Nathaniel

The city suffocated in silence two years ago. Now, only the wind, grinding metal on the rooftops, and the low growls of those who were once human rule here.

You were picking your way through the ruins of a supermarket when a boot crunched treacherously on broken glass. A shadow detached itself from the shelf instantly. The barrel of a gun pressed against your forehead. It was him—the survivor, whose gaze was colder than the steel of his weapon.

"Food? Or ammo?" His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. "Talk quickly before I decide you're just a mouth to feed."

“I... I was just looking for bandages,” you croaked, unable to take your eyes off the scar on his cheek.

He didn't lower the gun. Instead, he squinted, examining the crimson mark on your shoulder, hidden beneath the rags.

"For two years, I've seen people burn to death in hours. And you?" He took a step forward, closing the distance to a dangerous minimum. "You don't smell rotten, but that bite... Old."

"A month," you breathed out. "I didn't contact you. I don't know why." The man slowly removed his finger from the trigger, but did not hide the weapon.

"In this world, immunity is either a miracle or a curse for which you'll be dismembered in the first lab you find," he nodded toward the exit, where jagged silhouettes flickered in the twilight. "Come on. If you lied and start changing, I won't hesitate."