I came to not long after, lying on something cold, hard, and flat. Blinking, I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes, slightly confused; I hadn't realized I'd been out. I appeared to be in a very small store, lying on the tiles behind the counter. The shelves had been ransacked, and trash was scattered across the floor. At the far end of the store, the coolers where drinks were stored were standing open, completely empty save for a loose bottle of beer that had been shoved to one side and burst open, spilling its contents over the shelves and floor. Turning, I noticed that someone - and I could guess who - had been nice enough to make me a pillow out of a bloodstained hoodie. Trying my best not to think about where the hoodie came from, I struggled to my feet, still bleary from sleep. Then I realized I could hear faint voices, through the wall behind me. Turning, I came face-to-face with a metal door with 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' printed on it. Shrugging and mentally apologizing to the most-likely-dead store owner, I twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The voices were suddenly quite a bit louder; a deep baritone growl that was definitely Francis, and a drawling, sneering voice that I didn't recognize.
"Look, greaseball, it's pretty simple. We need to move. Maybe you're fine with staying in this shithole, but as for us, we're getting out of here. If your friend isn't ready to move, we're moving without her. Period." Navigating through piles of empty boxes in what appeared to be a storage room, I bit my teeth in worry. Were they talking about me? Then Francis growled, voice thick with barely-restrained fury, "You look, suit. There's no two ways around it; I'm not leavin' her, and if you think you can change that, then I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're about to get a big, heapin' portion of knuckle sandwich." Well, I thought, fumbling for the handle of the door out in the darkness. This situation is getting worse quickly. Then a nasal voice thick with southern drawl cut in, saying "Hey now fellas, no need fer this. Ah'm sure we can-…" the voice stopped, however, as I opened the door and stepped through.
Bill, Francis and Louis were all there, standing next to each other, with Francis out in front, in an aggressive posture with one leg forward, jabbing a finger in the direction of the four newcomers. There was a huge black man - probably a football player or something - wearing a bloodstained polo shirt and khakis with an equally bloodstained machete at his hip and a shotgun on his back. There was a man in a dirt-smeared but expensive looking white suit leaning casually against a nearby wall, a large-caliber pistol holstered at his hip and an assault rifle leaning against the wall next to him. There was a short-ish man who looked hardly older than I was, wearing a pair of overalls tied off at his waist, a tan T-shirt that bore the word "Bullshifters," and a baseball cap, carrying a hunting rifle. And finally, a black woman stood off to the side a ways, wearing jeans, boots and a pink Depeche Mode T-shirt, carrying an M16.
It was the man in the overalls and the ballcap who was speaking, as I could tell by the fact that his mouth was open, having been cut off in mid-sentence. When he saw me, however, he made no effort to shut his mouth, and his eyes widened just a bit. There was a long, awkward silence, then the man in the suit chuckled and shook his head. "Close your mouth before a fly crawls in, Ellis," he said, and I immediately recognized his voice as the drawling one who had proposed leaving me behind earlier. I immediately decided that I disliked him. The one in the overalls - apparently named Ellis - shut his mouth quickly, with an audible snap, and turned away, blushing a shade of red reminiscent of a tomato. This only caused the man in the suit to laugh harder, at which the big black man shot him a withering glare, which he took no notice of. Francis, Louis and Bill, having been facing away from me, took in Ellis's reaction and turned to look at what he had been looking at. As soon as Francis saw me, he looked back at Ellis for a moment, then back to me, eyes narrowing. Louis walked over while Francis was glowering at the newcomers, and said "Hey, you okay? Gave us a bit of a fright." Nodding vigorously, I said "Yeah, I'm fine. Who are these guys?" Louis gave me a cheerful smile and said "The one in the suit is Nick. He doesn't talk much. The one in the overalls is Ellis. He talks too much." Here Louis paused to chuckle, before continuing "The football guy just calls himself Coach. The girl in the Depeche Mode shirt is Rochelle. Other than that, we don't really know."
