"Halt!"<br/><br/>Sam's head snapped round at the authorative shout, and the head's of all the zombies turned to mirror his attention.<em>The redhead from the coffee shop.</em>he thought, frowning in puzzlement.<em>With a gun. Ohhhhhhhhhh fuck. Cop. Must be an off duty cop. Better that than some nutjob NRA type. Fuckfuckfuck, not good.</em><br/><br/>"Are you okay?"<br/><br/>Sam wanted to laugh. He was sitting in a grimy alleyway, surrounded by a dozen zombies, and she wanted to know if he was okay. His mouth opened with the intent of<em>just fucking peachy, thanks </em>when she continued.<br/><br/>"Have you been bitten?"<br/><br/><em>Bitten? Oh wonderful. Romero, you have got a fuckton to answer for.</em>He licked his lips before slowly pushing himself upright against the wall. "No." he said after a moment. "No, I haven't been bitten." He could feel the slow<em>pulse</em>of energy that seemed to connect him to the silent horde standing around him. "Wrong zombies. At least, I think so. These aren't the flesh eating type." he paused for a moment. "Pretty sure they're not anyway."<br/><br/>He leaned forwards from the wall, and stumbled back against it as his legs threatened to give out on him. "Gah." he managed, intent on keeping his balance.<br/><br/>Around him, a silent sense of waiting. His gaze moved from one to the next. "What the hell do I do now?" he asked. He watched the silent shades flitting around the alleyway, in and out of the buildings, more than he'd ever seen in one place. He turned his hands over and looked down at them, watching them tremble, and slowly  closed them into fists, pressing them back against the wall. Gingerly he lowered himself to the ground again, his legs protesting the slow movement.<br/><br/>He turned to look at Red again. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?" he said, gesturing at the zombies. He felt weak, drained, like all he wanted to do was collapse now and sleep for a day or three, and shook his head to try and keep awake and focused.