A/N: Trigger warning for descriptions of violence and mild gore.
...
Emma hates Zoe. But that doesn't mean it's any easier to put a dinner knife through her skull, over and over again, until she stops twitching. She'd been bit, and the bitch hadn't said anything - the guy she'd gone for isn't screaming anymore, but that doesn't mean much either way. He's vaguely familiar, in a way she doesn't care about right now.
"Did she get you?" She yells, backing up when he approaches. He doesn't answer and if she had a gun, she'd have used it by now. "Hey asshole, did she bite you?" She shouts again urgently as he staggers to his feet.
"N-no, no!" He cries weakly. "No, I think-" He turns and hurls, all over what used to be a pastry display but is now mostly Zoe's grey matter. He groans, but its a living groan - filled with pain and uncertainty. Seconds tick by and he'd have turned by now, right? How many minutes has it been? How many did it take Zoe, Peter, the rest?
"Who are you?" She demands.
"Ah- um, Paul." He stammers, and something slides into place.
"You're- you're the guy who doesn't like musicals, right?" She sees him in here all the time - or used to.
"What?" He squeaks. Then, "Oh. You remember me?"
"Sure." She shrugs. "I used to work here. I didn't forget." Her panting has evened out now and the adrenaline is beginning to wear off. She's dazed and exhausted.
"Emma, right?" He says like it can't be true.
"Yeah..."
"The latte hottie." He murmurs, eyes not quite focused. Maybe he is bit after all, delirious.
"Excuse me?" She snaps, raising the knife again.
"Sorry, my friend- well, never mind. Are you-" He sniffs, looks pointedly away from the body on the floor between them. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine." She says, moving around a table to get a better vantage point.
"You're limping."
"It happened a while back. Not recent." Two weeks living in an actual nightmare will do that to you, she thinks. The hospitals have been a no-go since day one, so whatever she'd done to her leg when she'd leapt out of her second story apartment window has stayed that way. She doesn't regret it - she's alive now because of it.
"And... your friend?" He pointedly doesn't look at what remains of Zoe.
"She wasn't my friend." Emma says reflexively.
"Oh." The man frowns. "Ok."
"I mean. I didn't like her. But... shit." Her voice hitches as she thinks about lemon honey iced tea and Coldstone Creamery. She shakes her head and brings her focus back to Paul.
"You come here for a reason?"
He shakes his head after a beat. "It just felt like where I needed to be. I don't have anywhere else, now."
"Well, you can't stay."
"Why?" His eyes widen. "I'm not bit, I told you-"
"No, its- its not safe, especially not now." All that noise, the commotion was bound to have drawn some attention. "Maybe we should head downtown?"
Paul shakes his head. "I was just there, downtown is f*cked."
"Shit..." Emma paces to the store window and back, one hand on her head. "Maybe... I have this professor - he was one of those, what do you call it- preppers?"
"Like a doomsday prepper?!"
"Yes!" She clicks her fingers. "If anyone's still alive, it's him. He has to be."
"Can we... do you want to stay together?" Paul pipes up suddenly. She pauses - two people would be better than one in a pinch, but less stealthy for sure. She eyes the man up, a little gangly but tall and broad shouldered. He has kind eyes.
"Sure." She says, unsmiling. "If you want to, that is."
He nods eagerly, and she looks him in the eyes as she hands him a knife. "I want you to know that I could take you down in a second if I wanted to." She says.
"What?" He breathes. She claps him on the shoulder and walks past him to the door.
"Come on, asshole." She murmurs, peering out through the slats of the blind covering the front door. "We haven't got all day."