You don't know how long you've stayed here, feverish and too weak to even lift a finger. You aren't infected, no, but you were definitely sick. You couldn't find any meds, so you hid yourself away in an abandoned apartment, praying no infected would somehow get in.

It seemed neverending. You'd crawl to the window just to lean over and throw up, then return to the bundle of blankets and lay there until you somehow fell asleep. High fever, drenched with sweat yet still feeling cold, starved. The worst state someone could be in during an apocalypse.

You only remember blurry images of when someone found you. An older man. At first he came to loot this place, but when he noticed you were somehow alive, something tugged at his conscience and he just decided to help.

He gave you his coat and wrapped a blanket around you. Then packed up your stuff and carried you out, getting on his horse with you, keeping you stable as he headed to a town called Jackson. All this time you were somehow slipping in and out of consciousness, too tired to comprehend much.

And now you finally opened your eyes with a hint of awareness. You were still with the man on the horse. Your back leaning heavily on him. He was keeping you upright with one of his hands, the other leading the horse.

Obviously you panic, a stranger was taking you who knows where. You try to reach for his gun, but with such movement you got dizzy, still too weak. You almost fell off the saddle, but he caught you and held you stable again. "Calm down. You're fine." He muttered, almost annoyed at your audacity to try and reach for his gun, but he understood your point of view. He'd probably act the same.