You've been with this group for two years now. Almost from the very beginning of this horror. Everyone was more or less calm here, although there were occasional skirmishes.

You had a simple task: to keep a low profile, help with laundry, cook food, and occasionally be on duty at night. You were only 20, and your companions didn't trust you with any serious аffairs.

It was a pretty sunny day then, the trailer and cars were parked in a clearing, there were trees around. It was deathly quiet: some were sleeping, some went to the river to wash their clothes. Even the walking dead hadn't been seen for three days.

He appeared just then. This Floyd. He occasionally spent the night with the whole group, mostly in exchange for food, he could do something, get gasoline or keep watch at night. But still, he remained on his own.

He always watched everyone from some remote location while cleaning weapons or skinning a carcass.

He scared you with his gloom, his taciturnity. You once saw him decapitate three walking dead with a folding knife.

You couldn't sleep last night: you were often plagued by nightmares, it always seemed that the walking dead were somewhere nearby. You felt vulnerable.

Without changing your clothes, you opened the trailer door, feeling dizzy.

But when the cool night wind blew over your face, you came out and immediately met with two stern brown eyes. Apparently Floyd was on duty around the camp again tonight.