I have an excuse for why this chapter is so bad! I wrote it once... and lost it. :( Had to write the whole thing over again and couldn't rest easy till I did. The agony.

This is numero uno in the days, but it's part one because I've decided to split any chapters that grow too long. I know no one enjoys reading long chapters and if it's over 4k words it becomes a tl;dr sort of thing. This update is a quickie because I really wanted to write some more. Don't count on it happening too often!

Day 1

(Part I)

"It's for research mom. I get more information from movies than from a professor lecturing to a hundred students. What? No I'm here on a scholarship. Look, I'll talk to you about this later. Love you mom." She hangs up, presses play on the remote control, and lets the suspenseful music wash over her feelings of guilt and mild exasperation.

Thank god for The Ring.

She curls up on the slightly lumpy dormitory mattress and watches as Rachel picks up the phone to hear a girl's voice whispering the famous line: "Seven days". That's when she breaks into a fit of giggles. It always seemed excessive to her to wait seven days to kill someone, since it would be easier and more productive to get a murder over with, though it did create the tension she loves so much in horror movies. It's excitement she'll never experience in the real world – she's glad, of course, that no one will call her in the middle of the night telling her she has seven days to live (although there was that one time on Halloween, when a friend was in a particularly good mood...).

Zoey finishes the movie and skips all her morning classes.

Around noon she microwaves lunch because the college cafeteria was always lacking. At the minute mark the chicken begins to smell – and not as in mom's delicious homemade food – an aroma of rotten eggs and... chemicals permeated from the microwave. Wrinkling her nose, she reaches for the empty box the lunch came in, trying to find the expiration date.

She touches something soft and wet.

It's a hand. Her eyes grow into circles, shocked and utterly disgusted. That's when she realizes she's lying on a pile of bodies.

"Shit!" She hisses and hastily slips off of the corpses, landing on her rear. Along with her startled breaths are the distant sounds of gunshots and roaring. She abruptly recalls being attacked by a Tank and sees an overpass above. Apparently she had stumbled off, and as disturbing as it was to wake up on top of dead people after plummeting off an overpass, the clumsiness had saved her life. The second Tank had decided three people were worth more than one skinny girl.

She stands and bites the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting profanities out of frustration and pain. Cushioned landing or not, falling fifty feet hurts. Nothing appears to have broken, but her left ankle throbs as she limps forward. Panic wells up in her chest as she becomes aware of the fact that she can't find a way back up, no stairs or ladders in sight. There are no Infected in to be seen either - live ones, anyways, so she decides somewhat anxiously that she'll simply have to follow the overpass until she can find a way to regroup with the others. The three were smart enough to put two and two together and realize that she had fallen but, for the time being, was alive and well. She begins to walk but glances back up at the broken metal railing, hesitant.

On second thought, she would write a short note. She can't help but see the irony of writing a message in blood to tell the world that she's alive and smiles as she finishes her bloody work.

"Alive. Regroup safe room. - Zoey"

"All right. It's easy. All I have to do is get to the safe room." She flinches at the noise. She was far enough that there were no more shrieks, no gunshots, and no sound whatsoever – and that made her voice seem painfully loud.

A soda can clatters to the cement floor and rolls to her grimy sneakers. Her knuckles are white from the vice like grip on the hunting rifle and she freezes in place, waiting for whatever was hiding to make itself known. There's no Common Infected around, which means it's more than likely a Special Infected is waiting for an ambush. They were smarter – predators hunting their prey.

A shrill cry sends a shiver down her spine. "Hunter!" She hisses quietly, more out of habit than usefulness. The call echoed eerily off of the walls of the underpass, and she has difficulty pinpointing the direction of the screeching. Another cry sends her on edge, but it was close enough for her to tell that it had come from –

"Behind!" She shouts and whips around. A single shot cracks through the silence before she's pinned down, rifle spinning ten feet away. The Hunter's so close that she can see his bloody lips, his sharp claws closed around her arms. "Get. Off. Me!" She's struggling, trying to kick him where it hurts but can't get enough room to do damage. No way in hell was she dying without a fight.

It takes five minutes before she realizes her intestines are still inside and she's fully intact. She stares up at the Hunter, wholly confused as to why she's still alive. She stops moving; as much as she would like to continue her one-sided fight, her ankle's throbbing painfully and she's completely out of breath.

Satisfied, the Hunter backs away – and to her surprise, stands up. Hunters always gave her the impression of preferring to be on all fours, like a wild predator. He's even slouching like the skaters she used to see on the boardwalk near her college, appearing normal enough to take her aback. When he reaches out an open hand she can't help but openly gape. They stay motionless until she can raise her jaw and gingerly accept the hand, minding the claws. He pulls her up with little difficulty.

