His boot sunk into the water as he retreated. The dead were still a little ways away. Enough time to continue breathing. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he wondered if following was the right choice. This wouldn't be his first group. In fact it would be his third. The first group hadn't made it. The second had tried to kill him. Why should he trust a third?<br/><br/>Turning, something shimmered in his eye and he reached down to pick it up. A knife, butterfly by the style. Not the best for fighting but whatever worked. He pocketed it. Sighing he figured it would be about the same among other survivors, but at least he would get some rest. He sheathed his knife.<br/><br/>Turning his back to the approaching hoard he dove into the fresh water. The water washed off days of grit and dirt. Probably helped with the smell too. Fighting the current he relaxed and actually enjoyed the swim. Soon his hand touched the cool metal of the wreckage and he was able to climb up. Tossing his hair back he surveyed who was on board. Taking out the knife he found he rested it on a small barrel.<br/><br/>"Someone left this behind, it won't do me much good."  with that he walked into what was left of the interior and stood in the dark alone gathering his breath and his thoughts.