Rise

Nice

Groans.

The girl rubs her head, her sleep suddenly interrupted. She had taken off her seatbelt earlier due to discomfort, wanting to take a short nap, as she tends to do. Her redheaded companion had just slammed his foot on the breaks, sending her flying forward, crashing against the dashboard in front of her.

"Trish! Are you okay?!" Dez puts the car in park, unbuckles, and helps her back into her seat as she holds her aching head. Trish swats him away, her hand flailing, cranky after the rude awakening.

"What the hell, Dez?!" She finally opens her eyes to shoot him a glare. His brows push together in concern, regardless. She had hit her head pretty hard. He reaches over to hold the side of her head.

"I'm so sorry, Trish – but look!" he points with his other hand beyond the windshield. A woman stands in front of their van, her palms held out in front of her. A tall blonde, seemingly around her mid-twenties, wearing what appears to be a lab coat of some kind, stained with a multitude of God knows what.

"She just came out of nowhere and stopped in front of us. I nearly ran her over!" Dez explains, reeling himself together after the shock. He pulls his hand back gently from her head. Trish, growling still, rolls down the window on her side.

"Get out of the street, lady! I get that there's zombies out there and you're scared, but that's no reason to get yourself run over by a car, of all things!" she rebukes the stranger. The woman walks over to Dez's window.

"I can explain. I need help. I was left behind by my group, and I really need to get back to the facility I work at. It's imperative that I get back as soon as possible." She folds her hands together, pleading the boy. Dez rolls down his window.

"Yeah, of course. We can give you a lift," he agrees immediately, without a second thought. Trish thwaks his head with the back of her hand. "Yow! What was that for?!" He turns to face the abrasive girl, who rolls up the window on her side.

"We need to talk. Close your window."

"But she–"

"–I said close it!" He complies, her demanding tone doing him in, and gives the blonde woman an apologetic look, mouthing a "sorry". He finds himself pulled by the collar.

"Have you learned nothing from our recent escapade?" The girl whispers to him harshly, inches away from his face. The boy scratches the back of his head.

"She doesn't look dangerous, Trish. She just needs a ride, that's all. It's not as if she's carrying weapons in that little lab coat," he makes his case, matching her whisper in tone. He winces, the pull at his collar causing discomfort. She releases him, her tone softening – knowing that she has to get a handle on her anger towards the boy. So innocent, so trusting – it's a huge part of who he is. She can't change that. She just needs to convince him.

"We don't know that. We can't go blindly trusting everybody we meet. You know that's dangerous. We can't afford it. We just can't, Dez," she implores him. "We don't know anything about her, or what she wants from us." Dez sighs, confliction in his eyes. Trish makes a good argument. He trusts her judgment. However, there's that nagging part of him that would not – could not – let this go.

"Trish, I think you're overreacting. If she's any danger to us, it would've shown already, right? But no, in fact, she nearly got run over by our van because she's so desperate for help; I think we should help her. And I think you need to go lie down in the back, you've got a red lump on your forehead from the impact." He reaches over, brushing her hair out of her face to get a better look. "Yikes." He gives her a repentant smile. "Look, babe, if we don't help her and she ends up dead – that'll be on us. I just couldn't live with that."