The closer Marcus got the clearer he make out the figure; he was heartened a little to see him dressed in fatigues,  it also gave him a flicker of concern; after all he was no public servant and he had effectively stolen municipal property.  In the days immediately following the disaster he had heard snatches of radio chatter relating shooting looters; there was something quite disturbing about the shooting of fellow men when all around them the world was falling into disarray and those bullets could have been put to better use.  If the national guard had been shooting people for having a stolen televisions; what would a military do with someone who had stolen a chopper? He decided that he wouldn’t explore the answer to this question.<br/><br/>With the barrel of his shotgun resting against the tarmac, his hand met Jakes, not noticing the slight flinch at him smelling a little like a distillery;  with a grin he spoke;  “Good to see a friendly face; I’m Marcus.”  He glanced back at the bird behind him; the rotors spin had slowed to a crawl as the momentum was all but dissipated, a thin wisp of smoke rose from the engine and circled skywards and he wondered if he would ever be able to do the same.  He returned his attention to Jake and slipped his hip flask from his pocket and took a sip; he thought about offering it to Jake as a gesture of friendship.  That his helicopter was down to fumes was bad enough, but to have his hip flask in a similar manner chilled him to the bone, but he hesitantly offered him the small silver flask.<br/><br/>He gazed past him; half expecting to see others but there was nothing and no one but the dead town behind him and the thick plume of smoke; perhaps this doubt flickered in his expression. “So …where’s the rest of the cavalry then? Or are you …alone.” he feared that he already knew the answer to this.