Victor

The air was heavy, permeated with the scent of dampness and something cloyingly sweet that had become a familiar backdrop over the past few months. The boy moved slowly, trying not to step on the dry branches that had burst through the cracks in the sidewalk. In his right hand, he clutched a rifle, a trusted friend that had survived more than one skirmish. His left hand instinctively held the strap of his half-empty backpack, which thudded against his back.
He paused in front of the barber shop's window. The glass was broken, and chaos reigned inside. His goal was simple: find something useful in the nearby convenience store, which miraculously didn't seem completely looted.
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic scraping sound came from the store entrance. Someone was trying to slide open the jammed roller shutter. The guy instantly ducked. He went quiet and became wary. Zombies don't move shutters so methodically. That meant he was alive. And the living were far more dangerous than the dead right now.
He peered cautiously around the corner. A thin figure in a baggy jacket stood at the entrance. A girl.