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Our pile of loot, if it could even be labeled a pile, sat in the corner farthest from the door. All except my Cheerios—no way was I giving him any opportunity to eat them. I had secured the door already, despite the sun still high in the afternoon sky. The more I thought about it, where were we going to go? Besides, I found a way to occupy myself. Since we had returned, I chased my wonderful little buddy around the trailer. Raggedy cloths in hand, I wanted only to clean the wound on his shoulder. Why? How the hell should I know; maybe it was the nursing instruction that continued to nag me. I felt the need to help. Of course, he did not see it that way. If he still knew how to give me the finger, I'm certain he would have by now.

"You were perfectly fine with me an hour ago. What's the problem now?"

I managed to corner him between a wall and the busted remains of a table common to the safe houses. Admittedly, that was not the most secure maneuver on my part, but at least he stopped running away. The Infected faced me, no trace of true fear or anger his disturbing eye, only a bleak weariness. He grabbed his tongue in both hands, turning himself away.

"It's okay," I murmured softly. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you…"

Moving with a slow impatience, I stood before him. His raspy breathing picked up, his unblinking eye never once focusing on me. With nowhere else to go, he had given up; which meant one thing: I won.

The moment I set a hand on his shoulder, his entire body flinched. I eased his jacket away from the puncture, cautious of any pressure I may put on the wound. Beneath he wore a simple, torn gray shirt smeared with dirt and blood, a mixture of his own and…well, I did not really want to think about that. Claws had torn his clothes; I was willing to bet, judging by the four meticulous tears in the fabric across the newest injury. I peeled the gashes apart, hearing him wheeze in brief disapproval, and viewed the hole in his mottled flesh.

Aside from the bullet lodged beneath his skin, the wound was not horrible. The Smoker had had worse, no doubt.

He suddenly dropped both hands to his sides. If he would stay like that, it might stop bleeding! As I examined closer, his chin bumped into my head, tongue grazing my arm again. I assumed he was trying to watch my actions. The spores fluttered around seemed to grow worse, too. Either that or I was simply noticing them a little more.

"That needs to come out," I said, not daring to turn my head. I was in no mood to shove my face into his. Instead, I took one of the torn cloths and laid it on the wound, drawing a startled grunt from him. "You're not gonna let me do that…" I stepped back, giving him a gentle half-smile. I was hoping some part of him recognized gestures like that. The cloth stuck for the time being, much to my relief. Until I could dig out the bullet, and find some tape, that was all I could do. "Are ya?"

I sighed, hesitantly distancing myself from him. Being so close made me almost want to inspect him a tad bit more. As I believe I have said, I am a fairly curious person. However, those spores were bugging the hell out of me. I flopped on the plywood floor, a good way away from the door. Occasionally, I would catch him tenderly poking at his shoulder, or attempting to look at the cloth stuck to his skin. I expected the infected to pull it off; or eat it.

After a few minutes, he lost interest, and shuffled over to me. At first, he stared me down, and I raised an eyebrow. Hairs on my arms stood on end; I don't know what bothered me more: the fact that I could read no emotion on his face, or that I could only on occasion. The Smoker cocked his head, and then slumped his back against the wall, right beside me, sliding down to the floor. He rested his knobby arms on his knees.

I froze. The way he was sitting there was just too…human for my liking. It is hard to remember that I was sitting beside a monster when he did things like that!

As my initial shock slowly wore off, I realized I was sitting that exact same way. All he was doing was mimicking me. Ok, that is a little better.

I wrapped both arms around my legs, turning a curious eye to him. "You…God, I can't figure you out. You freak out and attack me, you follow me around, you steal my candy…" I lay my chin against my elbow. "You saved my ass when we both know you shouldn't have. Seriously…what is goin' on with you?" The Smoker watched me with his head leaning back on the thin metal planks. I laughed humorlessly under my breath, shaking my head. As an after-thought, I whispered, "I don't even know what to call you…"

Was there a need to call him anything at all? Probably not. I wish I knew his name, even though I knew it meant nothing to him anymore….I eyed him. Or, I could give him one…

Stupid, cheesy aliases floated through my head; you know, the ones EVERYONE calls EVERYTHING because they think it's cute, or cool. 'Killer', 'Dog', 'Spike'. No, I thought he deserved something a little better than that. Besides, I was naming (or nicknaming) a zombie, not an animal.

…There's something else I never thought I'd say.

"How about…" I narrowed my eyes at him with a sidelong glance. He did not strike me as anything specific; like how some people look like an 'Emily' or 'David'. So, I needed to pull a name out of my ass, for lack of better ways to phrase it. Something short and sweet… "How about Mick?"

He choked a few times, catching his shaky breath. He did not care. I will admit, it made me feel better telling myself that he did, even if I did not believe it. Oh well, it was done. He turned to look at me straight on. I guess he knew when I was talking to him, even if he understood absolutely nothing that was coming out of my mouth. His whole body suddenly shook in a violent cough, and I frowned. "I'll take that as a yes?"

The Smoker—Mick took a deep, calming breath after his little fit. "You know…" As I spoke, he tilted his head, watching me intently. I was starting to wonder if he wanted me to just shut up. "I should have gone with those three earlier." Over his wheezes, I sighed, shaking my head. "This is all wrong…" I held my head in my hands. This whole situation—I should not even be alive, let alone sitting around talking to a Smoker. A Smoker that I had named, on top of that. "God, part of me hopes those guys don't make it to a safe house. Do you know how fucked up that is?

Watching him made me feel a little better. He was listening. Whether he understood hardly mattered. I laughed at myself. "Of course you don't…" Seeing other people should have given me strength. However, there was only one thing I could think about, and it shook up any little bit of vigor I might have had. "I had a family, ya know. I'll bet you did, too. What if they're out there somewhere? What if they're with people who are thinking the same things I am…"

I felt tears coming on. My mom, my brother and sister—where were they? I mean, we were not exactly equipped to handle a zombie apocalypse. Our only line of defense was the array of knives in the kitchen; a lot of good those would do if one of us were to be grabbed by a Smoker, or surrounded by a horde. What if they had turned, or had been—I shook my head. No. I was not going to think like that. And I sure as hell was not going to cry.

I shuffled to turn on my side, facing away from Mick. "I'm taking a nap," I informed him, fighting to still my cracking voice. "Wake me up in an hour, will ya?"

My eyes had not closed for two minutes when I suddenly heard rustling behind me. I waited for a harsh touch, or the prickle of those little spores. Instead, footsteps retreated to the opposite side. I held still, cracking one eye open out of sheer curiosity.

Mick leaned against the doorframe, peering out through the bars. Both hands hung loosely at his sides as he inspected the surrounding lot. I could hear approaching infected; a couple commons if I was not mistaken. Their mumbles and groans were easy to distinguish, especially compared to the howls of some of those Specials. He pressed his face against the metal for a better view, though even I could tell they were no threat. As long as I stayed quiet, and no one opened that door, I was safe. I assumed the other Infected would pay little mind to his noises.

He seemed to realize that, too. Mick relaxed against the wall again, eye watchful of everything going on outside.

The last thing I remember before dozing off was grinning to myself, realizing I was now considering myself safe in the presence of a Smoker.

Good Lord, I am going absolutely insane…