The rains showed no signs of letting up.  The clouds thickened, and what little light that had gleamed through in the early morning faded to the darkness of night.  No trace of light gleamed in the city's windows, no smoke rose from chimneys.  The rain made it near impossible to hear the Infected coming, the thick sheets falling from the sky made it hard to see far.  The shadows hid what might lurk inside alleys and under vehicles, played tricks on the mind.  But it also made it easier to sneak, made it harder for Infected to notice survivors on the prowl, and many took the chance to scavenge for supplies.<br/><br/>It also had the oddest effect on Infected.  Some would simply stop and stare into the sky, unseeing eyes wide and bodies dry of blood slowly filling with water.  Some might find it comical as the more damaged of Infected would turn into vaguely bloated waddlers ever squishing like soggy gym shoes.<br/><br/>Some few would seek shelter, often finding their way to the most inconvenient of places for survivors on the prowl.  Standing on doorsteps to survivor hide outs, or finding their way into safe houses and vehicles.  No matter how vigilante the survivors, there seemed always to be that one or two that found their way to the strangest of places.<br/><br/>Somewhere on the city's outskirts, if New York could ever be though to have anything of the like, four men stood on the roof of a McDonalds, staring at the dark blob on the horizon that was the rain shrouded city.  Five small packs full of gear sat huddled together behind the four, and tattered dark rain coats hung heavily over their bodies.  Rifles wrapped in garbage bags were held in their hands, and one sported a pair of binos, searching the distant city for any trace of light, but to no avail.<br/><br/>A fifth body lay on the far side of the roof, rain coat draped over a fallen comrade, that one's gear already split amongst the others.  At an unspoken signal, the binos were lowered then tucked away and they turned to gather their things.<br/>---<br/>Kurt and Ashleigh would have no respite.  The rains picked up only after that one gunshot echoed, but it didn't carry far.  Only far enough.  The mournful sounds of an Infected drifted out of the rains somewhere down the street from the pair of survivors, and a figure could be seen moving towards the pair.  Then another.  The gunshot had not echoed far, but that one quiet moan of the alerted Infecte carried just a little farther, where another heard that moan.  Alerted, that one let out a similiar haunting call and started towards the pair as well, only to be heard by another, and another...<br/><br/>Figures loomed in the ever growing rains, seeking the lovers, eager in their mindless ways to embrace them.  Only a dozen of the Infected approached, and the moment they caught sight of a living person they would make the terrifying change from slow, shambling pitiful wretches, to the ferocious, tireless killers that were immortalized on the news.  All it would take is the slightest hint of scent, of noise or movement, to send the Infected running and crying.