Looking over, I noticed Ellis casting occasional nervous glances at me, and Francis glaring daggers at him. Walking over to Francis, I whispered "Hey, what's up?" Looking down at me, his expression softening, the big biker muttered "That guy over there - Ellis, I think his name was - has been lookin' at you ever since you left the building. I don't like it." Despite the tense situation, I couldn't help but grin. The big guy was so protective of me, it was almost funny. "Relax," I said, gently patting Francis's arm. "I can take care of myself." Shaking his head, Francis stalked off, standing by himself with his arms folded over his chest, facing away from the group, brooding. Sighing, I left him to it.
That night, Ellis worked up the nerve to talk to me. I was sitting on the ground outside, leaning up against a wall of the store, when he nervously sidled up, holding his hat in his hands and idly toying with it. "So…" he began, then cleared his throat and, blushing, continued "The fellas o'er there told me yer name's Zoey… that right?" I nodded, and after a pause, he said "Issa beautiful name." Running a hand through his sandy curls, he blushed an even deeper shade of red, and turned away as if to leave. But he didn't go anywhere, and after a few seconds turned back. "So, uh… Zoey… d'you, y'know… like me?" I quirked an eyebrow at the slightly odd question, and replied "Well, I've only just met you, so I really don't know enough to like you." He looked rather crestfallen, so I quickly amended "But I don't dislike you either." He gave me a lopsided smile, and said "Y'know, you remind me o' this one girl mah buddy Keith knew once… she was, like, seven feet tall or somethin', an' had these beautiful blue eyes… man, this one time, she an' Keith were out huntin', an' she found a-…" Before he could finish his story, however, he was cut off by a powerful hand in a fingerless leather glove being placed on his shoulder. A broad-shouldered silhouette towered over him, and a deep voice growled "I think the lady would like some peace and quiet." Swallowing visibly, Ellis nodded vigorously and backed away, waving goodbye to me before turning and walking off, head down, shoulders hunched. "Now Francis, you didn't have to be quite so mean to him," I said, folding my arms over my chest in mock anger. "That kid rubs me the wrong way," Francis growled, and sat down next to me, draping an arm over my shoulders and looking out into the night.
Some time in the middle of the night, I was woken from slumber by a scream of "Son of a-… Aaagh! Shit! Get it off!" Rolling out of the sleeping bag, I fumbled for my handgun while fighting off sleep. Struggling to my feet and finally withdrawing the weapon from its holster, I gazed around at the blurry, sleep-fogged world, my eyes finally coming to rest on two struggling forms locked together in a wrestling match. Unable to make out which one was which, I charged forward, raising the pistol and flipping the safety off. I was just nearing the struggling pair when a high-powered sniper shot boomed out like a whipcrack, and the figure on top was blown off of his opponent, spraying grayish blood from its ruined face. Slipping the pistol back into its holster - after turning the safety back on - I rubbed my eyes to clear them and knelt down. It was Ellis who'd been attacked, apparently by a hunter; long, bloody gouges were visible on his sides and arms. Thankfully, none of them appeared to be deep. I locked eyes with Ellis, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he reached up a hand, slowly, tentatively reaching for my face. His fingers lightly brushed my cheek, leaving a light trail of his own blood. He started leaning forward almost involuntarily, eyes slowly closing as our faces neared… and suddenly a massive shadow loomed over us.
Ellis's eyes widened in a classic 'deer in the headlights' look, and seemed stunned. Turning, I drew in my breath as I saw Francis standing behind me, silhouetted against the low-hanging moon, fists balled at his hips. His eyes glinted like cold, hard chips of flint. I'd never seen him so angry. "Move aside, Zoey," he ground out through clenched teeth, every syllable dripping with murderous rage. Ellis started frantically scrabbling backwards, and I heard three guns cock. Francis snapped his head around like a cornered wolf, glancing from Nick holding Ellis's sniper rifle, its barrel still smoking from the shot that had killed the hunter, to Coach with his shotgun leveled, to Rochelle training her M16 on him. All three looked grim, and quite ready to kill to defend their comrade. "Francis…" I began, holding out my hands in a placating gesture. His jaw worked. His fists clenched and unclenched. Finally he jabbed a finger at Ellis, snarled "I swear to god, hillbilly, lay one goddamn finger on Zoey ever again and I will break every bone in your damn body." So saying, he whirled and stormed off, leaving Ellis and his teammates staring after him.