I scratched my stomach. The now dry jacket had bunched up uncomfortably at my shoulders, falling over my face. I shook my head and yawned, not wanting to open my eyes but decided it would be stupid to walk around that way. I looked over at the man, still sound asleep. He wasn't shaking and he had some color back. He was still on his back and his injured arm was pulled close to his stomach. The bruises were worse then the night before. Nearly to his forearm.

A small bit of blood was still on his palm from a cut on the back of his wrist.

First things first. Food. I was hungry and the man would be when he woke up. I looked around to the kitchen, a single light was still on despite the morning light. Trash littered the floor, food rappers and paper, but nothing eatable. I ventured to the cupboards and opened each one. but the bottom shelves were empty. An empty bag here and there but nothing edible. I twisted my head towards the top cupboards, seeing they were still closed. I stood on my feet, holding onto the counter when I began to teeter to the left. I opened each door, hopping from one foot to the other, but they were still empty.

I whined and looked around again, dropping back to all fours. I looked in each room. One with a twin bed and no blanket, and the other had a small bed with a dark green blanket. Two pillows were thrown to the floor, and a cooking pan lay upturned near the window.

The house was stripped clean. No health, no ammo (not that he had a gun to use it for), and nothing to eat. Not even water. My hood had fallen back but I didn't bother to mess with it. I flicked my head, brushing my bangs aside. I sat down, unsure of where to go from here. I could go look outside. But what if he woke up and left? Well I didn't think he would do that. He was in no shape to run from zombies.

Nick

"Ellis!" Coach called, opening the door to a flooded house, hoping the Hick had ventured in there. I knew he hadn't, but if it made Coach feel better then what the heck. Rochelle was a few yards ahead, checking in a few cars but came up empty.

"There's no way he got this far." She exclaimed, throwing her arms up. We had been searching all night. Not bothering for the safe house and doubled back the way he had run. "I still think we should check the swamp." She said again for the fourth time.

"We already did Rochelle. You saw the foot steps as well as me. That Tank stopped on that hill. But his foot prints kept going. He probably isn't in the swamp any more." I said, having rehearsed it every time she suggested that we looked just one more time.

I wasn't sure whether he was alive or not. He was a moron but he knew how to watch himself. Well...with everything but zombies. That Tank had stopped. I saw myself. The fist imprints were clear as day, but didn't follow the path of Ellis's boots. But they stopped at the water, and we could only guess he had gone across. I went across, but there wasn't any sign he had been there.

Everything except the bloody hand print on that rock. That's what had really made them a little frantic. The fact that he was hurt and alone raised the stakes that he was dead. Like I said, he was a moron. I wanted to look. But what was the point of looking for something that might be gone?

I ran my hand through my hair and looked around, the concrete and a few cars were over turned, but the Tank was gone. Well I hoped so any way. Coach leaned against a red car, his knee still bothering him from the run in with the very same Tank. I leaned against it as well, out of exhaustion more then anything.

"What if he comes back this way?" Rochelle asked, giving one last look around.

"Well, he will probably go to the next one if he doesn't get turned around. He'll try to find us." I reasoned, placing my hand on Coached shoulder.

"That boy gets himself into to much trouble" He said, loading his empty gun. I sighed and did the same, shooting a zombie that had yet to notice us. The body fell to the ground, nothing more then rotted flesh. I was glad that none of us had to become that. It wasn't something I'd want to happen.

Chip

I was dragging a health pack in mouth, heading back to the safe house. I had been gone only an hour or so. Searching for any left over materials. Luckily I came across a body. A CEDA body. The last hope for the world was lying before me, blood long ago drained and eaten.

But he still had a health pack.

My hood was still back, my brown hair once again falling into my eyes. The hem of my pants and jacket sleeves were soaked, the rain water still as high as ever. And another thunder cloud was closing in. I trotted down the run off, seeing the red door. I had turned the lights off, not wanting an infected to see that someone was there. I was surprised the electricity was still on at all.

I nudged the door open, kicking it closed and replacing the metal bar. The man was still asleep. In fact he hadn't moved and I stepped forward and poked his head. He grunted, moving his head slightly. I was getting a little impatient.

He had a group to find. I had been thinking about it and I knew they had to be looking for him. But then remembering how the older man had yelled at him, I wasn't sure whether they were looking, or whether they even cared. Either way I wanted him to get up.

