Ava’s philanthropy pays off. The sound of footsteps rises to meet her ears through the closed door of her seamstress’ shop. And whoever it is sounds like they’re alone. Peering out she sees a lone man spending more time looking around than trying to get away from the carnage spreading through the town. He stumbles over the curb towards Ava’s shop as he closes the distance painfully slowly. From her vantage she can see that his staggering is not from injury, but from curiosity. Time passes painfully slow as the bizarre person continues to look around more than run away. As he passes her door Ava is able to open her door just enough to grab the strangely oblivious young man and haul him behind her door: which she slams shut as quietly as possible. At least Ava’s conscience can remain clean that she hasn’t abandoned her fellow humans.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Aribella is experiencing a very different side of human hospitality. Her things are spread out across the twin bed that dominates the festively painted room. The house had seemed empty when she’d broken in and made her way up the stairs. And perhaps her chances were high that it may be empty since people had been fleeing west for months. Alas, luck is not with Aribella today. The cold sensation of steel at the back of her head is new, but unmistakable. Aribella glances back over her shoulder quickly to a startling sight. Behind her is a second entrance to the bedroom and standing in it is an unshaven young man holding a pistol, aimed at Aribella’s head, in his visibly shaky hand. Behind him in what appears to be the kitchen cower an equally disheveled young woman cradling an infant.<br/><br/>The man presses the pistol against Aribella’s head again. “I said who. The fuck. Are you? You don’t just barge into somebody’s house uninvited.” He didn’t seem to care that they’d left the door unlocked. “This may be a small town, but my house is mine and I sure as shit didn’t invite you.” A look of panic washes over him. “Those things didn’t follow you, did they?” He presses the gun against her head with more force: she can feel the weapon shaking in his hand. “Why don’t you just go back from where you came from, honey. You ain’t welcome here.” The man motions in the direction of the stairs Aribella had trespassed up with a nod of his head. But as she goes to gather up the supplies she’d spread cross the bed, the man prods her with his pistol again. “And you can leave those to apologize fo’ maybe givin’ away our hiding place. Lord know we’re gonna need ‘em if those . . . those monsters saw you come in here.” He doesn’t seem particularly interested in Aribella’s safety, and as a practiced marksman she can tell that he’s damn likely to shoot her on accident. At this range, he probably wouldn’t miss.<br/><br/>Which brings us to Adrian. The clear sky is crystallizing into a brilliant blue as the day transitions from early to mid morning. Gone are the chirping sparrows for shadier perches, not that any would notice their chirping over the sporadic clap of gunfire: punctuated by human shrieks and monstrous hoots. The roof of the hardware store is gravelly and barren, except for a tattered plastic lawn chair and its companion: the last few ounces of cheap whiskey in a bottle on its side. The light of day sears Adrian’s dark-accustomed eyes even through his bandana, but an odd sound catches his attention. In a day of odd sounds, one more would be missed by most, but not Adrian. Part of the sound is monster, but not like the one that had chased him earlier: he could already tell that. And it isn’t happy, of that he is sure. The other part of the sound confuses him enough to force him to lift his bandana and peer out to the eastern border of town. Rapidly approaching is another monster, maybe . . . 8 times as large as the one he’d seen earlier. It careens off a building leaving shattered rubble in its wake as it skitters closer towards the town center. Seeing it now, Adrian is sure this is not the same sort of monster, but also that the other part of the sound isn’t coming from the monster at all. About half a mile behind the rapidly approaching behemoth Adrian can see the plume of dust kicked up by a preposterously huge pickup truck. There is a person standing in the flatbed and from the looks of it he’s firing some sort of weapon at a group of the smaller monsters chasing after the truck. And that sound? Adrian figures it out: shrieking guitar distortion.