<strong>Character</strong>: Rich Han<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Cross-street Alley, Fisherman's Wharf<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Day 2, Early Morning<br/><strong>Attire</strong>: Running shoes, cargo pants, t-shirt, backpack<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Rich, Rose<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>The wind felt good in his hair.<br/><br/>Rich swerved around a pothole and passed Rose at the curb.  He shifted his weight to the pedals as he let his momentum carry him up the slope, gripping the handlebars by the fingers to allow them room to shift.<br/><br/>Once he was up on the sidewalk and sure that the entrance of the alley was clear enough to ride through, he looked over his shoulder to gauge Rose's distance and check for zombies.  At first there were no zombies, and then there were lots and lots and lots.  Rose vanished amidst a sudden surge of rotters pouring out of the doorway, although he had glimpsed her skidding into a reverse lunge before the wall of flesh and rancid cloth hid her.<br/><br/><em>"Shit! Just keep going, I'll find a way around!"</em><br/><br/>The fact that he heard coherent words -- certainly not the shrieks of a woman being eaten alive -- was mixed news.  On the one hand, they may chase the slower, easier prey.  On the other, she may come and find him after all.  Although she was good with a lock...<br/><br/>For a second, Rich paused, confused.  Unsure which would be more advantageous, he found himself simultaneously wishing her death and her continued life.  But there was nothing he could gain from considering just now.  It was what it was, would be what it would be, and he should get out of here while he still could.<br/><br/>Without responding, Rich turned back to the alley and made for his current hideout.