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At first he tries to follow a waffle bar, but they can move at night and he can't. So instead he stocks up on as much fat and sugar as he can and follows the highways north to the Great Lakes, on the basis that any water source that big will have people near it and picking a direction is better than wandering aimlessly. There isn't much left in the corner stores and he doesn't trust his ability to run away from forklifts enough to try the big ones, but he stocks up whenever he finds a waffle bar, which isn't often, and takes duct tape and plastic bags and (it's an indulgence, but) a can of spray paint.
(Maybe there'll be someone else who recognizes the signs his crew used to mark trees and fences and buildings — maybe he isn't the only one who survived and picked a direction and walked in it.)
(He's not fooling himself. He saw the bodies, he knows he's the only one.)
He meets a few crews on his way northward. They're not impressed by him, which is unsurprising, he wouldn't be impressed by him either. He keeps walking.
