Silhouette

4:35 AM- Memories can hurt more than any undead beast can. They can horrify a man more than the foulest creature to shamble around this forsaken planet. They rip through every last part of your soul with a neverending agony that attacks until you are unable to carry on. The memories flashing through his mind are driving him insane.

He takes another sip of vodka. The burn takes his mind off of the pain for a second but he is quickly dropped back, ever harder, into the dark world of his. He takes a moment to look around at the room in which he has taken shelter. It is a cramped appartment with a single window facing to the east. There are cracks running across the walls and the furnature is old and rotting. Not quite home, but a shelter that would keep him for at least a week. The only available light is a candle sitting on a coffee table in the middle of the room. The wax is running out about as fast as the alcohol is. When that happened, more than just a candle was going to stop working. He tries not to think of that problem. There are others at hand. He is considering going out in search for food, but it could wait another day. His ammunition as well is in need of replenishment. This was a pressing matter because if he wanted to go anywhere he was going to need protection and if he wanted protection he needed bullets.

4:36 AM-He reaches for the bottle of vodka again but stops abruptly as he hears footsteps far down the hall. Evenly paced footsteps. What kind of zombie walks at a perfect pace? He reaches for the Remington 700 laying on the coffee table, making sure not to blow out the candle with his movements. The distance between the sofa and the door is not a long one and he reaches the doorway in a single stride. He winces at the exquisite pain as he moves but grabs the doornob. He opens the door a crack and looks down the hallway. It is much too dark to see anything. The footsteps continue. He opens the door just enough to fit through, which is quite a bit, and leaves it open. It is now that he sees a silhouette lit by the moonlight. This is no monster. Quite the opposite. She stands tall at nearly 5'10 and holds a pistol in each hand. She walks with sureness and awareness of her surroundings. She looks dangerous, intimidating, and most of all, beautiful. Her hair is a black color that contrasts a pale face. the eyes are the same as her hair. They pierce his very soul as the beam down the hall. Her body is perfectly built and she looks like she is strong enough to more than hold her own in a fight. They finally meet at the center of the hall. Their eyes lock and she speaks first. "Where are you staying?"

4:37 AM-Not exactly how to start a conversation with the first human you have seen in months, he thinks. Ignoring this, he points to the open door and they walk slowly to it. When they enter they sit down at the sofa and he asks her if she wants drink, mumbling his name in a low tone and pouring one of his own. She declines, saying she does not drink. He inwardly thinks about when that was true about himself. He downs his cup before she finishes her next sentence. She explains how she was searching the building for supplies and had yet to find anything.

"Done that. Not much." is all he says.

She makes a mental note not to press any hard conversation on him. He does not seem like a big talker. She drops her bag in a corner and sits in a chair near the window. They do not say another word the rest of the night.

4:38 AM-The night is quiet again.