It began in Mexico. That was where the world began its demise.
After the virus engulfed half of Mexico in its sickly, crazed grip, it made its way to well known cities like San Diego and Los Angeles, the dead spreading like wildfire, turning innoce...
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Claire knelt beside Max, worried and frantic as she took in the sight of the bloodstained rock, inches away from Max's head. Max's eyes were shut and she lay limp, obviously unconscious from the blow.
Or maybe she was dead.
Claire drew in a sharp, shaky breath at the thought. Max was only little after all. An injury like this could have potentially killed her.
She felt movement next to her, a few damp leaves wafting up into the air as they crouched beside her . She turned, expecting to see Owen staring down at the small girl, but instead was met face to face with the bald guy - one of the people who had helped them against the creatures.
She scanned his features: Huge muscles, very tall, sharp cheekbones. Claire marvelled at the sheer size of him.
A hand against her shoulder pulled her out of her trance. She looked up and met Owen's eyes, a tiny sigh escaping her lips.
"We need to get her back to camp," the muscular man spoke, gently touching Max's head. "She'll die otherwise."
"You have a camp?" Owen questioned, interest sparkling in his brown eyes. Claire could feel herself getting agitated.
There was no time for questions!
"We need to get her there," Claire said in a hurry, looking up at the muscular man.
Nodding, he began to bend down to pick Max up, but Owen stopped him, putting his hand on the man's sturdy chest. "I'll do it."
The muscular man stepped back to allow Owen to gently pick up Max, taking care not to injure her even more.
Claire was itching to get going, practically bouncing up and down on her feet. She whizzed round to face the muscular man, startled to see the man with black hair stood next to him now. A woman with black hair stood on his other side, a bow and a few arrows on her back.
"Where's your camp?" Claire asked the three of them.
"About a five minute walk from here," the man with the longish, black hair answered her. "It's the Bakersfield refugee camp."
"We were heading there!" Maisie exclaimed next to her, making Claire jump.
Once Owen had Max in his hold, the seven of them made their way back to their camp. It suddenly dawned on Claire that they didn't know any of these peoples names.
"What are your names?" She voiced her thoughts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Davis Reed," the muscular man replied, glancing in her direction.
"I'm Lincoln Hayes," the man with black hair spoke with a smile.
"Iris Blake," the woman said at the back of the group, not saying anything else. She seemed to be more focused on her surroundings, her hand loosely holding the handle of a knife in her belt as she eyed the swaying bushes warily. Maisie, Owen, Max, and Lincoln were in front of her and Claire and Davis were leading.
