Graham sprinted to the nearest house and threw his staff up on the roof. He took a couple of steps back, and then took a flying leap. His body slammed into the wall but he scrambled up the drainpipe, wheezing. He plopped himself on the slanted tiles on the roof and gasped for air for a minute. He slung his pack off his shoulder and emptied what he scavenged today. A couple of cans rolled out and 4 bottles of water. "Better than nothing," Graham thought. He flicked his knife out and opened a can of beans while watching the lurkers scratch at the house as the sun went down. Graham drifted off to sleep listening to moans and screeches below him.
He woke with the sun shining in his eyes. He grunted and winced as his bruises from the day before came to light. He shimmied down the drainpipe and started towards town on his bike. Although it creaked and groaned from rust, the infected didn't have nearly enough speed or momentum to follow him. He kept his hair contained under his hat as the wind flew by him. Soon enough, he came to a section of the town he hadn't gotten to yet. He leaned his ride against a brick wall and started towards a coffee shop. Graham remembered vaguely - Mrs. Smith used to run the shop.
Graham's feet crunched on shattered, broken glass as he entered. Staff already unslung, he paused every few seconds for hint of a shambler. It was a wicked weapon. It was a 6ft study, wooden staff with two hunting knives on each end. They were bound tightly and sharpened with a stone every few days. Graham came to the counter and hopped over. In the beginning, people had gone for the money in all the confusion. Cash was useless now to those who survived. Graham stuffed 2 bag of marshmallows into his duffel bag and swept all the water bottles in there as well. He crunched on an apple as he went back to his bike.
A howl pierced the crisp morning air. Graham whipped around to see a pack of swifts approaching rapidly. Graham swore under his breath. Graham had come to see on the TV before hell broke lose that there were 4 levels/classes of the infected. Authorities said that Class Ones were slow and nearly blind. They had considerable strength though. Class Twos reacted to sound and could go at a jog. They were the most common. Class Threes could were swift and fast, but were thin and ragged. Lastly, there was Four. These were rare and intelligent enough to kill with ease. Herders, as they were called, since they could gather other classes to their rank and regroup. They were never without a pack.
Graham had never seen a pack of swifts this large. He stood his ground as they advanced quickly. He grunted as he stabbed one through the stomach. He whipped out his spear and spun it through the air, slicing a few more heads off. The remaining swifts stayed out off his reach, but surrounded his front flank. Graham stepped back and tripped on a brick behind him. He slammed into the pavement and howled as the first one raked his leg with its jagged nails. He swept his staff in front, but now the zombies were slowly closing in.
BANG! Graham's vision bursted with white, and his ears popped. Slowly, the fogginess cleared and he made out a tall thin figure, slicing and hacking at the disoriented zombies. The boy gutted all of the rest and then kneeled next to Graham. He kept shouting something Graham couldn't make out. The boy rolled his eyes and helped Graham up. "We have to go, the sun is almost down," the boy said. "Do you have a safe house somewhere?"
"Yeah, a few blocks from here," Graham murmured. "All of my stuff and provisions are there."
"Let's go then!" the boy shouted. He hopped onto a nearby motorcycle and started it. He revved it twice and looked back.
Graham was unsure whether he should go with a complete stranger who blinded him. Then again, he did save his life and sunset was 10 minutes away. Slowly, Graham clambered onto the vehicle and gave the boy a thumbs up. As they rode towards Graham's shelter, he broke the silence. "Who are you?" he shouted.
"Austin!" the boy yelled back. "Pleased to meet you!"