I leaned over him for a moment, unsure of whether to role him over or not. The moment I placed my hand on his stomach his eyes snapped open in surprise, his body jerked back as he tried frantically to move away. He cursed under his breath and reached for what I could guess was the gun he no longer had. I jumped back with a squeal, startling him further. At the end of a two minute panic from both of us, he was in one corner and I was in the corner at the opposite side of the room.

He watched me with a cold hard gaze, back pressed against the wall and chest heaving. Bloody hand pulled against his chest.

I was bent low, hood falling forward with my back arched. We sat there frozen for a few moments. Neither one of us sure of what to do. I had only planned to wake him up. Not to have him freak out and shoot me if he had his gun. Although it should have been common sense...

He slowly got to his feet, leaning on his right side, wincing with each breath. His eyes never leaving mine.

"Why don't you kill me already?" He asked, holding his arms open,as if thinking I wasn't real. I sat down in a calmer manner, flicking my head back to remove my hood. He blinked at me for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

"Hey, your that hun'er that attacked...what?" His thick southern drawl sounding more surprised then afraid. I nodded, eyeing the health pack on the floor directly between us.

I stepped forward slowly but he didn't move. I swatted the red pouch towards him, his blue eyes narrowing farther.

Finally he bent down and picked it up. "I didn' have a health pack with me. Did ya find this?" He asked, looking back at me, nodding my head. He looked at his bloody hand. I hadn't paid it any attention since it had stopped bleeding before I had even gotten a blanket over him. "Thanks..." He said, narrowing his eyes and closing his palm.

I was curled up in the corner, watching the man examine his arm. Now that he had removed his shirt I could see just how hard the Tank had hit him. A dark purple and black bruises ran from his chest, up his shoulder and to his elbow. His side as well. Several scratches ran up his stomach. He looked over at me a few times, never turning his back.

He easily threw back three pills.

Once he had sat back down everything was quiet. He didn't talk, and I didn't try too. Finally, after sitting in silence for nearly an hour, he threw the gauze my way. "You should rap up yer' hand."

I looked down, finally remembering the cut on my own palm on the rough ground, along with a scrap running across my fingers. It didn't need a bandage. It didn't hurt and wasn't bleeding anymore.

"It might get inf-...It might get worse."

I stared at him, then back to my hand. I grabbed the gauz and began to rap it around the cut, cutting it with my teeth. The rain had begun to fall again, and a deep rumble rolled across the sky. A flash lighting up the boarded window.

"What's yer name?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as if he knew he wouldn't get an answer. "Can ya talk?" He asked after a second of watching my blank stare. I nodded my head. I could talk. It was only a few simple words, but I could talk. I had lost most my speech when I had gotten bitten.

"Do you have a name?" He asked, and I actually had to think. I had a name, I always have. But I didn't know how to tell him. I looked around, trying to form the right sounds. But the sound that came out was more of a 'mim' sounding growl.

The man cocked his head, unable to make out the noise. I closed my eyes, thinking. I finally stood, walking to the cupboards and reaching in to the empty bags at the very back. I spit out the balled up bag a few feet away from him and sat down.

"Yer names bag?" He asked, a little questionable. I growled and shifted my weight. "chip, dip, Frito,-" He tried, finally stopping when I smiled. This was awkward for me...

"Frito?" He said, his eyes narrowing his eyes. And once again I growled, with a deep frown.

"Dip?...Chip!" He finally said, snapping his fingers.

I snorted, awkward at where he had to go with one question. I rolled my eyes and settling onto the floor.

He chuckled, resting his arms on his knees. "Mah names Ellis." I ran the name over in my head a few times. That's right. I remember the older man yelling at him when he wouldn't shoot me.

With his mind more at ease he began to look around. Walking from room to room. He had a small limp but didn't appear to be in much pain.

Looks like those three pills were a good idea.

At one point I joined him, having already looked through the whole house but didn't see a problem with doing it again. He didn't seem to mind my presence. Completely fine that a Hunter was standing two feet away. But then again he had already gotten it out of his system as much as I had.

He ventured into the bathroom, opening the cabinets to look for medicine and such. He found a half-empty bottle of Advil and closed the door, the mirror reflecting his face back at him. Instantly his hand slammed onto his head with a horrified expression. "My hat! I must'a dropped it!"

My eyes opened wide and I quickly reached into my jacket pocket, revealing the white and blue hat. The tow-truck on the front with a worn blood stain. His face lit up, and placed it back on his head, placing his hands on his hips contentedly, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

I honestly had no idea how Ellis was going to learn his name. Given the rappers laying around, I thought "What the heck..."