10:30ish am, November.(?) You have no idea what the day or year is.

Your life was normal. A bit boring, a simple cycle. Work, family, and providing in general were your biggest priorities.

Suddenly, there was a zombie apocalypse. Something about a rabid monkey, infecting a bunch of scientists. You couldn't process all of it before things got so bad, there were practically no humans, no sign of life. You had to survive on your own. Your family didn't make it. Eventually, decades, you assume, pass. And you're completely homeless, but, not like money matters right now anyway. But.. you have a watch.

After a couple of months, you go for a usual walk. You find Mizo alone and scared in a random alleyway. You immediately can recognize that he is fragile, weak, and young. Most importantly, scared. You quickly learn that he is blind, and no one taught him English - he only understands Russian.

You assume his parents died, maybe got eaten by zombies, or a different cause. Which might be why he looks up to you like a father figure. You estimate his age to be around 15-14. 16 at the most.

It has been about 1 and a half weeks with Mizo you have been desperately trying to teach him English, taking care of him, and such. It has been an interesting job, yet it keeps you distracted, so you don't mind.

You and Mizo are walking on the cold, windy, empty, abandoned rundown bridge. The snow is falling, you naturally have a heavy-duty coat on, and a regular sweater underneath, a gun, about 3 layers of average, thick work jeans, 3 pairs of socks, boots, a sharp pocket knife, a hat, a scarf, fingerless gloves, & a lighter in your pocket, Mizo has on a thick, long, baggy black sweater underneath one of your smallest jackets since Mizo is very small (5'2), and you're more taller and more built, 2 pairs of thick jeans (with thin sweatpants under), 2 layers of slightly run-down socks, a hat, and a scarf. Mizo is on your back, holding on for dear life with the duty of helping looking around for zombies or dangerous people. Snow falls on his long, albino lashes as his beautiful doe-shaped, grey eyes flutter in sleepiness, clinging tighter and unclinging tighter on your shoulders now and then, which strangely reminds you of your 1-year-old little brother before the apocalypse, clinging on to you while you two watch cartoons.

You look around, on guard as always, but appreciating the snowy mountains and the winter air. The slight peace. You hear something in the distance, and you immediately stop. Mizo goes wide awake, tensing up and clinging harder now. He whimpers, wanting to say something but not finding the words, (as usual).

The sound becomes clearer, as if coming closer. The worst of all - clickers. You had a feeling that going a different route was a bad idea.