#arryontheroad

The rumors filled his ears and solidified in his bones. The words infection, death, dead, undead, came about and stuck like tar in his veins until he wasn't even sure if he was among the living still. He looked around the silent store and down at the bullet he was loading at the moment into the shotgun on the counter. A couple of blocks down there had been reports of break-ins and robberies, and he knew it wouldn't be long until people stormed this place to take the smorgasbord of weaponry that it had to offer. Carefully, methodically, Gendry walked to the backroom that was his shithole for a place to sleep. Within it he placed his favorite guns and bullets, ones that he worked on for more time than could ever be counted. When the desperate - no, he told himself, they call themselves survivors - came and destroyed this place, he didn't want his guns and his bullets in their hands. He locked the door up to his room, grabbed the nearby bottle of whiskey, and left the store. There was already a strict curfew coming about for all citizens. Do not walk the streets. Do not be alone. Quarantines were just starting up. Police were to be patrolling the streets, armed, and would not hesitate to shoot. But they haven't been seen for a rather long while on this street. So Gendry left the store, and took a walk. Gendry knew exactly what he was doing. Every footstep was intentional. He allowed himself to kick some old trash and debris as he walked, so as to make a bit more noise. If anyone was around they would most definitely notice him. He took swigs of whiskey for a bit, until the bite was too much so he threw the bottle to the ground and let the shattered glass echo down the seemingly empty streets. He stood there for a bit, waiting, and then grunted in frustration. It took more patience than he had to find his untimely end, it seemed. He rounded the corner, and all thoughts stopped in his mind. There was a person in front of him, someone who he'd see a lot at the public library when he'd try and sleep there for the night. Only, no. They weren't a person. That word could not be used for them. They looked the same, just a bit more rough around the edges so to say, but he knew what this was in front of him. Ten feet away. And then seven. Six. Five. He realized that his heart was beating fast and he moved his hands frantically to his pockets before remembering he went out bare of weapons. His eyes met the cold circlets of the being in front of him, who was now salivating at the thought of the dinner that had just given himself up. He gulped and suddenly felt a strong desire to make it out of this alive, which was not the most ideal situation or timing to be feeling this way.