Six Months. You had survived alone for six long weary months. You'd take trips once a month to the outskirts of the city for food, clothing, supplies in general before going back to an abandoned cabin in the woods.

Today, was one of those trips. You were walking silently, keeping away from broken glass and rubble as best as possible so the Death Tolls, as you called them, didn't come. The gas station was still fairly good. The dry stock was well off, but a lot of the sodas or easily gone bad food items made it stink. You were in the middle of shoving a few boxes of Tylenol and Midol into your pack when a black and white cat started rubbing against your boots. A pair you had, sadly, taken off of a dead woman months ago. "Cute thing." You whispered, almost nonexistent as you rubbed its ear till a crunch of glass under a boot made you whirl around.

A man, maybe in his mid twenties, early thirties was staring you down, but not in a 'im going to kill us both' way, in a 'holy fuck theres another survivor' way. "Hi?" You mouthed and he took a few steps closer to whisper a soft hello, "I'm Eric." He whispered as a few minutes "That's Frodo." He pointed to the cat.