' I ran at the undead being. The sound of twigs snapping startled it and it turned to face me. The boy's chest was raising and falling quickly. I pointed the rifle at the zombie as it rose from the boy and slowly trotted toward me. A well-placed shot in the head put the zombie on the ground. I ran to the boy, analyzing his condition. He was about my age, with dark hair and circular faced head. He was wearing a tattered blue Cookie Monster t-shirt. He was still breathing hard, and he had a bite wound on his leg. I offered my hand, pulling the boy on his feet.

"Thanks," he panted. I noticed that he had very blue eyes that contrasted strikingly with his hair. I liked them.

"What were you doing?" I asked.

"I was scourging for food, you know, just wandering around when this devil came up behind me and bit my leg!"

I glanced back at the dead carcass, then back at the boy. "Are you alone?"

He said:

"Yah, ever since my family was separated by the zombies"

"So you're just running around?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, I have a camp set up over here," I said, gesturing toward my camp.

We started to walk to my camp. "So, what's your name?" he asked.

"My name is Emma."

"Mine is Jackson."

"You seem pretty tough for a blonde," he said with a smirk.

"We're not all idiots, you know. So do you have a camp?" I asked him, helping him walk to my tent.

"No, I'm more of a nomad," Jackson admitted.

I sat him down inside the tent and began to dress his wound with the rest of my roll of gauze, something I had to use a lot.

"What's his name?" Jackson asked, pointing to Carlos.

"Carlos," I said.

At the sound of his name, the three legged dog ran to us, sniffing Jackson down before deciding that he wasn't an enemy.

I noticed that Carlos' fur was the same color of Jackson's black hair. Jackson began to play with him as I continued to wrap the bite on his leg.

I finished wrapping the wound around his jeans and said, "All done."

"Thanks."

"Do you need a new shirt?" I asked, looking at his torn clothes. "I might have a shirt that would fit you."

"That's fine, it's summer anyways."

"Come on, they'll never fit me anyways."

"Aw, fine."

I left the tent so that he could change. Outside, I looked at the rolling hills of the area, spying several aves that looked like satisfying hiding places.

"Thinking of a new home?" A voice asked behind me. I turned around. It was Jackson. He was dressed in a blue baseball shirt that I suddenly remembered finding after a fire in Salt Lake City.

"Maybe," I answered his question dismissively. "Do you have any supplies or weapons of your own?"

"Yeah, my backpack must have fallen off when the stupid zombie attacked me."

"I don't like to call them that," I said. "Zombies. I call them 'them'. Zombie are slow. They aren't. Let's go find your stuff."

Jackson looked at me strangely before following me to the place of the attack.

Nothing was different, there was a bit of blood on the ground and a dead zombie collapsed down.

On the ground lay a dark green hunting backpack.

I reached down to pick it up and wasn't even getting up again when I felt a hand tapping my shoulder.

I stood up straight and looked at Jackson, who was staring at something down the hill, his blue eyes glazed over.

I looked to see what he was gawking at and almost screamed.

An army of zombies was advancing up the hill, ready to wage war.