ZOMB-POCALYPSE

Chapter Twelve

I wake up with what I imagine, in my limited experience, to be a hangover. My head is foggy, and my skull aches—though that could be from hitting the cement yesterday. My entire body hurts, and the pain in my arm is beyond imaginable. I can only be thankful that it isn't my dominant hand that was hurt. I can't afford the luxury of staying here to recover, not that I think Silas would want me to anyway.

I sit up, toss the blanket that Silas must have draped over me when I passed out last night, and instantly feel the cold chill that permeates the air. I don't have my hoodie to keep me warm anymore, and I'm regretting letting Silas shred it.

"Cold?" Silas' voice cuts through the semi-lit room and startles me. I glance around blearily and see that he's propped up in a chair in the corner, holding a large shot gun across his lap.

I stare at the gun for a minute while trying to determine if he's a threat. He's hard to read, but I don't think he spent over an hour sewing me up last night just to kill me today.

"Yeah, I'm cold," I finally admit.

Silas sets his gun in the corner of the room and disappears for a minute, returning with a large, black hoodie that says "FBI" and "Federal Boobie Inspector" across the front.

"It's your color," he remarks as he casually tosses it to me. Of course, I miss the catch because of my messed up arm. I know it's the apocalypse and I can't afford to be picky, but I still resist the urge to scoff at this shirt.

"Thanks," I tell him as I carefully thread my arm through the sleeve and zip it up. It's like being wrapped up in a warm hug, and suddenly that's all that's important to me. Though I'd better not get bit in this shirt, I don't like the idea of roaming the earth for all of eternity wearing a Boobie Inspector hoodie.

"You hungry?" Silas asks me.

"No thanks, I need to get going," I tell him, trying to give him a polite brush off. I am hungry, but I need to start my search for Ryan.

"You're hungry, sit down for a minute to eat, and I'll go with you to find your friend." His offer blindsides me.

"You don't have to do that," I say, even though I really want his help now that he's offered.

"I know," he grunts, digging around in the cabinet for a couple cans of fruit. He pops the lids off like a pro, using a small knife that he pulls from his pocket, and hands me one. "I was going out anyway," he tells me for good measure.

"Thanks," I say, accepting both his help and the can of mixed fruit at the same time. He doesn't offer me a spoon, so I put the can to my lips and hungrily gulp down the fruit chunks.

When I've finished, Silas holds out another handful of pills for me to swallow. I stare at them suspiciously before shaking my head.

"No thanks."

Silas lets out one of his signature sighs that I have come to recognize as him being annoyed with me.

"It's just a couple harmless Advil, and antibiotics," he tells me, refusing to put his hand down.

"Nothing else?" I can't help double checking.

"We need to be alert today," he says, like that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he isn't drugging me.

My arm is hurting, and I don't want to develop a nasty infection. So, I do take the pills, vowing to leave him immediately if he's lying.

I don't get the spins this time, so I'm satisfied that he's telling the truth. I grab my backpack and secure it around my shoulders before looking over at him expectantly.