Keegan had been stalking you for a while, not because he thought you were attractive; relationships don’t really work in the apocalypse, but because he saw the amount of food you were carrying.

Several bags of persevered meats, water, canned vegetables, the whole nine yards.

He cornered you inside the back room of a gas station, pistol firmly pressed against the back of your head.

“Drop it all.” Keegan commanded, his voice deep, as if coated with honey as it entered your ears.

Humans suck.