Gerard's POV
It was difficult to be on my own. All was silent, except for broken glass crunching under my feet, and the far-off snarls of the undead- I called them deadheads. When it got really quiet, the thoughts in my head got too loud, and I hated it.
Lately, we have had to go farther and farther from camp to get food and supplies. I had done this so many times before, it was like a routine. Get in. Get what you need. Get out. Don't use more ammo than you need, and don't make too much noise. Survive. That was always what I had to do. In fact, those were my father's last words to me. I guess he just forgot the whole 'Survive' part of it. Stop thinking. I told myself. I have to tell myself that a lot lately.
I was about to duck into a pharmacy when I heard a pained yell not far from where I was. My first thought was to keep going, the poor guy's probably already dead, but my curiosity got the best of me. I found myself jogging in the direction the noise came from, the growls getting louder and louder the closer I got.
I rounded a corner just in time to hear three shots go off. A group of about a dozen deadheads came into view all surrounding a dark haired boy sitting on the ground. As I got closer I noticed his leg was twisted unnaturally underneath him. It was probably broken. He tried to fire another shot, but then he realized he was out of bullets. He picked up a branch off the ground, to try to keep them back, but there were too many. I raised my rifle and fired some shots. One by one, the deadheads fell, leaving the boy on the ground surrounded by corpses. I ran to his side.
"Thank you" he said. He tried to get up, only to wince and fall back onto the ground, holding his leg.
"Don't." I said. "It looks broken. We need to get somewhere safer. The gunshots will attract more of them." I knew I should have left him to fend for himself; he didn't mean anything to me, and he looked like he would be more trouble than he was worth, but for some reason I felt an inexplicable urge to protect him.
I pulled his arm over my shoulder and helped him limp over to the nearest building, a small brick bookstore, just as the sun was setting. I told him to stay near the door while I cleared the rest of the building, but all was quiet.
"We can stay here for the night." I said, and then I realized I didn't even know his name. "I'm Gerard, by the way,"
"Frank," he responded, meeting my eyes. "So do you have a camp around here?"
"Its a few days walk away from here. How about you?"
"I'm all alone." He said, looking down. "I have been for a while." I decided to leave it at that.
We agreed that I would take first watch while he slept. He soon fell asleep on the floor of the bookshop, and I tried not to notice that every time he shifted, he moved closer to me.
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I must have fallen asleep before I could wake Frank, because when the rising sun woke me up, he was still asleep. I should have woken him up; we needed to get moving, but he looked so peaceful that I decided to let him sleep.
To pass the time, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencil that i carried with me everywhere. Whenever I was bored, or waiting for something, I'd draw what I saw. Today I drew Frank. He looked so peaceful and innocent while he was sleeping, but I knew that nowadays no one was truly innocent. Everyone had blood on their hands that they couldn't wash off.
Stop that. I told myself. Stop thinking and just draw.So that's exactly what I did. I had just started sketching the scorpion tattoo on his neck when he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
