You weren't sure what time it was when you had awoken.

You felt nice though. Refreshed, considering how grimy and greasy you were from lack of showering.

Clearly, you hadn't had a good sleep in a while.

The tarp you had fell asleep with was wrapped around your being, and your right arm was under your head as a pillow.

You didn't feel like getting up.

Not at all.

But survival meant moving.

And in turn, sleeping in this morning meant a worse outcome then getting up.

You already tested your luck by sleeping a whole night. Any sort of stray infected could have wandered over and killed you in your sleep.

Cracking an eyelid open, you were met with your backpack. Looking a bit tattered over your adventure in the apocalypse so far. The rips in it were well worn, while the hilt of pistol you had placed in the pocket peeked just out of the zipper.

Yawning of the sleep induced tiredness, you rubbed your eyes before moving your legs around. A cold shiver ran down your spine when your leg hit something gently. Shooting up, you took in the sight of your companion curled up next to your right leg. Quiet breaths that almost sounded like a small growl left his throat.

It would have been rather cute, if not for the blood that was once again all over his face. Glancing up from his form, nine to ten bodies were spread out over the roof, chests ripped open and blood injecting a metallic smell into the air.

Everything about the sight was disgusting, but after seeing things like this for the past several days, you brushed the thought off your shoulder and turned attention back to the hunter.

The blood from his mouth has long dribbled on your pant leg and dried. His chin was propped on your shin ever so rudely, and clearly, someone decided that intruding infected was a good midnight snack.

The fact that he killed them and not you made you feel slightly more comfortable with your infected companion. Kinda made you think of a guard dog.

Swallowing your thoughts, you pulled your leg away from the bottom of his chin, watching as he immediately stood up, alert and questioning why what he was resting on was moving.

He was definitely weird. You observed the other infected, they never sleep. Never. And you would know, stayed up a whole night watching them on the first day this whole virus broke loose.

Your companion pawed at your foot, inching closer to you and seeming rather invested in your shoe laces. Squinting your eyes at him, you shook your leg, making sure he was a safe distance away before standing up yourself, slinging your backpack over your back and grabbing the pistol from its pocket.

The chain around your arm was tight, but you checked to make sure it was there anyway.

From below you, the hunter stared, absentmindedly flicking his tongue out to lick the dried blood off his face. He didn't get very far doing that, giving up reaching the rest of it and instead licking his teeth before finally closing his maw.

A sigh seeped past your lips, before you set your backpack back down. Unzipping the zipper and reaching for a different rag and the water bottle, you beckoned the hunter forward.

He didn't follow your hand signals, so giving a quick tug on the chain, you watched as he pawed closer to you. First thing he tried to do was sniff your arm, but keeping in mind the nips he'll give, you moved your arm out of the way.

Pouring water onto the washcloth, you went for his chin with your free hand, wiping the blood the best you could.

He protested it just like last time, albeit more silently then before. From beneath the hood you could see his eyes giving a nasty looking glare.

...They used to be a brighter green...

Shaking your head, you cut off your train of thought. No sir ree, we are not thinking about past mojo. This is the present.

A growl rumbled through his throat just as you finished wiping his slightly torn up face. The cuts he has will probably scar. Funny how many he has actually. Most of them you were sure he got from jumping into scrap metal and debris. All except the one pair.

Raising your hand up to his face, you scrutinized the murky eyes that followed the movement of your hand. A tentative growl started in the base of his throat. A warning? A signal? You didn't know. Instead, you reached past his slightly pursed mouth running a hand through the soft hair close to his ear.

The low rumble that started in his throat became softer at your touch. Softer, louder.

Still his eyes watched, the squint in them leaving as he stared curiously at the side of your arm he could see. Curious. How he could be curious when every other creature around here was made of nothing but pure rage was puzzling.

Biting your tongue, you moved your hand further along his head, hood falling down with your movement. Light reached his face, to which he blinked his eyes several times, the large gashes just below his eyes already scabbing over in the already begun healing process.

His hair was just as sweaty as yours, yet you still ran a hand through it, the rumbling growing louder. At this point, it was almost a chur, light, airy, and it it wasn't for his mouth being closed, it would be just as loud as his deep snarling.

His head began to lean into the strokes of your hand, lips pulling up as he bared his teeth. The shine of his teeth made something click in you. Sharp, that's what they were.

Realizing what you had been doing, you snapped your hand back to your side, clenching your teeth and frowning openly at your actions.

He's infected. He's a wild animal at this point.

At your sudden frantic movement, his eyes shot up to you, wide, feral. His jaw opened before snapping shut, making a small click noise.

He seemed confused, eye brows furrowing, as he leaned closer to you.

His nostril flared as he sniffed at you, putting his nose against your shoulder. The eyes that were once so intent on your hand had closed, the sniffing subsiding as he simply pushed his closed teeth against your shoulder.

A small terror ran through you at his actions, he didn't bite, but the threat of a bite made your actions take a rash turn.

Your hands flew up, shoving him back with an unsteady force.

Despite not being nearly enough force to topple him, he took several steps back, eyes once again confused looking. He sniffled at your feet again, biting gently at your shoe before finally loosing interest and turning his back to you.

