.

After building the shelter, Martin settled down and looked out across the sea, his eyes gazed over in pain and misunderstanding. Everything went wrong in such a short amount of time and it seemed almost impossible that so much could go wrong at once. First he'd lost his wife, then he'd been shipwrecked and then he had started to lose his usual happiness, feeling himself sink into a hole of self-pity and heartache. Seeing Jim kissing Tamara had been the last straw. He really didn't care if he was eaten by zombies... in fact he wondered why he should wait for that.

The pistol was in his bag, for protection against zombies. He picked it up and ran a hand over it, feeling a tear escape his eyes and slide down his dirty cheek. Nothing seemed right anymore, nothing at all and Martin wanted a way to escape, even if that way was wrong.

Resting the pistol against his head, Martin took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. A sound of the bird in the bushes behind him, however, caused his hand to slip and so the bullet didn't go straight into his head. Instead it just gashed open the side of his head. Not knowing what had happened, Martin thought that he was finnally dying and so, he welcomed the darkness.

Nick had found himself falling asleep on the beach, so exhausted from the events that had gone on. When he awoke, he didn't hesitate to sprint again, further and further down the beach. He didn't know where he'd end up, and frankly, he didn't care. He then came across a small camp that had been set up. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he decided to investigate. He saw a man, lying face down in the sand, part of his head nicked from what he guessed was a bullet wound. That would explain the gun. He bent down, and was shocked to see that it was Martin. At first, he just stood there, wondering if this had been suicide. Maybe he should just leave him there, give him what he wanted. HE shook his head. That wasn't right. He looked at the wound, knowing what to do, but without tools. There were things, back at camp...He groaned, and then picked Martin up, heaving him over his shoulder. Martin was smaller than him, lighter and easier to crry than he thought. He sighed and began to walk down the beach again, knowing it would take a while to get back to camp. He decided to take his chances and cut through the woods.

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