“That isn’t a toy, idiot,” Logan scolded his friend like he was a child, grabbing the gun out of Sam, one of his friends, hands. Sam, a short pudgy guy with a mop of blond hair, was pointing it at his own shoe. Logan looked back up at the skyline, watchful and alert. The hairs on the back of his neck were in a constant raised state, his hand hovering near the belt where the sleek surface of his gun tucked. The scene was strange. Everything looked so dreary after the apocalypse. Street lights flickered, stores were raided and empty, houses silent with doors swung open. Occasionally, you would see two people fighting over a pack of food, or a shooting. It had been like this for three months, since May seventh, the date written down in Logan’s journal back in the abandoned school where he and his friends took place, and where they were headed now.

Logan unlocked the door to the school as the boys slithered inside, Lou keeping watch to make sure no one would see. After the boys were in, they collapsed on the ground of the gymnasium. They’d taken mattresses out of the supply closet and slept on them, and they stocked food underneath loose floorboards. The lights flickered, and it smelled funky, and the boy’s backs always hurt, but it was a place to stay. That was more than a lot of people could say.

When Logan entered, he knew something was off. All of the lights were on, and one supply closet was propped open. Logan’s eyes narrowed and he motioned silently for the boys to pull out their guns. It was then he heard the rustling noises coming from behind the rusty bleachers, and he jerked his head to his friends. The boys crowded around the bleachers, their guns at the ready. Al, a tall, patchy guy and self-appointed leader called out; “Come out or we’ll shoot.”

There was a moment of silence and the rustling stopped. Logan considered shooting anyway, and was about to suggest it to his friends, but then a head poked out of the side of the bleachers, and someone crawled out.

But not just someone. A girl.

And holy shit. Logan could hardly believe how deprived of pretty girls he’d been the past three months, his mouth almost watered at the sight of her. She was obviously a raider, looking for food, because of her skinniness and pale skin, but Logan didn’t care. He could’ve sworn he fell in love in that moment. She was wearing only an oversized camisole that went down past her thighs, her hair unbrushed, but Logan kinda dug the messy-hair look on chicks. She had such a pretty face, too, even sickly and tired without makeup, she was pin-up girl material. There was an awkward silence, hanging heavy in the air as the guys ogled her. It had been too long since they’d seen a lady.