A/N: don't own, don't sue, etc.

Victoria.

We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone.

- Orson Welles

Six Months In The Past...

A loud chorus of moans and the horrible clicking sounds of broken bodies caught my ears. In response, my heart began to race, and I reached for my long sword, lying dormant on the ground next to me. Last night I had chosen to sleep in the JayJays' store, hiding out in one of the changing rooms, surrounded by pillows and blankets I had pinched from the other stores.

My breathing, now hitched, I forced to turn steady. Each breath, individual, needed to be quiet and calm. And yet, I was not saved. The undead seem to have an ability to sense uninfected flesh. I felt the blood drain from my face as I realised they had entered the store.

I broke through the door of the changing room, faced by the first greyed face. His flesh was beginning to peel, and he was hallowed, thin. He looked starving, and he advanced on me accordingly, many more behind him.

Years had taught me speed. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and I tightened my grip on the sword, sweeping it through the air to disembody the walking corpse. He dropped like a stone. I crouched, and put each of my individual guns into the holsters strapped to my jeans. The next undead sauntered towards me, eyes filled with greedy hunger. I wrenched myself upright, and swiftly side-stepped her, running for my life around the small crowd of infected.

Grotesque arms reached for me as I ducked among the clothes racks, racing for the front of the store, and I reached it, only to feel vice like grip grab my shoulder from behind. I swung out blindly, sinking my sword deep into the brain of the infected. The grip on my shoulder lessoned. I tried to wrench my sword free, but it was stuck, giving no more than slight movements and horrible sucking sounds as I wrenched. Even more undead crawled towards me. I released my grip on the hilt of the sword, turning to run.

Damn, I thought. That's my favourite weapon.

I raced through the mall, my boots slapping painfully against the sand-ridden floors. This being the only reminder of the destruction outside of my makeshift home. I forced my legs to go faster, faster, towards the old medieval store. There would be more swords there, I had seen them.

One more corner. I turned to glance behind me. I horde of undead were still far behind, but not far enough. I made it to the store, and looked around fervently, searching for the nearest, lightest looking sword. I found one, and wrenched it from the wall. It was impressively. Deceptively light. I unsheathed the sword, and could see how the sunlight from outside streamed onto it, making it gleam. Sharp, light, lithe and deadly. Perfect.

I turned and fled the shop, at a loss for where to go next. I had no vehicle, nowhere to go. I would soon run out of energy for running. I could not fight all of them, it was impossible. I had next to no hope. I had to find somewhere to get to a place where they could not reach me. Somewhere I would still have food to survive.

The supermarket. The idea hit me strong and hard. After all, I had the keys. If I could just get there fast enough, I could bolt all the doors. I would be safe.

This decision took me. I ran for the escalator – no longer functioning, but served well enough as stairs to the upper levels of the mall. My calves screamed in protest, but I kept running, kept running. The undead trailed me, seeming to gain with every passing stride. I pushed faster.

I took another sharp right, and salvation found me. The supermarket was straight ahead. And still fully stocked – the only entrance to this place had been blocked for years until I had found the keys. I ran for my haven, hearing the brainless moans of hunger from behind me.

I pushed myself through the partially opened doors, panting heavily, and pushed hard against doors to close them. Please, please, please, I begged silently.

The doors groaned in protest, stubborn from misuse. Through the crack in the door, I could see the horde of undead approaching. I pushed with all my strength, every part of my body screaming in agonising protest, but still I persisted. I had a desperate need to survive.

Finally, the doors slid shut. I reached into the depths of the pockets of my cargo pants and drew out the keys. From beyond the doors, I could hear the persistent moans of the undead. I raised my shaking hand to the lock, and inserted the key, sealing the door for good as the first bodies crashed against it. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew the doors would hold against the mindless zombies.

All at once, exhaustion struck me. I collapsed on the floor, and closed my eyes.

But my reprieve was short-lived. Strong hands gripped my shoulders, and I wrenched my eyes open, a scream erupting from my throat. My hand, still curled around the hilt of my newly found sword, twitched, and I swept it upwards, towards the monsters neck, on instinct. Foolish, foolish girl. Should've checked this place was clear.

The figure looming above me released his steady grip on my shoulders, and ducked. I blanched. The undead never had enough conscious thought for self-protection. Just the mindless desire to feed.

"Careful!" Came a deep, gruff voice.

My heart skipped a beat, and I crawled to my feet.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively, reaching out to the figure in the shadows.

A rough laugh echoed through the silence. "Yes, I think that's a better greeting than trying to decapitate me, thank you very much."

Human.

"You're human," I stated, dumfounded.

The man stepped out from the darkness, and smiled. He had short, dark hair, and deep chocolate eyes. Ruggedly handsome, and dressed entirely in black – in some sort of military gear. He had rich, sun soaked skin, and strong muscles beneath his clothes. My heart skipped another beat.

"Yes, I'm human," he spoke again, in that slightly accented voice.

"Impossible," I whispered. "I didn't think there was anybody left."

The man reached up and ran a calloused hand through his thick, dark hair. "More than you think. I'm part of a convoy. Claire Redfield's convoy. We're here for provisions, but after that we're getting on the road again." He chuckled. "Well, not road, but you get the idea." I nodded. "You know," he continued, "we didn't think there'd be anybody here." He pondered this for a moment. "Join us," he whispered suddenly.

The undead rattled against the door. I looked up at him, towering over me, and smiled feebly. "I think I might just have to take you up on that," I murmured.