Despite shoving him away, there was still one last thing you had to take care of with him, so you took a moment to recompose yourself. Eyes wandering from the tip of his hood, to the palms that were spread out across the rooftop.

His face may have been cleaned, but the gashes under his eyes haven't been. If you didn't keep up with that wound it could have the potential to get a nasty infection.

Tugging his chain for the last time, you pulled him closer to you again. He stared at you without nearly as much resistance as he did the last few times. His hood was already pushed back from the last time you tried cleaning his face, so shuffling around in your backpack you pulled out a small bottle of peroxide. You needed more of the stuff- cleaning his wounds once in the morning makes you run out fast.

Placing the rag on the nose of the bottle, you poured, before screwing the cap back on and placing it in the bag.

Your companion seemed to know what was happening, a few sniffs from his snout and he began making rather nervous fidgets. Despite the uneasiness, he sat there waiting for the rag in your hand to reach his face.

Which it did. He flinched when it first touched his wound, hissing and growling, and scuttling his claws along the ground as if to grab and squeeze something. His nails ended up clawing lines into the concrete, alarmingly close to where your kneeling leg is.

Ignoring the sharp nails, you continued, dabbing around the scabbing and open flesh.

His grunting and growling was the most resistance he showed to you, still grinding his nails into the floor and clenching his teeth.

Finishing with the wound under the first eye, you began to dab the wound under his second eye.

Both wounds were pretty gruesome. The memory of how it happened even worse.

Wiping it one last time, you tucked the rag back from were you pulled it from, huffing as you reached up and pulled the hood back over his face. It felt like a necessary thing to do, keeping the hood on that is. A way to part ties with the whole person thing. He's a person, but he isn't the person I, or anyone else knew.

It's best to leave things like that behind, or else things would get over complicated for a time where its best that things be simple.

Brushing your hands against your jeans, you stood up, hoisting your bag onto your back and shimmying until both straps were securely around your arms.

"Let's go bud. We should check and see if my guns down there, or if the hoards moved on a bit."

He grunted, crawling forward as you took your first step in the direction of the fire escape. The bodies you walked past left a displeasing thought in your mind. Something along the lines of, 'what if he did the same to me,' but you tread forward, stepping over the torso of a teenager.

Peeking over the edge, you were pleased to see that most of them were gone, the stranglers that were left behind were dragging their feet and not at all interested in the roof you were standing on. You could handle those few infected. Your knife could do it just fine.

Clicking the safety back onto your pistol and placing it into your holster securely, you looked at your companion on last time.

"You ready?"

A low growl.

"Then let's go."

Swinging your feet over the roof's railing, you landed on the fire escape with a loud and clunky thud of your boots, the whole contraption shaking from your sudden weight.

The hunter came next, leaping down with grace, yet his weight was even more then yours, making it shake worse then before.

You stood it out though, keeping yourself steady before walking down the steps. The hunter stood up from behind you, walking past you with a fast gait, stopping and looking back toward you.

Hopefully you can find your shoe. Walking around with one sock and one shoe was strange, and definitely not safe considering any shattered glass.

Absentmindedly, you kept walking, grazing past the stone stare of your hunter, even when he began to match your pace rather then speed walking ahead.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you unhooked the ladder watching it slide down and hit the ground with a loud 'tunk.'

The noise garnered the attention of those few passerby infected, causing them to immediately dart towards you. Being smart, you let them come up the ladder, stabbing them before they got too close. Your hunter crouched next to you, growling and snarling at the infected that tried to make it passed your knife.

He seemed to want to pounce on them more then anything, but he sat still next to you, lowered and snarling.

When the infected finally cleared out, you made your way down, feet being greeted with dead bodies.

Tugging the chain, the hunter followed after you, landing and speed walking a good few feet in front of you.

Shifting your attention to the side of the building, you glanced around the ground. Spotting your shoe rather simply, you picked it up off the ground.

Your gait finally felt right again when you slipped on your shoe, the dirty shoelaces untied and ripped from the pulling they had endured.

You scoffed, bending down and tying them.

Standing back up and making your way to where you had first dropped your gun, it was easy to pick out the black and brown outside of the gun. Narrow nozzle, and stocky grips on the ammunition being very definable to your eyes.

Stopping, the gun sat just at your feet. Dust from shoes tread covered the gun's usual polish, them in their rush to kill me thought nothing of it. In certain places, dents appeared to have been made, bending the shape and making it deformed.

Your hand plucked it off the ground in a slow manner, observing the damage done to it as you held it in both free, and chained hand.

"Woah... you look like crap-" You frowned, speaking to the gun nonchalantly, "Those stupid flippin mofo's- running all over you..."

Spilling out one last puff of indignant breath, you looked at your companion, of which was crouching patiently for you to start walking down the street.

If he could speak, you bet he'd ask you what the hold up was, or tell you the day's not getting any younger.

Perhaps he would simply prattle onto you about how fun it is to jump that high in the air, or maybe he'd walk over to you and console you on the great job you did loosing sight of your siblings.

Who knows.

You wish he could speak though.

The day's wouldn't be so long- and the infected wouldn't seem so hard to handle.

No matter, you knew things couldn't change.

This was the way things were now.

You just had to outlast.