Survival - a Hat Films fanfiction

2 - Introductions

"You're being ridiculous, Smith. She probably had no idea we were in here."

"You can't know that. She might have been looking to take our supplies, or something."

You open your eyes with a start. You're laying on a sofa in an unfamiliar room with cream walls and no other furniture but a coffee table in the center; on the floor on the other side lie three backpacks, none of them your own, surrounded by piles of clothes, bandages and tins.

And then it all comes back to you - how you somehow managed to single-handedly fight off the zombies, and then you had run until you reached the countryside, and then that man...

You strain to hear the murmured voices - one belonging to the man who attacked you, and a lower one belonging to the blond guy who told him to let you go. It's all coming back to you now.

"It's stupid, Smith. She's a survivor, just like us. She's on our side."

"There was blood on her knife, Trott. It could have been zombie blood or human blood."

"Of course it's fucking zombie blood! Think, Smith. She's a girl on her own with nothing but a knife."

You can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt - that these people, whoever they are, are arguing over you. Maybe it's better if you just move on and leave them in peace, find another group.

 It's funny how just twenty-four hours ago, you would have given anything for someone to stay with, someone to talk to and look out for you. And now you've got that, and all you want to do is leave.

"Bloody hell," you murmur, bringing your knees up to your chest and sitting up to listen. 

"Yeah, sorry about them," another voice says from directly behind you.

You start, swivelling round to see a dark-haired man with sharp blue eyes sitting on an armchair behind you, staring at a piece of paper.

"What the fuck," you try to say, but your throat is so dry you can barely get a word out.

He looks at you bemusedly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." 

You huff, shaking your head in confusion. How many people are there here? God, what have you walked into...

"I told them to keep it down because you're sleeping," the guy says, gesturing to the wall, where the voices are coming from. His voice is smooth, distinct, like an announcer's voice, and with a somewhat pleasant quality to it. "But they're not very quiet people."

"It's okay." At least this guy doesn't seem like a paranoid, homicidal asshole. You clear your throat, wincing at the cracked quality of your own voice. "How long have I been out?"

"About twelve hours." 

You glance out of the window opposite - and sure enough, it's pitch black outside. "What, and they've been arguing this whole time?"

The guy laughs, and it's a nice, calming sound. He folds up the piece of paper in his hand - a map, you realize - and tosses it in the vague direction of the bags in the corner. "Nah, they started up again about ten minutes ago." He looks at you carefully, sensing your discomfort. "Don't worry about it, though. Smith's just being a twat, like always - and he and Trott can never stay angry at each other for long. It'll blow over."

You shrug, unconvinced. As you straighten up, and realize your arm's much stiffer than before. Glancing down, you see your sleeve's been pulled up to your shoulder, and someone's bandaged up your cut. The whole length of fabric is stained - you didn't even realize it had started bleeding again.