He definitely isn't a walker.

At least not at the moment. His skin is intact with his face, though unwashed and scratched. The leather jacket that he is wearing is scuffed at the elbows and the stitching around the angel wings on the back have begun to fray. With old worn boots and holey jeans, this was obviously his usual attire. Blood has been pooling under the right side of his face. His lashes begin to seep into the redness and his breathing is labored.

If the motorcycle had not been lying beside him it would have seemed like he had merely plunged from the sky, the wings he wore having been broken. The man hasn't moved in several minutes.

Just leave him, the adrenaline is pumping through me now knowing that at any minute he might reanimate. Straight through his brain, logic is coaxing my hands as they inch closer to his face. But my heart startles and pleads, help him.

Before I decide which to listen to, his arm twitches and I lower into a crouch, my breaths coming in wild and contracted. His forehead crinkles and his eye lids flutter. A soft moan escapes him and my first instinct is to plunge my knife in his temple, but then his eyes are open and I can see a clear blue iris' staring at me. No sign of infection.

I sigh with relief and fall back onto my ass. He huffs out a breath as he pulls his arms in to slowly push himself up. He stares at me. I can't tell if he's in shock or is trying to decide if I'm going to kill him or not. He doesn't appear alarmed. His eyebrows lower and scowl at me, obviously not liking the attention I'm giving him. The creases by his eyes deepen with the expression and he looks exhausted. Exhausted but alive.

"Who are ya?" he grunts as he finally stands. He towers over me now and though my mind says to get up too and take away the upper hand, my body says no. I am too tired. Up until I had heard the loud screeching of metal and asphalt I had been laying out in the woods. There was a large field a few yards in from the road. I had lain down and pressed my cheek into the soft grass. I was ready to die.

His hand waves down in front of my face, "hello?" he winces at the gesture and holds his arm to his side.

"I heard you crash," I say as I finally meet his eyes. I do a once over of his body. He isn't putting weight on his right leg and there is a lot of blood on his face. "How bad are you hurt?"

"What's it to ya?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

He stares at me again.

"I don't need none of ya help so don't worry ya pretty little head over it," he tried to pick the bike up but stumbled, not having any balance due to his injured leg.

"You sure you should ride that right now? You obviously aren't very good at it."

"Who the hell do ya think ya is? Huh? Some goddamn little hero or somethin'? Get lost."

His remarks surprise me. If he is all alone wouldn't help be nice? I am starting to regret helping him in the first place. Hell, I could have been dead by now. Maybe I would have crawled my way out to him and chomped down on his ungrateful self.

I got up, putting my knife back into my boot and headed back from where I had come. He didn't call out. He didn't try to stop me. So I left him huffing and puffing trying to stand that scrap of bike back up.

The blue sky begins to blend with dusk as the sun slips behind the tall trees lining the field. I can still see my imprint in the blades as I sink back down. This time I lay down on my back, wondering if I would make it till night to see the stars one last time.

The only thing I could hear was the pathetic attempt of the man to start his bike. He had to of known it was hopeless. Poor son of a bitch. The droning sound of its engine and the occasional curses eventually lulled me into the place of content. It had been days since I had slept for more than a few hours. Now I could forever.

"What the fuck ya doin'?"

His rough voice dislocates me from sleep. He is standing over me, a bag hanging from his shoulder and a cross bow in his left hand.

"Waitin.'"

He looks around and casts his stony eyes back down to me, "For what exactly?"

"I'm not really sure yet."

"Walkers?"

I open my eyes again, "I guess. Not like I'm waitin' for my prince charmin' or nothin.' Unless you're him?" I let a smirk spread across my face. He glares harder.

"Ya hit ya head or somethin'? 'Cause ya dumb as fuck if you stay out in the open like this. Ya gunna die."

I look at him blankly, challenging him to give me one good reason that dying wasn't the best option in our current situation. His face is vacant of expression. He shifts his weight and sucks in air again. The blood from his leg is seeping down his pant leg.

He seems to be trying to decide what to do.

Throwing his bag down beside my head, he lowers himself to the ground and ruffles through the pack, "at least make yaself useful before ya call it quits and help me stitch up m'leg," he tosses a small first aid kit at me.

"What the hell should I do that for?"

He doesn't answer but rolls up his jeans, right up to his knee exposing a bloody gash. I let out a soft whistle at the sight and hesitate before opening the kit. There is some gauze, a few pills, dark string and a hooked needle.

"Well go on, I don't got all damn day."

I take the needle and thread it wordlessly, unsure of why I was even bothering to do this. I move closer to him and grab his ankle, stretching his leg across my lap.

"Don't gotta fondle me just stitch the damn thing."

"You want my help or not?"

Without another word I start at the top of the wound and criss cross my way down. When it is lined with small x's, I reach in the kit and remove some gauze and finish with wrapping the last of the medical tape around his calf. He hitches his leg back as soon as I am done.

I collapse back into the grass and wait for him to leave.

"Ya really tryin' to commit some suicide right now?"

"No point in stickin' 'round. Everybody's dead anyway. You're the first alive person I've seen in a long ass time."

"Shouldn't you be jumpin' for shit then?"

"If the people life over in this world are anythin' like you, I'll pass."

He grunts and I hear him shuffling away.

"Where are you going anyway?"

He doesn't turn around. "I have a group to get back to."

"How many?" I sit up; slightly bewildered at the fact he had people, let alone a group of them waiting for him. When I had no one.

"I don't know. A dozen if everybody got out."

"Got out?"

"Whatchu care for anyway?" He is impatient.

Realizing I wasn't going to get an offer and unwilling to ask for one I tell him I don't care, was just wondering. I watch him tread through the tall grass all the way across the field and disappear into the woods.