"Oh shit," Nick said. "Okay, first, and I know how this sounds, but the dead are rising. Okay?"

"I see." Zita took a hold of Marv's leash, hand on his collar to keep it from jingling. "Maybe you should, uh... tell me the whole story."

"Right," the guy said, confidence in his voice for the first time. "Okay, so, you know how these riots started up a few months ago? Well, I'd been noticing a few trends similar to biological pandemics and zombie movies dating back to-"

Zita guided Marv quietly out of the restroom, heading for her small haversack under the picnic overhang. She could still hear Nick's even cadence, the near-lecture a certain sort of guy would get into when telling someone - usually a woman - about a topic he was passionate about. Eventually he might register her utter lack of response, but by then she and Marv would be long-gone, on their way to finding a new place to hide and wait.

Away from this new and unstable danger. As if she didn't have enough problems.

***

At first, Nick had been confused when he discovered that Zita had slipped away during his explanation - and explanation that she'd asked for, by the way. Then he'd felt a little bit humiliated, before settling on chagrined. He absolutely understood why a single woman alone with her dog wouldn't trust a random guy in the woods. He'd pulled a bit of a dipshit move, surprising her that way.

That's why, perhaps, when he stumbled on the family campsite while looking for a deep woods site to move his tent to, he hadn't revealed himself. Instead, he took a knee behind some bushes to scope them out - something that he knew was infinitely creepier than just going up to say hi - but groups had started to make him a little nervous.

There were two parents and two kids, a teen girl and a boy of maybe twelve. They seemed to be in good spirits, and well supplied, with a large cooler and a mesh bag of non-perishables hanging from a tree. At least, they seemed more put together than he or Kev had been, and geared up for a longer haul.

Mom and Dad - whatever their names were - were cleaning out the fire pit, while little Bobby and Lily (as he'd named them in his head) were preparing fishing lures by their camp's table.

Fishing. That was a good idea. Did you need a license to fish? Nick didn't know, but it didn't matter, he had to avoid the ranger either way. But fish were a lot easier to catch and prepare than rabbits and other small game.

Maybe he could stop by with some fresh meat and trade for supplies, later, when everybody was on the same page about societal collapse. It was frustrating that he couldn't just... talk at people, and make them understand. Like Mom. Like the guy on the road. Like the girl in the bathroom and her dog. He had logic! He had reason! Why couldn't anybody just... just LISTEN?!?

Mom seemed to look right in his direction and Nick froze, hunching lower. Last thing he needed was to be accused of peeping when, technically, he was spying. It'd be even harder to convince them of his good intentions if they caught him being super creepy.

She looked away, and Nick slunk off into the woods, heart beating. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was a creep. Maybe he was destined to be the last survivor of a world devoured by the insatiable dead. Maybe it'd serve them all right.

No, that was mean, that was petulant, and Nick was better than that. He stopped and picked up a stout branch, one capable of – he imagined – shattering bone and pulping muscle if wielded with enough force. If the people would not accept him, maybe he'd have to become their unseen protector. A vigilante of the woods, if you will.

He'd find some way to save everybody. That'll show 'em.