(Alex's POV)
Alex watches the three other people who have found him. Or so they think. He truly found them, but they don't know that.
The blonde had accused him of many things. Whether all of them were true… Well, let's just say the blonde needed to cut him a little slack.
The brunette girl was curled up beside her brother, who Alex can still not believe has made it this far in this apocalypse. How can he be so loud, and yet not be heard by the undead? Some mysteries will forever be unsolved.
But anyway, the brunette has been the nicest so far. But Alex has been given orders that he will likely not follow. They were foolish. They were stupid to think that sending him out into the field was a good idea. But Alex marches to his own drum; they know that. So why did they send him?
Well, jokes on them now. He isn't disobeying them to help the three people beside him. Perhaps that's his fatal flaw. He will mess with these poor souls that God had put on Earth among him. He knows how people work, their common weaknesses, their common strengths. Is it a wonder that he passed Social Psychology in Highschool with an A+?
No matter. He isn't just a great big bundle of sadism and sarcasm. He simply knows the truth.
He can hear the brunette crying in her sleep. For some reason it hurts him to call her 'the brunette'. As for the blonde and the others, he was perfectly fine calling them that. But for some reason…again, some mysteries are better left unsolved.
He feels bad for her. That confuses him—that isn't part of his training. He knows the full truth of the situation, and she doesn't. If she knew, she wouldn't be crying for her lost friends who are probably dead.
The full truth of the situation at hand is not the zombies. Something deeper, something important has taken place the moment the virus rampaged the world. He remembers his psych teacher talking about it, not the zombie case of course, but if an apocalypse of any kind were to take place, this would happen. And it's true. He's seen it in every single face he has seen since the shindig has started.
Except his own.
(Freddie's POV)
He grips Sam's wrist. "Don't move." He whispers so low, that he can hardly hear it.
"Turn around."
That's the voice of the man cornering them. They slowly inch around, and all Freddie can hope is that he doesn't fire his gun, please don't fire his gun, please don't kill him and her, please, please, please, please—
"Have you been bitten?" The man demands.
They both shake their hands wildly.
"Come forward."
Sam was hesitant, but Freddie forces her to move up ahead alongside him. He was not going to let her get shot when they may be able to get out alive yet.
The man couldn't be older than his early twenties. He looks at both Sam and Freddie with narrowed eyes, sizing them up. "Do you have any idea where you are?"
Freddie and Sam exchange a glance. Sam steps forward, much better at smooth-talking than Freddie could ever dream to be.
"Depends on what time era you are referring to. The time before the zombies or the time after?"
"Shut the fuck up. You know what I'm saying."
"I assume we are in the ghettos, but as you could see, we weren't staying."
"Then why are you here?"
"We weren't stealing, or looting. We were just passing through."
"Of course you weren't looting. Cause' that's our job." The man's eyes twinkle.
Freddie's grip tightens on Sam's. Shit, it's the marauders.
"…Well, we better get on then." Sam says slowly, beginning to move away.
"Stop." The man says simply, stopping both of them in their tracks.
Freddie stares at the man, who was looking back, almost bored.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you both."
"You'd waste ammo." Sam says sharply.
"I'd just use your own gun."
"Hey, if you want it, take it. But then it'd be your gun, which meant your ammo, and you'd still lose it in the end." Sam shrugs.
"Is that a risk you think I should take?"
"Your choice. But I'm telling you now, it'd suck if you were out of bullets and there were two zombies coming after you. Tell me, sir. Is your life more valuable than mine?"
Sam was really pushing it now, and Freddie prepares for the man to fire at them.
"Give me your guns." He demands.
Almost un-thinkable cold dread fills Freddie, and he can't move.
"Now!" He snarls.
Trembling, both him and Sam place their guns carefully on the ground and push it towards the man.
The man stares at them, picks them up, and returns his stare to Freddie and Sam. He briefly thinks about making a run for it, but decides against it. He just prays that he has been a good person so far, and tries to ignore the regrets of his life, and hopes that Sam knows that—
"Go. Now. I never want to see either of you two again. If I see you again, let's just say that you won't get off so easily."
That's all Freddie needed to hear. He immediately turns and fast walks away, Sam right beside him. Once they turn the corner they're sprinting, running with the lives they almost lost.
"Please tell me you have a spare in your bag." Freddie says quickly.
"I do. Only one. And it hardly has any ammo." Still running, Sam slips one last pistol out of her bag. "We have to find them, and now."
"And get out of this crazy place."
"That, too. But where would we go then?"
Freddie swallows, not knowing how to respond. Finally, words form in his mouth:
"In times like these, there's nowhere to go."