Rainie was listening to the rain, listening to the dying fire from the gas station, listening for the approach of Adrian. She still hummed quietly, knowing Adrian would hear it and know she was okay. It had been their code for the past year theyâ€™d survived together. She needed to think. The CD store? No, not nearly enough cover. But the library she passed would offer many a bookcase to hide behind, and use as barricades should need be. Decided on that, she started to head back in its direction.<br/><br/>But another shape was there, coming towards her. And it wasnâ€™t Adrian.<br/><br/>She raised the 94A1, aiming it at the figureâ€™s head. She thumbed the safety, only to realize it had said something.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Hey?</span><br/><br/>That wasnâ€™t normal zombie speak. Your usual casual conversation with an Infected as a rule involved a lot of brainless moans and banshee-like screeches.<br/><br/>Rainie blinked, eyes narrowed in what could be easily mistaken for anger. In the darkness she could see a man, early twenties, a bag haphazardly dangling from his shoulders, and some kind of rifle in his hand, pointed toward the ground. He was probably as tall as Adrian. And he looked a little frazzled.<br/><br/>"Jesus! What are y--was that 'London Bridge is Falling Down'?"<br/><br/>Rainieâ€™s head tilted ever so slightly to the right, something she did when she was thinking. She had seen Infected survivors, still appearing to be alive and healthy, perhaps covering their bites with bandages or their clothes. They could speak with only slight difficulty, able to hold a conversation for a while.<br/><br/>She lowered the Beretta, thumbing the safety back on. She hoisted the Maglite to rest on her shoulder and clicked it on at the same instant, aiming it at the manâ€™s face. Then, after a moment, clicked it off.<br/><br/>Her lips, which had been pressed in a line, opened as she finally spoke, not moving her eyes from the manâ€™s face, which she could no longer see. â€œAJ, put the gun down. I think we have a live one.â€<br/><br/>Adrian stood by a car in the street behind the man, the Smith & Wesson raised and aimed at the back of the manâ€™s head. He didnâ€™t hold it like his sister, with two hands, but with one, his body turned to the side. Left over from martial arts classes, she assumed. Instead of putting it away, he thumbed the safety back on like she had. He stayed where he was, his stance tense, his expression guarded. He lowered his arm.<br/><br/>Rainie slipped the gun in its holster and took a step forward. She offered her hand and spoke in a pleasant tone, â€œItâ€™s nice to find someone in the neighborhood with pupils that dilate.â€ She said by way of greeting. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to know if heâ€™d set the explosion, and how. Interest in explosives wasnâ€™t just a minor fancy of hers. Explosives were a rarity and highly valuable and very useful. She was curious.