"Thanks… I think." She's unsure whether she should be grateful or suspicious, because this could all be a convoluted plan of the Infected's to earn her trust and then eat her. In fact, she's not even sure if the Hunter understood a single word she was saying – he was a zombie for heaven's sake.

And then he did something that surprises her more than standing on two legs or showing human civility ever could have.

He spoke.

"Please… I have a request. Will you… listen to it?" It was scratchy and low like it hadn't been used in quite a while, and it made her throat hurt simply listening, but it was definitely a voice. She could only nod dumbly as the Hunter seems to slump even more, as if relieved, and gestures for her to follow. She picks up her rifle and trails after the Infected.

It was one of the stupidest moves she's ever made, but the flood of questions is brimming in her head and she can only follow. Curiosity killed the cat…

They slowly head in the direction she had been going before. It takes some time, but they eventually reach a rundown and abandoned hotel, Common Infected milling calmly in the front. The building looks halfway between a stylish luxury and a traveling businessman's hotel and has obviously seen better, more affluent days. Now most of the windows were broken or boarded up, and the glass double doors were shattered.

She swallows, dreading the answer to her unspoken question. "Are we going in there?"

The Hunter nods, and before she can protest, slings her on his back and jumps. She's holding on for dear life as they bound off of a wall and fly through the air almost gracefully, and land in a room.

"Somebody was prepared." She whistles as soon as she recovers from her wild ride. The exits are barricaded with wood and metal. It's a welcome sight and the best interior decorating she's seen in some time. The Hunter shrugs and dumps her unceremoniously on the bed before sitting on it heavily. She's about to make a biting retort when she sees the fresh blood her pink jacket.

It wasn't her blood…

"Ouch!" She winces, spotting the growing red stain on the dark hoodie. There's a hole on the right side, the size of a bullet. "I didn't shoot you back then, did I?" She asks incredulously. The Hunter shrugs again and she notes that she isn't going to get much out of the Infected. "I guess you did ask for it. But a point blank .308 round isn't something to be trifled with. Is there a first aid kit anywhere around here? Wait, I see it." An emergency medical kit was lying on the bathroom floor, half the supplies scattered on the linoleum. She gathered the items quickly and limps back to the bed with new determination. "I never thought I'd be saying this to a guy like you, but take off your shirt."

It was the Hunter's turn to stare at her as if she'd told him to step outside, don a dress, and do the mamba in front of a witch. The expression interpreted from only the lower half of his face was so clear and pathetic that she chose to compromise.

"As you are the one who jumped me, asked me for a favor, before taking me up to the tenth story of a building with no way down, I think you owe me some compliance. Lift your shirt, okay?"

A pause. The Hunter gritted his teeth and begrudgingly submitted. He looks away, and she has the vague feeling he was ashamed. She braces herself.

She's expecting tumors and boils underneath the shirt and is met with pale gray skin. She releases a breath, surprised by what she sees. It's a sickly color, but it's the only trait that discerns him as an Infected. He even has a nice set of abs and she finds herself musing briefly about what he looks like without the hoodie.

The thought passes and she mentally slaps herself, forcing all concentration on tending to the wound. It's trickling blood all over the bed sheets so she begins cleaning up the mess. She's mastered the art of treating injuries and has it down to a science, methodical in her steps until all she need do is disinfect and bandage the wound.

"It'll sting, but I need to disinfect it. I'm not sure if Infected can, well, have dirty wounds become infected, but might as well take precautions, right?" She grins at the Hunter who hasn't moved an inch since she told him to lift his shirt. When she applies the liquid to his skin, he hisses and grips the mattress with his free hand hard enough to tear right through it. "Stings, doesn't it?" She laughs quietly, and the Hunter frowns in response. He's practically pouting and her laughter increases a level. They fall into a companionable silence as she bandages his waist, white cloth only a few degrees lighter than his skin.

She sighs, the task feels almost therapeutic."There, we're done." She whispers, feeling motherly; she hasn't had a mom kiss her bruises and scrapes better in years (and now she doesn't even have a mom) and doing so for someone else made her feel at peace. She takes the chance to peek at the Hunter.

It was weird; sometimes he seemed to be a normal human being, while at other times he was almost animalistic. She supposes that's what the Infection entailed, but it was almost... sad to think about? She shakes her head and packs up all the leftover medical supplies. It wasn't her problem to consider.

"Thank you." He returns the smile - albeit ruefully – she doesn't notice she has on her lips.

"Not a problem." She replies in hushed tones and it's as if they're sharing a secret. They sit together quietly and for the time being they're content to say not another word.

And then...

She mumbles, embarrassed. "I have to go to the bathroom."