The whispers, mutters and groans of the infected kept her awake, and she was thankful for it. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if she fell asleep now, what the sound of her breathing would bring upon her while she was unaware, and she wasn't yet ready to die.

Huddling a little closer into the corner, protected by the boxes she had taken from the shelf beside her, she pulled her hood up over her head in an attempt to muffle the sounds coming from beyond her cardboard barrier. Her soft brown hair was matted from the rain, matted with blood that had sprayed on her while she was running here… the infected had been distracted by another unfortunate former Survivor that had picked a fight with the wrong person. Whatever it was, it had exploded upon impact and covered the man with a foul smelling liquid. The stuff attracted the infected like flies to dog-shit, and she had fled while they beat the man to death. There was no choice, she told herself…

She had no weapons, no way to defend herself against them. All she could do was run, and when she found this place, she had hunkered down and built herself a place to hide until it was safe to go out again. She was hungry, but the only thing she had to eat would make too much noise and she didn't want to risk it. The more she thought about it, the more the granola bar was burning a hole in her pocket.

Rubbing her eyes and sitting up straight again, she strained to hear through the rain outside. For a moment, she thought she had heard other voices… human voices. Uninfected voices. It might have just been lack of food and sleep that were making her hallucinate, it might have been her subconscious making her hear things to comfort her or offer her a speck of hope in the darkness. Whatever it was, she tried hard to hear more.

There was silence but for the rain and the infected shambling aimlessly through the warehouse, and she had almost given up hope…

When she heard a completely different noise. Muffled and distant, but unmistakeable, gunfire peppered the silence, and once again she heard a human voice shout. Sitting up very straight now, eyes wide, she could feel her heart thundering so hard it threatened to escape her chest, and her face lit up in a smile she couldn't stop.

Someone was coming!

Until they showed up, though, she had to stay put. If she got too eager and excited, she would attract the attention of the infected in the warehouse, and she still had no way to defend herself. Jumping the gun would mean death…

And she wasn't yet ready to die.

Listening hard, her breath heavy in her chest and her head feeling light from her pounding heart and growling stomach, she heard the gunfire become less muffled and closer, the voices beginning to become more distinct. There were at least two of them, both male, and one of them was shouting about all the horrible things he was going to do to the infected as they charged through the rain towards the warehouse she hid in.

The gunfire became louder than thunder as footsteps pounded into the warehouse, and the smell of blood became fresh with the sound of bodies hitting the floor heavily. She stood very slowly, not wanting to attract the attention of the infected that were still alive, but she saw as soon as she was on her feet that they had all run towards the sound of squealing and screaming uttered from their infected brethren, leaving her effectively alone in her little corner. She pushed the boxes away and stood just outside them with her hands clenched into fists at her sides, waiting until the sound of gunfire stopped with her eyes closed tightly.

"Check that corner for supplies. And for any others that might still be standing." A voice muttered, angry and sounding like it might belong to a younger male. There was a grunt from the second, and she opened her eyes to see when he came around the corner. She held up her hands to show they were empty, but her mouth was dry and she wasn't sure she could speak. If she didn't say something… there was a chance he would kill her on sight.

Indeed, when he came around the corner with his gun up, his eyes widened and he shouted over his shoulder to the other a single word.

"Hunter!"

His finger almost squeezed the trigger before she finally found her voice, little more than a croak from how little she had been using it as of late.

"W-wait!"

He paused, taking his finger from the trigger but not lowering the gun, glancing over his shoulder when the other male came hurrying over.

"Dumbass." The shorter of the males said, scowling up at the taller with the gun. "How many fucking hunters wear fucking pink hoodies?"

The taller male grunted again and lowered his gun, watching the shorter move towards her and rubbing his goatee thoughtfully. In the flickering light of their flashlights and the flashes of lighting from outside, she could see his tattooed arms and shaved hair, his tired face showing signs of having seen far too much in far too short a time.

"P-please… don't leave without me. I-I've been hiding, b-but…" She stopped talking when the shorter male held up a hand and scowled, looking towards the door. She glanced in the same direction, her pleading face turning back to the taller of the two.

"There's another horde coming, we've gotta move." The shorter male said, looking at her for a moment before moving away. He leaned up to speak quietly to the taller man, the conversation lost in the rain and the sound of oncoming infected, and the taller man's lip curled in disgust. He shook his head, but the shorter male hissed something at him and his expression changed. He turned his face back to look at her, something hard and guarded in his face as he approached her.

They stood facing one another for a long moment, then he sighed and held his hand out.

