He met her in an alley.

For a minute, Zacharie thought she was one of the undead he tried so hard to avoid—crouched low to the ground, covered in dirt and blood, wild eyes staring at him through matted hair. He was a merchant, not a fighter, and was preparing to run when she spoke.

"Are you alive?"

"Are you?" he retorted, startled by the soft human voice. "You look half-dead, amigo."

She laughed uneasily. "Maybe I am."

"Come on." Zacharie surprised himself with the offer. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Zacharie didn't really have a home, not anymore. Instead, he had a large backpack stuffed with various items, and a mental list of places he could spend the night. Some were literal holes in the walls—others were houses he'd rigged up with rainwater showers and small electrical generators. He took the girl to one of the latter, and after patiently convincing her that yes, it was safe, waited in the kitchen while she cleaned herself up in the bathroom.

When she finally emerged, she startled him with how pale she was. Pale skin and white-blonde hair contrasted with bizarrely dark grey eyes, all hidden an hour ago under dirt and blood.

"You've certainly changed," Zacharie commented. "What's your name?"

The girl bit her lip. "They called me Sucre."

"I'm Zacharie. Nice to meet you."

"Why do you wear that?" Sucre stepped forward, reaching out to touch Zacharie's mask.

It took a moment for Zacharie to regain his composure—he wasn't used to people touching him. Nobody had in many, many years, even before the outbreaks began. "Because I don't want people to recognize me."

She laughed, tapping the mask with her fingernails. "You aren't more recognizable with it?"

"Not when I take it off."

Zacharie hadn't had a plan in mind when he took Sucre home with him—but if he had, it would have been to simply help her clean herself up, maybe give her some food, and send her on her way.

It hadn't been to let her stay with him indefinitely, becoming something of a sidekick, or maybe even a friend. Not once had he planned on keeping someone who constantly giggled and tapped on his mask, or wasted time finding candy bars instead of real food, or muttered French in her sleep.

What was even worse was, as off-putting as it was to suddenly have a companion, he enjoyed having someone with him. Even if it was a bizarrely pale French girl with a sweet tooth.

"Where do you think the animals went?" She asked one day.

"Into the woods, maybe." Zacharie shrugged. "There are still some birds around."

"Can you catch birds, Zacharie? Can you catch ducks?"

"If you want a duck."

She opened her mouth to respond or maybe just laugh, but Zacharie shushed her quickly. "Something is outside."

Both fell silent, listening to the quiet scratching sound now coming from their door. There were no grunts, no muffled moans of the undead, but just scratching was enough.

"Let's go, cheri," Zacharie grabbed his backpack as Sucre scrambled to her feet, taking his hand. In moments, they were out the backdoor and on the way to another safehouse, and a once-deceased man in a business suit continued clawing at the door.