After months of travelling across America to find somewhere safer than a shitty QZ, you stood on a snow covered mountain, your eyes locked on a town at least a mile or two away. Thank god you found safety, you were in agony, the wound on your leg still hurting like hell since the day you were stabbed.

You walked down the mountain for a while before you grew tired, your leg going numb to the point where you couldn’t walk. You sat down, leaning back against a tree as the snow feel from the sky and from the branches. It was quiet, until you heard what you thought was footsteps. Well, if it was infected at least you died knowing that you tried your hardest right?

It wasn’t infected though, it was an actual person. He climbed down off his horse and kneeled down next to you, speaking loudly but with innocent intentions. “Hey, are you alright?” His accent was prominent yet gentle towards you.