"Francis." It was simple, rough and straightforward.

Her trembling fingers crept out to take his hand, and he shook firmly as she spoke loud enough for his ears only.

"Z-zoey…"

"Zoey, you ever fired a gun?" He eyed her up and down, knowing full well the answer when he did. Her jacket had been new when she put it on, and her jeans were filthy but still obviously designer. Her battered shoes were weathering well considering they had never been designed for the sort of activities she had been partaking of lately, and her backpack was name brand and expensive.

"No… but I'm sure I'll get lots of practice in if you have one I can use." Zoey answered truthfully, Francis' mouth turning up slightly in a smile.

"Was hoping you'd say that." He pulled a pistol from his belt and held it out to her, his smile twisting ever so slightly as he watched her hold it without a clue of what to do with it. "My compadre over there wants to leave you here. He thinks you'll be a burden to us."

She stared at him in disbelief, finding her voice a few seconds later… A few seconds longer than she would have liked.

"Is this just to defend myself when you two leave?"

"No." Francis swung his shotgun up to rest against his shoulder, tilting his head to the side and regarding her. "You're comin' with us whether he or you like it or not. I'm not leavin' you here to die."

"The more the merrier?" She tried for a smile, but it must have come across more as a grimace, judging by the look on his face.

"The more the merrier. Welcome aboard, Zoey."

Both of them startled and looked in the direction the shorter male had disappeared in, eyes widening when they saw the swarms of infected converging on the parked car that was blaring a high pitched car alarm. The man crouched on the hood of it, shooting as many as he could as they came from all directions didn't even stand a chance…

And when they were done with him, all of them turned at once and rushed towards Zoey and Francis, howling and snarling. Francis looked down at Zoey, who quivered in terror, and grinned at her wickedly.

"Well… I had hoped to break you in a little bit slower, but what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right? Right?!" He laughed as he opened fire, the car alarm continuing to shriek in the background…

…

…

…

Zoey found herself sitting up with a gasp, one hand moving to clutch at her chest in a panic, tears streaming down her cheeks. The shrieking sound of the car alarm still echoed in her ears, and it took her a long moment to realize that it wasn't a product of her dream. Outside, there was shouting and the sound of feet running down the sidewalk, the car alarm continuing to bawl even as the owner attempted to turn it off.

She reached up and put her hands over her ears, closing her eyes tightly and letting out a low moan of despair. If only someone would make it stop…

Her blankets were all twisted and her body was covered in cold sweat, the lingering adrenaline of the dream still coursing through her veins. She fumbled for the glass of water on her bedside table, nearly spilling it when the bedroom door opened to reveal two figures waiting on the other side.

"Zoey, sweetheart!" Her mother called quietly, moving to embrace her in a gentle, mothering manner and looking her over in concern. "What's the matter?"

"Just a dream." Zoer murmured back, returning the embrace maybe a little too tightly. It was just a dream, just a dream, she told herself. A terrible nightmare, a flashback to a very terrible first meeting with a man she now cared for more than words could say. "I was dreaming about the day I met Francis."

"It made you react like that?" Her father demanded, crouching down beside the bed with a frown. "HE made you react like that? Gods, you were screaming like a w-…"He stopped midsentence at a sharp look from his wife, his lips closing tightly when he realized what he had been about to say.

"Like a banshee." Zoey's mother continued, and Zoey looked back and forth between them before sighing and letting her head hang. "You were screaming like a banshee."

"I told you about when we met. How he saved my life…" Zoey murmured, looking between them.

"How he shoved a gun in your hands and forced you to fend for yourself, you mean? How you two 'got to know each other' in one of those safe rooms? Is that what you're trying to say?" Her father spoke softly, but with terrible emotion in his voice.

"Honey, please." Zoey's mother said quietly, looking down at her daughter. "Zoey, the infection is gone. We found the cure! There's nothing to be afraid of anymore."

"It doesn't change the fact that the whole thing happened, mom. It doesn't change what I saw, what I had to do… It doesn't take away the memories of the blood and the screaming." Zoey shuddered and closed her eyes, shaking her head. She hugged her mother again, muffling the cries and the tears that were still falling in her shoulder…

She didn't say it out loud, but at times like these, she wished it was someone else holding her, and someone else's shoulder she was crying on. In the lingering emotions of the dream, she could still smell him, could still hear the creak of the leather vest he wore, she could still feel his rough hands, could still feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as they clung to one another in the safe room after running for their lives.

Times like this, she wished Francis was still there to hold her instead…